12. Roman #2
“Don’t bullshit me,” I bite out. “I’m begging you to be honest. To dig down somewhere deep and show that you still have a shred of decency left.
Brooke is your daughter , not some bartering tool.
That money was for her to have a good life without depending on anyone other than herself.
To be able to survive away from all this. ”
“Away from me , you mean.”
I blow out an aggravated sigh.
“Yeah,” I admit, the word scraping out of me. “Away from you.”
The admission hangs there in the space between us. This ugly, heavy, true thing that neither of us wants to look at.
But it’s real, and it’s there. And at the end of the day, it is what it fucking is.
“If she leaves, then she’ll have no one to take care of her.”
That breaks the dam inside me, and I narrow my eyes, heat flooding my chest. “Because you’re doing such a bang-up job of it now?”
My voice cracks, and I hate how it betrays what I’m feeling.
She’s not wrong, though. Brooklynn doesn’t know who her dad is. I don’t think my mom even knows. The two of us are all she has in the world, and most of the time, she barely has that.
My mom’s cloudy eyes meet mine. “That’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair.” I shrug. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“Why are you being so mean?” she chokes out, big fat tears rolling down her face.
It hits me right in the fucking heart, but I let the resentment swell. Let it ice over the part of me that still wants to fix her.
“Ry, I’m sorry.” She drops her head into her hands, her chipped pink nails clawing at her skin like she’s trying to tear herself open. “You know that, don’t you? I don’t want to be like this.”
“If you were sorry, you’d get some help.” The words catch on my throat like splinters.
“They won’t help me!” she shrieks, her eyes wild.
“If I don’t take something, I can’t move.
And if I go somewhere, they won’t let me have what I need.
Is that what you want? You want your mother in pain?
” A sob escapes her, and she slaps her bony hand over her mouth, trying and failing to hold it in. “You think I want to be this way?”
I drop back against the couch cushions and pinch the bridge of my nose. It’s always the same conversation. Her guilt-tripping me, then me begging her to get help, followed closely by her claiming injuries from the accident almost a decade ago make it impossible.
We’re at an impasse, and I’m sick to death of being on this never-ending carousel.
I give everything I make to her because of Brooklynn, but the byproduct of that is enabling this lifestyle.
Enabling her to keep killing herself and destroying everything around her in the process.
It’s a ride I’m desperate to get off of but not sure how to stop.
“I can’t do this anymore, Ma. I’m so tired. Aren’t you tired?”
She sniffs, shaking her head. “Just give me the money for Brooke’s meds and I’ll get out of your hair, since I’m such a goddamn inconvenience.”
I blink through the sting building behind my eyes. “I’m not giving you any more money. I’ll go with Brooke to get what she needs.”
The tears evaporate from my mom’s face like she turned off a faucet, a sneer pulling down her lips. “Good luck picking it up from the pharmacy without her legal guardian. I’ve already called and let them know to withhold it unless I’m there.”
What she’s saying slams into me like an uppercut to the jaw, and I rear back.
She’s playing me.
Holding my little sister’s health over my head.
I assumed my mother took the money to buy her next fix, but now I’m seeing this for what it is. This is deliberate. Premeditated. If there’s one thing my mom knows about me, it’s that I would do anything for my little sister.
My stomach sinks, and I let out a slow breath. “You did this on purpose.”
She sniffs again and scratches at her arm, leaning her head back on the couch like she’s about to pass out. “Like I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Fury ripples up my spine, and for the first time in my life, I think I truly hate her.
I shoot to a stand and slam my foot into the coffee table, sending it skidding.
“ Don’t fucking lie to me, Ma.”
She jumps, her head snapping up, but then it lolls again. She blinks slowly, and then she smiles. Smiles.
“Oh, Roman,” she says, her voice syrupy sweet. “Calm down. It’s not the end of the world. You could fix all this in a snap…if you’d just listen to your mother.”
The name Roman grates across my skin, but I don’t correct her. She’s doing it to get a rise out of me.
“Did you spend it all?” I ask.
She lifts a shoulder and then looks down at her nails like we’re talking about the weather.
Betrayal sinks its dagger through my chest, and I swallow the pain.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she continues, like we’re negotiating a car and not my little sister’s survival. “You call your father, and I’ll make sure Brooklynn never goes without again.”
I throw both my hands on my head as I stare at her. “Jesus Christ. Are you blackmailing me?”
She grins like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. Like she isn’t breaking apart the very foundation of our relationship by forcing my hand.
“I’m protecting us,” she corrects. “This family—your sister—deserves better. And he owes us at least that.”
“And if I don’t?”
She leans in, her eyes sparking. “Then you let him know we’ll stop playing dead. And we both know how much your father values his spotless reputation.”