Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Mina
I’m dead. Leo may not have pulled the trigger, but he’s given my mother everything she needs to aim and fire.
Wrapping my head around the fact that Leo killed Thomas out of jealousy is easier than accepting that Mom now knows about Leo, and I’m about to know what Hell feels like.
I can already hear it, the shit she’ll say. How she’ll disapprove and berate me and call me all sorts of colorful names for bringing my boyfriend to the funeral of a man she was trying to set me up with.
She’d be right too. I look like a massive, disrespectful asshole.
But that won’t even be the gravest sin I’ve committed in her eyes. I have a boyfriend, and I never told her about him. A boyfriend I knew she’d never approve of. She’ll see it as a personal attack.
Despite blaming him for the situation I’m in, I find myself leaning closer, needing the comfort of his solid, yet chaotic presence.
Leo grabs my hands when I begin picking the skin around my nail, and I’m grateful. Mom doesn’t like it when I fidget. He saves me, yet again, by rubbing calming circles in the center of my palm when my foot starts to bounce on the floor.
It almost makes the entire funeral bearable. Almost. It would’ve been if I couldn’t feel Mom sitting two seats away from me, shooting scathing looks at our intertwined hands—hands that beat to death the man in the casket at the front of the church.
And maybe it makes me a goddamn fucking coward for hightailing it to the bathroom the moment the service ends, but I can’t keep being around either of them, pretending I’m okay.
Leo killed a man, and all I can think about is the reaction my mother is going to have. What does that say about me? That I need to be in a padded cell because a solid third of me is getting all giddy and woozy that jealousy drove Leo to do it.
Just like Blake did in my last book.
As did all the other male characters in my books.
It’s wrong—I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help the way my brain thinks, or how the butterflies swoop at the evidence that there’s someone out there who would do anything for me.
For a moment, I questioned why he did what he did—upended my life and took this step—but I know the answer.
Leo Duval is Blake.
Leo is precisely the man I thought he was. Except . . . he hasn’t explained why he shared my initial message to him with his friends.
Regardless, it’s clear he wants to make this work. I want to make this work. But . . . Mom.
In all of this, I haven’t factored in how to manage her.
I force myself to pause my commiseration when my phone vibrates for what’s probably the sixth time since I’ve been here. The force of the notification rattles the plastic tissue holder, causing the slightest echo.
It’s most likely Leo, Sabrina, or my newest stalker, or worse: Mother.
Unknown Number: You can’t escape me.
I block him then return my phone to the mini ledge, ignoring the texts from Leo asking where I am. Blocking my attacker did nothing except piss him off. He gets a new number for me to ignore again.
In a moment of weakness yesterday, I told him to leave me alone before blocking him. It was a mistake. Now, he’s more persistent, texting me every couple of hours.
A little voice in my head tells me to show Leo so he can make my problems go away—permanently. But I can’t ask him to kill someone for me, and it’s not like I can give him a name or any details about my attacker when I don’t have anything. It’s a problem I need to deal with myself.
Deciding I’ve been hogging the bathroom for long enough, I wash my hands and will a neutral expression onto my face before stepping out.
I know what’s expected of me right now—and I’m about to get reamed over not being there to help set out all the food straight after the service, because why not add one more thing for Mom to get mad at me about?
It feels like I’m a lame sheep walking myself to a slaughterhouse, and when I see her laying everything out on the table, it’s akin to meeting the bullet that’ll wind up between my eyes. As if the Devil has sensed my presence, her eyes snap up to mine.
I think I’m going to be sick.
I launch into making myself look as busy as possible: talking to family friends, heating up food, and handing out drinks to the older folks. Basically, anything and everything to avoid her.
That’s the bittersweet thing about freedom, though. It comes to an end eventually.
Mom ushers me over to the kitchen once all the food has been set out, and people mingle around the tables in the hall. I subtly wipe my sweaty hands by gripping my dress, careful not to pull it up too much and reveal my tattoos.
I release the dress the moment I register I’m doing it and quickly fix the skirt and belt, then untuck my hair from behind my ears, and make sure a sufficient amount of forehead is covered by my bangs—lest I want her to target my appearance too.
She grips a coffee mug in both hands as if she’s a sweet old lady, and I’m the one coming here to shit on her parade.
The moment I walk through the door, I become conscious of every part of my body, and I put all my focus into appearing unfazed; I intentionally keep my hands loose at my sides, my shoulders rolled back, and my face expressionless.
“So, Leo.” Two words and my eyes are heating up. I’m fucking pathetic. “When were you thinking of telling me? Or were you waiting for your boyfriend to tell me himself? Hmm? Your own mother.”
With every word, I feel my facade crumble just a little bit more. “I didn’t know he was going to be here.”
“So you were planning on hiding it from me?”
“No, Mom, it’s not like that.” A lump is building in my throat. I think the only way to get it out is to scream.
“What does he do for work?”
Oh no. My throat bobs. “He plays hockey for the NH—”
“Hockey?” Her entire face changes as if I’ve just said the most absurd thing she’s ever heard.
I nod weakly. “Professionally, for—”
“What are you trying to do here? Embarrass me? Because let me tell you, Mina, you are shaming this family—spreading your legs for some . . . some . . . boy.”
My jaw drops. Is she being fucking serious right now? She’s slut-shaming me? I’m a twenty-four-year-old woman, for God’s sake. I’m allowed to date whoever I want. This is the first time she’s even met someone I’m seeing.
My fists tremble at my sides. “W-we only recently met.” Stop fucking stuttering, Mina. “We’re still working out whether we’re a good fit—”
“You were cheating on Thomas,” Mom hisses lowly so no one can hear.
It’s far too loud outside the door for either of our voices to travel out there. I can’t help but desperately hope someone comes to my rescue. It’ll never happen.
“I wasn’t with Thomas.” It’s not like I can be either. We were never going to work out, dead or alive.
Somehow that’s the wrong thing to say—even though she knows that he and I have never met up outside of the dinners with his family.
“You wanted to waste everyone’s time instead to get attention?
Or is it because you’re just ungrateful for everything we’ve done for you?
I sent you to school, made you special lunches, took you to the hospital when you kept getting sick as a baby, and put up with your colic.
This is how you repay me? By stabbing me in the back and sleeping around, cheating on Tita Agnes’s son—disrespecting her family and yours by acting like a whore. ”
I keep shaking my head, fighting back the tears, but she powers through.
How does she do that? How does she keep turning everything back to a harm done to her? Why am I the problem in every single fucking scenario—even when the only thing I’ve done is exist?
Can’t she just be happy for me for one minute? One. That’s all I’m asking for. But nothing I have ever done has been good enough.
I’d get the highest grade in the class, but it wasn’t a hundred percent, so it wasn’t worth talking about. I’d win an award, and she’d ask, “Only one?” I’d get a scholarship, and the dollar amount wouldn’t be high enough.
What if Leo makes me happy? Why wouldn’t that be enough? On every other scale, Leo far exceeds the standard of approval—well-paying job, owns several properties, attractive, is obsessed with me, and would probably treat me like a fucking princess if I let him.
Actually, I wonder if she’d even care that I now have a stalker with access to all of my files and information, who won’t stop texting me.
“This is what happens when you don’t study and drop out of school for a hobby.” She sneers the word. “You become stupid trash—don’t think I can’t see all the earrings you take out before visiting me. I’m not blind, Mina. I can tell that boy is bad news.”
I clench my teeth hard enough to hurt. The tears burning my eyes haven’t fallen yet—I refuse to let them. She hates when I cry.
“You need to move back home, get a respectable job, and never speak to—”
“There you are.” A familiar, deep voice enters the kitchen.
I suck in a sharp breath and whirl around. “Leo, not right—”
He wraps his arm around my waist, pulling me to his side. I’m torn between melting against him and turning stiff as a board, like it might make Mom a little less mad. “Christine, I believe Agnes was searching for you.”
With that, he pulls me away before Mother can say anything else, and I just know she’s adding this to my long list of indiscretions.
The panic builds with every step I take away from her, and I use every ounce of willpower I have to keep an easy expression on my face, but it feels like every person we pass can see right through my mask.
They all know what just happened. They think I’m a whore too. That I’m stupid trash. I know it’s not true, but Mom’s voice is screaming the words on repeat.