CHAPTER 21
KILLIAN
Mabel Fairhope eyes me strangely as she rings up my groceries. With every beep of the scanner, her eyes pop back to mine.
Narrowing my gaze, I say, “Out with it.”
Her eyes widen, mouth opening and closing in surprise.
“I know there’s something you wanna say, Mrs Fairhope.”
“Your mama was in here a few days ago. Stole some liquor.”
I sigh. “How much?”
“‘Bout fifty dollars’ worth.”
I pull out my wallet and count out the cash for my groceries along with the extra fifty and hand it to her. “I’m sorry.”
Her features soften as she pats my hand affectionately. “It’s not your fault, Killian. You’re a good boy.”
I give her a fake smile as I bag up my items, but it melts right off my face when she says, “She said some awfully spiteful things to young Miss Bennett.”
I pause. “Daisy Bennett?”
Mrs Fairhope nods, her hand clutching at her chest dramatically.
I don’t bother asking her what was said. It’ll only be a twisted version of the truth, anyway. Offering her a quick thank you, I grab my shit and stalk back to my truck.
Once inside, I pull out my phone and fire off a text to my sister.
Me: Can you send me Daisy’s number?
My knee bounces anxiously as I wait for Bella’s response. Every possible scenario that could have played out between Daisy and my mom runs through my head, and not one of them are good.
My mom has never been shy about her feelings towards Daisy. Even before the wedding, she made her dislike known.
I don’t know why she doesn’t like her. I mean, I understand why she doesn’t like her now, but back then there was never a reason. She had no problem with Daisy when she was just Bella’s best friend. Her problem only started once she became my girlfriend.
It’s laughable, really. My mom has never given a fuck about her kids. The only thing that is important to Clara Ashby comes in the form of clear liquid held in a glass bottle.
My phone vibrates in my lap with Bella’s response, and I quickly save Daisy’s new number to my phone and fire off a text to her.
Me: Are you okay?
My hands sweat as I watch the message go from delivered to read. Three bubbles appear and disappear, and I quickly send another text.
Me: It’s Killian, by the way.
God, I sound like a fucking moron.
The bubbles appear again and I wait.
Daisy: I’m fine, why?
Daisy: And I know. Your number hasn’t changed since high school.
The second message has me glaring at the screen.
Your number hasn’t changed since high school. Meaning that she kept my number. When she disconnected hers and cut off all form of contact, she kept my number.
Yep. That feels like a sucker punch to the gut.
Daisy: You’re obsessing about the fact I still have your number, aren’t you?
I huff a disbelieving laugh and shake my head.
Me: You know me so well.
Daisy: Killian…
Me: It’s fine, Dais.
Daisy: So, why did you want to know if I’m okay?
Me: Mabel Fairhope told me you ran into my mom.
Daisy: Ahh. Didn’t have Mabel pegged as a gossip, but yes, I did. And yes, she still hates me.
My stomach sinks and I drop my head back against the seat in frustration.
I don’t want people giving Daisy shit over something that has nothing to do with them. First, Noah gave her shit and now, my mom.
Me: I’m sorry.
Daisy: Don’t be.
Another text pops up at the top of my screen.
Bella: You heard about mom?
Me: Yup. Heading over there now.
Bella: Good luck.
I drop my phone into the passenger seat and back out of the parking lot.
The drive to my childhood home is a short one and within minutes I’m pulling into my mom’s driveway. I let the truck idle for a moment as I stare out of the windscreen at the derelict house, I once called home.
The once white paint is now chipped and more of a murky grey from years of neglect. The grass on the front lawn is more mud than anything, and the cracked flowerpots lining the porch hold nothing but dead weeds.
When I first moved out, I was over here once a week to keep up with the yard work. It was more about keeping up appearances to the rest of the town than it was for my mom. I didn’t want people to know exactly how bad things had gotten since my dad left.
But after a while, I gave up trying to keep up appearances.
Everyone knew who my mom was and what she had become.
She stole from local businesses. Made enemies of her lifelong friends.
With every passing day, she tarnished her reputation and once Bella moved out, I washed my hands with her and this place entirely.
Kind of.
I take a deep, steadying breath and climb out of the truck.
The porch steps groan beneath my work boots as I approach the front door and before I even lift my hand to knock, it swings open, revealing my mother in all her glory.
A cigarette is tucked between her wrinkled lips, voice hoarse as she says, “what do you want?”
“Hello to you, too, Mother.”
She holds the door open, and I tuck my hands into the pockets of my work trousers as I pass her in the doorway.
“You know what I mean. Why are you here? You never come here.”
I fight the urge to curl my lip in disgust as I peruse the place.
Empty cans and bottles litter the floor and coffee table in the front room.
By the looks of it, she has taken to using a can as an ashtray instead of just emptying the one that’s overflowing on the table.
There are visible burn holes dotted on the floor and on the recliner where she sits, no doubt from her passing out with a cigarette in her hand.
And the air is so thick with the stench of stale beer and smoke that it’s hard to breathe.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“I don’t plan on staying long. Just came to find out what you said to Daisy in the store two days ago.”
Now, her lip curls in disgust. “Nothing that isn’t true. That girl is only sniffing around here for one thing.”
I quirk a brow at her. “And that is?”
She waves her hand at me like it’s obvious. “Your money.”
I blink at her. “Sorry, what?”
She huffs and rolls her eyes, taking a seat in her burned recliner and flicking her cigarette in the can next to her. “It’s obvious. Your sister must have told her how well your business is doing and now she’s come crawling back. She’s after your money. Your house, too, probably.”
I laugh, but there is no humour to it. Just pure disbelief. I don’t know what kind of money she thinks I make, but I can guarantee its less than she imagines.
“Are you hearing yourself right now? You sound fucking delusional.”
She frowns as she takes a long swig of vodka straight from the bottle.
“You know nothing about Daisy. And you know even less about our relationship. You think she wants my house? It’s hers.
It always has been hers. I fucking built it for her.
The only person benefitting from my money is you.
You forget that my money keeps this roof over your head.
My money is what pays your tab at the store when you steal something.
My money funds your disgusting addiction,” I spit through gritted teeth.
You see, here’s the thing. As much as I hate her, hate the shit she put us through as kids and the responsibilities I had to take on as a young boy because she wasn’t capable of stepping up and being the parent, I couldn’t just cut her off.
I tried. I really did, at first. But I couldn’t live with myself knowing that she was in this town, a short drive away, with nothing.
When I started my company and finally started earning enough money to be comfortable, I bought this house.
I keep this roof over her head and pay the bills every month to keep the lights on and the water running.
I wish I could say that’s as far as my generosity goes, but it’s not.
An allowance is deposited into her bank account every week, yet somehow, I still find myself paying her tab whenever she steals from the people of this town.
Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment. And maybe I’m an enabler. But she’s my mom. And somewhere deep inside of me, beneath the resentment and the hate, I still love her.
She glares at me, a wildfire blazing in her eyes. “You’re just like your father.”
“I’m nothing like my father. He left you with nothing. Stay the fuck away from Daisy, or all of this disappears.” I look around the room, not caring to hide my disgust any longer. “And clean up in here, it fucking stinks.”
With that, I storm out of her cesspit, letting the door slam shut behind me.