Chapter 9
NINE
DECLAN
The first time I watched my mother get high was when I was five years old.
I remember sitting at the coffee table in the living room of our small apartment, watching cartoons and eating stale cereal that tasted like cardboard, but I was so hungry that I ate it anyway.
She was forgetful. Most of the time, she forgot she was a mother.
Many times, she’d forget me as she’d walk out the door, not coming home for days. I knew days had passed, because every morning when the sun came up, I’d sit in front of the window, waiting for her to remember me and return.
Once, I spent four days waiting for her. When she walked in, I was so excited to see her. Instead of acknowledging me, she went straight to her bedroom with the man she brought home, and they made noises I didn’t understand at the time.
After the man left, my mother was happy and took me for ice cream.
Since that day, I learned not to be picky with food, or eat too much, because I never knew how long I needed it to last.
My mother had been sitting next to me, which I remember because it made me happy. She never noticed me, so the fact that she was sitting beside me—paying me attention—made me happy.
I remember showing her my race car that one of the men who often visited had brought me and asking if she’d play with me.
“Not now, Declan. Mommy isn’t feeling well.” She’d said, patting my head. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with her, but I felt special because she was around me.
I remember hearing the knock at the door, and seeing her face light up when she let the man in. My young self was terrified, on the verge of tears, that she’d be leaving me again.
I hated when she left me.
Instead of going to her bedroom or walking out the front door, she and the man sat on the couch, and he smiled at me with yellow teeth as he brought the flame of his lighter to the spoon in his hand.
At the time, I hadn’t understood what was going on, but I remember watching them. Watching him load the needle and give it to my mother, then I watched as she brought it to her vein.
It looked painful, but the look of instant relief that came across her pale, sweaty face was a look that stuck with me for many years.
After that day, she hadn’t bothered locking me in my bedroom anymore. She didn’t mind if I saw what she did, and neither did I.
I hated being in my bedroom because she’d turned the doorknob around, placing the lock on the outside. Many days, I’d wake up to discover she’d locked me inside. And since she often forgot about me, that meant she forgot to unlock the door. Being inside of my room meant there was a possibility of being trapped there for days, and my tiny bladder and hunger couldn’t handle that.
Not hiding in my bedroom also meant I was privy to her drug use. I had a front row seat every time she stuck the needle in her arm .
I was twenty-seven years old the first time I stuck a needle in my vein, filling myself with the same poison that killed my mother.
I’d always told myself that I’d be better than her. Sure, I drank, smoked weed, snorted coke, swallowed whatever pills I could get, but that was okay, because in my fucked-up mind, it was better than heroin. I was better than her, because I wasn’t filling my veins with that shit.
And then I killed my son.
I wanted an escape, and my dealer was out of the white powder I’d been snorting any chance I got.
He’d said, “I’ve got something stronger you should try.” And I knew what he meant. I hadn’t rejected his offer, because at that moment, the memory of my mother’s pale face flashed before me, and I’d wanted the same relief she had each time she got high.
I’d handed over the cash, then went home and loaded the needle, as I’d seen my mother do many times.
The relief was instant.
I was floating.
The pain in my chest was gone.
I could breathe.
One time was all it took me to begin a new addiction.
One that consumed my life.
Consumed my mind and body, until one day I tried to let it claim my life.
That was the day Camille found me.
Needle in my arm, nonexistent pulse, blue lips.
The woman I loved and vowed to protect had to find me during an overdose. She saved my life, when I had tried to end it.
Rehab came after that, and I haven’t touched the drug since.
That doesn’t mean I don’t miss it, or haven’t used other drugs, because I do, and I have. But I can’t allow myself to get low enough to the point where I’d return to it .
I can’t be that person again.
It’ll kill me, and right now, I’m not sure if that’s what I want anymore.
For a year after Luca’s death, I was ready to die. I wanted to be buried beside him, but now, as much as I miss him, I want to live.
To fight.
I may not deserve to live because of my sins, but until the devil himself collects me, I’m going to continue living.
Ever since that curly headed spitfire left my room hours ago, I’ve been seething, pacing back and forth in my room that I’m sure I’m running the light-colored carpet bare. My hands have been clenching and unclenching, my heart pounding, and memories racing in my fucked-up head.
Memories of my mother.
All I can think about is how I never wanted to be like her. Never wanted to be the type of parent she was. The addict she was.
Many times during the night, I contemplated finding that curly headed big mouth and giving her a piece of my fucking mind, but I tend to lash out when I’m angry, and my words have a way of wounding someone. Not that she doesn’t deserve it, but therapy has taught me to remain calm when I feel triggered.
Too many times during arguments, I lashed out at Camille, and she never deserved my spiteful tongue. She’d tried to hide the tears in her emerald eyes, but I saw them every time.
Every single fucking time I said something cruel, I watched her eyes become glossy, and I hated myself even more for it. All she ever tried to do was save me from myself, but I never wanted to be saved. I’d wanted to drag her to hell with me, but she was too strong for that.
She fought back, and in the end, I lost her; it’s all my fault. I’m trying to be a better person. I’m fucking trying, though some days it seems impossible, like I haven’t changed a bit.
Up until a few weeks ago, I was that person .
God, help me.
Some days I wish my mother would’ve left me to drown in that motel room pool when I was six. It was my first time ever swimming, and I had no idea how. I’d been touching the water when I fell in. Unable to reach the bottom, I kicked my legs and screamed, my small body heavy and sinking beneath the water.
The chlorine burned my eyes as I sank, but I remember seeing my mother’s cold brown eyes stare at me, disgust on her face at the sight of me. For a moment, looking at her, I thought she would let me die. I’d heard screaming, then strong arms were in the water pulling me out.
A man staying at the hotel had seen me and jumped in to save me.
That night, my mother let her boyfriend of the week beat me black and blue for making them look bad. Then, I was locked in my room for days. Without a bathroom, I was forced to relieve myself on the floor, and I cried each time.
The smell of that small, piss-filled bedroom will forever haunt me.
Even now, I have to breathe through my mouth in any bathroom.
It’s been a while since I’ve thought about my mother or anything regarding my fucked-up childhood, but thanks to some smart-mouthed woman, I can’t seem to stop.
My feet don’t stop pacing until I notice sunlight peeking through the blinds, filling the room with its warm golden rays.
Great. I’ve been up all fucking night, and I’m not even tweaking.
My shoulders rise with my inhale and lower with my slow exhale. “Fuck it,” I mumble, going toward my open suitcase on the floor.
After quickly dressing myself, I step toward the vanity to brush my teeth and wash my face, hoping that my demons aren’t lurking in my dark eyes and that it’s not noticeable that I’ve been up all night going down my haunted memory lane .
Stepping into a pair of shoes, I grab my phone, wallet, and room key before leaving. I don’t bother to check my phone for any notifications, because I don’t care if anyone has messaged me. I’m on a mission, and nothing will slow me down. If I stop, I might not do what I need to.
Entering the lobby, my eyes instantly land on the dining area in the corner. It’s full of guests helping themselves to the continental breakfast. I’m sure the check-in girl told me about it, but to be honest, I tuned her out.
I’d hoped for room service, but I should’ve known that wouldn’t be offered here.
Turning away from the dining area, I walk to the front desk, offering a smile to the short girl standing behind it.
“Good morning, sir. How can I help you?” she asks politely, and I take a moment to watch her eyes, seeing if I catch a hint of recognition, but thankfully, I don’t.
Not surprising.
I’m sure this small town lives under a rock, and no one will know who I am. Well, except for the little girl I met last night who deemed herself my new best friend.
“Morning, I’d like to report an incident with one of your staff last night. Pretty sure she’s a housekeeper.” It’s petty as shit to report the smart-mouthed housekeeper in hopes she gets in trouble, but fuck it.
She wasn’t wrong when she told me I shouldn’t be giving parenting advice. I killed my son, but somehow, I felt compelled to call her ass out for leaving her child alone.
Twice.
I never left Luca alone.
The woman behind the desk scrunches her blonde eyebrows, her mouth opens, but I cut her off before she can speak. “Is there a manager on duty I can speak with?”
Closing her mouth, she stares at me for a beat before nodding .
Her blue eyes dart behind me as she says, “Here she comes now.”
Turning around, my eyes land on the feisty woman from last night. The one I’m here to report.
Her brown eyes, filled with fury, land on me, and her strides are quick thanks to her long, thick legs, still covered in those hideous black pants.
Great.
Fixing her with a glare, I look down, noticing the smiling face of the little girl walking beside her.
At the sight of me, she drops her mother’s hand and comes running over. “Declan!” she screeches, the excitement evident in her voice. She barrels toward me as if she wants to throw herself in my arms, but as she gets closer, uncertainty comes over her and she holds herself back, nearly tripping over her small feet.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, instantly following up with another question before I have a chance to speak. “Are you here to see me?!” Her big eyes are full of hope, her small fingers intertwining as she tucks them under her chin, looking up at me as if I’m someone important.
It’s such an innocent look that nearly knocks me to my ass.
Her mother reaches us and stands behind Max, but her eyes are locked on me.
“Hey, boss,” the woman behind the counter cuts in. “This gentleman asked for you. Something about an incident regarding housekeeping last night.”
Boss? What the fuck.
My head snaps up at that, my attention momentarily stolen from Max.
Why the fuck did she call her boss?
As if seeing the question on my face, Max’s mom raises a perfectly sculpted dark eyebrow, as if she’s daring me to say something.
“Thanks, Jane. I’ll take care of it. Can you refill the coffee in the dining area?” she instructs, and the blonde behind the desk gives a nod before disappearing into what I assume is a back office. She walks out of a side door and disappears across the lobby into the busy breakfast room.
“So, you have an incident to report?” She crosses her arms over her chest, pushing up her cleavage that I can’t help but glance at, and she pops one of her wide hips. The corner of her mouth twitches, as if she’s fighting to hold back a grin.
Tearing my eyes away from her infuriating face, I return my attention to the child between us, ignoring the scowling woman. “Good morning, Max. As a matter of fact, I am here to see you.” I kneel down so I’m at her level when I speak.
Her eyes sparkle as a blush tints her cheeks. “Really?” She looks up at her mother, then back at me. “I knew you wanted to be my friend.” I risk a glance at the woman behind her, taking note of the guarded look I see in her eyes as she watches me like a hawk around her daughter. It’s a look of caution, as if she’s on damage control and needs to protect her daughter’s feelings.
Interesting.
“Mommy says I shouldn’t bother you like I did last night. Or talk to strangers.”
“You didn’t bother me, Max. But your mom is right, you shouldn’t talk to strangers.”
She crosses her arms, unknowingly mirroring her mother. “Yeah, but you’re my friend and not a stranger.”
With a chuckle, I shake my head. This girl is just as quick as her mother. “Max, what’s your mom’s name?” I don’t look up at the woman, but I can still feel her heated glare.
“Andy,” Max answers with a wide smile.
Andy.
I repeat her name in my head a few times, wondering how the name would feel on my lips.
Preferably I’d be panting her name as she drops to her knees and wraps those pouty lips around me. Bet she wouldn’t have such a smart mouth when her throat is full of my cock, and I’m holding her life in my hands. Deciding if she deserves to breathe or have me forced deeper down her throat.
My lips twitch with a smirk as I force the thoughts away, reminding myself that I’m around a child and shouldn’t be fantasizing about her mother down on her knees.
“Is that a nickname? Like Max?” I ask, her small face scrunching up in confusion.
“What?” She shakes her head, pointing a thumb at herself. “I’m Max,” she says, emphasizing the A and dragging it out. “My mommy is Andy,” she repeats, also dragging out the A .
With a grin, I look up at the woman, who thankfully understands what I was asking. “Nope. It’s just Max and Andy. Not short for anything.”
Smirking, I stand to my full height, stretching out my long limbs. “Okay, just Andy.” Fuuuck. Her name feels good on my lips.
She rolls her eyes, and for a quick moment I’d like to see her do that while she’s impaled on my cock and I’m gripping her soft, wide hips.
Fuck, I wish I could see more of her body instead of that ugly fucking oversized cardigan that’s hiding it away.
Based on the way she keeps tugging at it, I’m certain she’s uncomfortable, but I’m not sure why. She doesn’t have a single thing she should be embarrassed about.
Andy is a beautiful full-figured woman with a body that I’d love to explore, but I’m aware that can never happen.
I’m not the type of man that’ll buy a woman roses and stick around after a fuck. I’m the type that’ll keep you around long enough for us to have some fun, then send you on your way once we’re both thoroughly satisfied. A one-night guy is who I’ll always be.
Never anything more. Never again.
That isn’t something Andy needs, especially when she has a child. I may not know her, but I know that she doesn’t deserve to be dragged into my fucked-up life. That much is certain .
“I’m waiting to hear your complaint about housekeeping,” she speaks, and suddenly I become aware that we’ve been standing here entrapped in a staring contest.
Who can blame me when her chocolate-brown eyes are so deep and dark, they look like they hold the secrets of the world.
Reluctantly pulling my gaze away from hers, I shove my hands into my front pockets, rocking back on my heels. “Never mind.”
She raises a dark eyebrow. “Nothing to say now?”
“Nope.” I look down at Max, who stares between us, her head moving back and forth each time one of us speaks.
“Are you sure?” she presses. “I’d be happy to take your complaint.” The twitch returns to her lips, but this time she doesn’t fight it and allows her plump lips to form a grin.
Did I come here, pissed off, prepared to tattle on her about her attitude last night? Abso-fucking-lutely I did.
Instead of brushing it off, I straighten my spine. “You had a bad attitude last night.”
She scoffs, her hands falling from her chest to her sides. “So, what? You came here to speak to my manager?” She snarls, looking at me with either annoyance or disgust. I can’t be too sure when it comes to her.
Turning her attention away, she looks down at the child between us. “Max, baby, go into the office and wait for me,” she says, giving her daughter a soft nudge to move from where she remains rooted in place.
“But Mommy!” she begins to protest. “I want to stay here with my new best friend.”
Shaking her head, soft brown curls bouncing, Andy gives her another gentle nudge. “Now, Max. I’ll be there to do your hair in a minute.”
Her small shoulders fall, her head dropping in defeat. “Fine.” She sighs, stomps her little foot, and slowly starts walking away. She mumbles a quiet, “Bye, best friend,” to me before disappearing into the back office .
With her out of ear shot, Andy stands straight in front of me, her hands on her plump hips. “What the fuck is your problem?” My head snaps back, and I’m momentarily taken back by her harsh words.
The fuck?
“Is this how you treat all your guests? Or am I just special?” I mirror her stance, placing my hands on my hips the same as she does. She’s so fucking tall, yet I still have several inches over her.
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Tell me what the fuck your problem is.”
Shaking her head, her brow curls bounce again. “I don’t have a problem.”
I scoff. Yeah, okay. She’s had something up her ass since last night. Maybe this is her personality, but somehow, I doubt that. “You’ve had a problem with me since last night. You want to know what my problem is? Well, I want to know what the fuck yours is. You don’t know me, yet you’re acting like I ruined your life.” Her expression never wavers, her eyes in slits as she glares. “You act like I fucked you, then broke your heart, but I know for a fact I’ve never fucked you, so I can’t figure out why you’re acting this way toward me.” The words leave my mouth harsher than expected, causing her to rear back.
Andy’s head drops, her features softening, shoulders slumping as she stares down at her shoes. Her fingers tug that ugly ass cardigan away from her body. She allows herself a brief moment of vulnerability before she puts her guard back up, returning her mask into place, and then she gives me a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes.
“You’re right.” She tugs the sweater, and I wonder if she’s even aware she’s doing it. It seems to be a habit at this point. “I’m sorry for how I’ve treated you.” Tug . “Sorry for Max bothering you, too.” Tug . “Enjoy your stay, and don’t worry, it’ll be pleasant from here on out.” Tug .
She forces another smile before stepping around me, holding her head high as she walks past me, leaving me standing there to wonder what the fuck just happened.
It isn’t until I return to my hotel room minutes later that I realize what I’d said, and how harsh it sounded.
The way my words came out made it sound like she wasn’t good enough for me, when that’s not at all what I’d meant.
I shouldn’t care about hurting the feelings of some chick with a smart mouth, but for some reason strange reason, I do.
Fuck.
Way to go, Declan.