Chapter 13
I want to crawl into a hole. I want the floor to open up beneath my feet and swallow me whole so I don’t have to see my mother’s face, don’t have to feel the way the air has changed in the room, don’t have to register the sound of my own heartbeat pounding so hard it makes my ears ring.
Rafe’s hand is still near mine. He’s not touching me, but his hand is hovering, like he’s waiting for permission he shouldn’t need.
Mom looks between us again, slower this time, her gaze sharp and assessing, like she’s cataloging evidence at a crime scene. Her mouth tightens. “Oh,” she says at last.
That single word is worse than shouting.
“What,” Lindy says cautiously, stepping forward a fraction. “Mom—”
My mother doesn’t look at her. She looks at Rafe. And then she laughs. It’s short, sharp, and bitter. It sounds like it scraped its way out of her throat. “You have got to be kidding me,” she says.
Rafe straightens instinctively, like he’s bracing for impact. He opens his mouth, probably to say something polite, something measured, something respectful—
“Don’t,” she snaps.
The word cracks like a whip.
“Don’t you dare speak,” she continues, eyes blazing now. “I know exactly what you are.”
I feel nauseous.
My stomach twists so hard I have to brace my hand against the back of the couch to stay upright. “Mom,” I say, voice steady by sheer force of will. “Stop.”
She finally looks at me. Really looks. And the disappointment in her eyes is like a physical blow. “This,” she says, gesturing between us with a flick of her hand, “is what you’ve been hiding? Why you’ve not been coming home?”
Rafe’s jaw tightens. His shoulders remain squared, but I can feel the tension radiating off him like heat.
I step forward without thinking, placing myself slightly in front of him. “That’s enough,” I say.
Her eyes widen just a fraction. “Excuse me?”
“You don’t get to talk to him like that,” I say, calm and deliberate. “Not in our home.”
Her laugh comes again, harsher this time. “Our home?”
“Yes,” I say. “Ours.”
Rafe’s fingers brush my wrist as he steps to my side.
Lindy moves closer, her presence grounding. “Mom,” she says again, firmer. “Stop.”
My mother whirls on her. “Stay out of this.”
“No,” Lindy says, “I won’t.”
That gets Mom’s attention, but only briefly. Her focus snaps back to Rafe. “So this is why you’ve been so… distant,” she says, curling the word like it tastes bad. “Sneaking around. Lying.”
“I haven’t lied,” I say immediately.
She turns on me. “You absolutely have.”
“I didn’t tell you,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
She stares at me like I’ve slapped her.
Rafe shifts then, stepping slightly forward. “Mrs. Marshall—”
“Do not use my name,” she spits. “You have no right.”
That does it. Something inside me snaps, like a line finally drawn. “Back off,” I say.
The room goes very quiet. My mother looks at me like she doesn’t recognize me at all.
“I will not let you talk to him like that,” I continue, my voice controlled, low. “You are a guest here. You will act like one.”
Her mouth opens.
Lindy jumps in quickly. “Ollie, I tried to call you,” she says, urgency threading through her words. “I swear I did. Like, five times.”
I blink at her. “What?”
She pulls her phone from her pocket, scrolling rapidly. “See? Calls. Texts. I didn’t want you walking into this blind.”
My stomach drops, and I pull my own phone out automatically.
Silent mode. Of course it is. The irony would almost be funny if it wasn’t ruining my life. I’m absolutely regretting my decision to give her a spare key right now too.
“I didn’t know she was coming when I decided to surprise you for a late birthday hello,” Lindy adds quickly. “I thought we’d talk first.”
My mother scoffs. “Clearly that wouldn’t have mattered.”
“This is Rafe’s home,” I say. The words come out before I can soften them, and her tirade cuts off mid-breath.
I feel my pulse in my throat, my ears, my fingertips. I should stop. I should choose different words. I should slow this down.
I don’t.
“He lives here,” I continue, voice shaking now but unyielding. “This is his home too.”
The silence that follows is total.
Not stunned.
Not confused.
Dead.
My mother goes very, very still. Her face drains of color so quickly it’s almost frightening, as if someone pulled the plug on her.
Her lips press together. Her spine straightens.
Her eyes flick between us—once, twice—like she’s replaying the moment we walked in, recalculating everything she just saw.
Then she laughs again. Once. It’s sharp and disbelieving. “That’s not funny,” she says coldly.
I swallow hard. “We’re married,” I say.
The words land in the room like dropped glass. I barely recognize my own voice. It sounds distant, unreal, like it belongs to someone braver than I feel.
My mother stares at me. “What,” she says slowly, “did you just say?”
I can hear my own heartbeat, loud and erratic, as if my body is trying to run while my feet stay planted. “We’re married,” I repeat. “Rafe and I.” I shake my head faintly, like I can’t believe it either. “We have been. For a while.”
Rafe freezes beside me. I feel it more than I see it—the way his breath catches, the way his entire body goes taut, like he’s bracing for impact he didn’t know was coming yet.
My mother’s eyes slide to him, sharp and assessing, then back to me. “No,” she says flatly. “You’re not.”
“Yes,” I say. “We are.”
“That’s not possible,” she snaps. “You wouldn’t—”
“I did,” I interrupt. “I chose him.”
The words are terrifying in their simplicity.
Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Then she goes completely still.
No shouting. No sarcasm. No venom. She reaches into her purse with deliberate calm and pulls out her phone.
My stomach drops through the floor. “What are you doing?” I ask.
She doesn’t look at me as she taps the screen, her movements precise, controlled, lethal. “I’m calling your father,” she says evenly, “so he can get on the next flight out here and fix this.”
The word fix makes me feel physically ill.
“There’s nothing to fix,” I say, my voice hoarse now. “This isn’t a mistake.”
She lifts the phone to her ear. “Yes,” she says, ignoring me. “It’s me.”
Rafe is still beside me. He hasn’t moved toward the bedroom. He hasn’t left. He hasn’t let go. And I know—deep in my bones—that no matter what happens next, there’s no going back.
The truth is out, and the fallout is just beginning.
“You need to come to Los Angeles. Now.” She listens for a beat. “Yes. I’ll explain when you get here.” She ends the call.
My hands are shaking now. “You don’t get to do this,” I say. “You don’t get to summon him like I’m a problem to solve.”
“You are,” she replies coldly. “And you need to leave and let me speak to my son,” she says to Rafe.
He watches my mother with something like disbelief.
I turn to him instinctively. “You don’t have to—”
“I’m not going anywhere,” he says quietly.
That earns him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. She turns back to me. “This cannot go public.”
“I know,” I say. “It isn’t.”
She scoffs. “Do you have any idea what this would do to our family name? To the business?”
“I don’t care about the business.” I try to keep my voice steady.
“You should,” she snaps. “And what about the League? Do you think they will tolerate this circus?”
“I have no plans to tell anyone,” I say evenly. “Not right now.”
She pauses. “Not right now?”
“I may never,” I add. “We might wait until I retire.” The words taste wrong even as I say them.
Rafe flinches. It’s subtle. Barely there. But I see it, and it guts me.
My mother seizes on it immediately. “See? Even he knows this is wrong.”
“No,” I say quickly, turning to Rafe. “We talked about this. I said I’d keep my options open.”
He nods once, but his eyes are dark, wounded.
She throws up her hands. “I will not stand here and watch you destroy your future.” She turns toward the door. “I’m leaving.”
Good.
Relief flickers in my chest.
Then she stops. “You,” she says to Lindy, “are coming with me.”
Lindy doesn’t move. “No,” she says.
“What did you say?”
“I said no,” Lindy repeats, calm and immovable. “I’m staying.”
My mother stares at her like she’s betrayed her before returning her attention to me. “You will meet us tomorrow morning,” Mom says stiffly. “At the Bel-Air Crest. In the Pacific Suite,” she adds. “Your father will be there.” She looks back at me. “Nine sharp.”
“I’m not—”
“This conversation is over,” she says. She marches toward the door, but Lindy doesn’t follow.
My mother pauses, clearly expecting her to. “Lindy,” she snaps.
Lindy meets her gaze, expression hard. “I’ll see you later.”
The look my mother gives her is pure fury. Then she leaves, the door closing behind her with a final click that echoes through the apartment.
For a moment, none of us move. Then Lindy exhales loudly. “Well,” she says, “that went… great.”
Rafe blinks. She steps toward him without hesitation and wraps him in a hug. He startles visibly.
“Welcome to the family,” Lindy says cheerfully. “Sorry about the yelling. We’re not all like that.”
He lets out a shaky laugh, arms awkward before settling around her. “Uh, thanks.”
She releases him and turns to me, pulling me into a tight hug. I cling to her like I might fall apart otherwise.
“I love you,” she says into my chest. “I’m so happy for you. And I’m proud of you.”
My throat closes completely.
“Also,” she adds, pulling back with a grin, “since I’m now legally allowed to drink, I think we all need something strong.”
I glance at the clock.
10:34 a.m.
The day has gone from blissful to shittastic to catastrophic in under two hours.
Rafe nods immediately. “Agreed.” He moves toward the kitchen, then pauses, looking back at me with open concern. “You okay?”
I’m not, but I nod anyway. “Yeah,” I say, “I will be.”
He steps away to get the liquor while I stand between my sister and my husband, heart pounding, future unraveling.