Chapter Nine
Blue
I lay my head against the seat, clutching West’s hand as the city whizzes by outside my window.
His talk with Coach went better than either of us could’ve ever imagined, so despite Pandora’s best efforts tonight, I’m counting this as a win.
My phone dings, and I peer down at the screen, sliding my hand out of West’s to unlock it.
Scar: Got a sec? Probably best to actually talk rather than text.
My brow tenses. My sister is typically level-headed and has never been a drama queen. So, whatever this is, it must be serious.
“Mind swinging by my dad’s for a bit? Scar needs to talk about something.”
West glances at me, concern in his eyes because he knows like I know that Scar isn’t one for theatrics.
“Of course. Everything okay?
“I think so, but she’s being kind of vague.”
I move my fingers across the phone screen, responding to the message.
Blue: Are you at the house? We’ll be there in a few minutes.
Scar: I’m here. See you soon.
I lower the phone and try not to worry. That’s easier said than done, though. Especially living in Cypress Pointe. God only knows what’s going on.
We make it across town quickly, and I’m even more nervous when I see Scar sitting on the porch, deep in thought, and definitely troubled about something.
I don’t wait for West to open my door. I hop out when he does, crossing the yard.
“Hey. Thanks for coming by,” Scar says, and I nod.
“No problem. What’s going on?”
Her lips part to answer, but before she can get the words out, Dad pulls into the driveway. My first thought is that he’s just getting in from work, but there’s a woman in the front seat—brunette, maybe mid-fifties, smiling from ear to ear as my father speaks.
This must be the infamous Hannah.
He opens her door, then he takes her hand as they make their way up the walkway. Dad flashes a tight smile toward me, and I imagine this isn’t the way he expected I’d be meeting his girlfriend.
Seems we’re all a little caught off guard tonight.
“Evening, you two,” he says to me and West.
“Hey.” I smile, but it’s stiff and awkward.
Dad Squeezes West and I tightly, then he steps aside, gesturing beside him. “Sweetheart, I’d like you to meet Hannah.”
She grins and the creases in the corners of her eyes somehow make the expression feel a bit warmer.
“Nice to finally meet you, Blue,” she says, then grips my hand with both of hers.
“You, too.”
“Your father’s told me so much about you it feels like we met ages ago.” She squeezes my hand before turning toward West next. “And you must be Blue’s football superstar husband Mike is always going on about.”
“I’m… definitely Blue’s husband, but the verdict’s out on that other part,” West says with a humble nod. “But it’s nice to finally meet the woman who keeps Mike smiling these days.”
Hanna glances toward my dad, and her expression softens even more. “I don’t know about that, but… I like to think I’ve at least brought a little bit of light into his life.”
“You’ve done that and then some, Sweetheart,” is Dad’s reply as he kisses her cheek.
“All right, enough,” Scar intervenes. “Take it inside.”
Hannah pats my sister’s cheek in passing as she and Dad head into the house. “Don’t be such a prude.”
Scar mocks her with a smile, then it’s just the three of us again. And just like that, my sister’s expression turns somber, like before.
“So, what’s up?” I cross both arms over my chest as Scar meets my gaze, already shaking her head.
“It’s mom.”
That one short statement says it all.
“What about her?” I ask with a sigh.
“Well, she came up to Dusty’s during my shift to talk. Says she wants to try rehab again, wants to get clean once and for all.”
My stomach twists. I’ve heard this song and dance so many times I’ve lost count. “Of course, she does.”
“It seems like she goes through this cycle about every three to five years.”
“Tell me about it,” I scoff. “So, what does any of this have to do with us?”
Scar reaches into the back pocket of her jeans. “She gave me this. Apparently, she’s already picked out the facility she’d like to go to, and… it’s pretty expensive. Ten grand up front.”
For a second, I question whether I’ve heard correctly.
“Is she serious?”
Scar nods. “Unfortunately, yes, she is. It’s for an inpatient program. Thirty days.”
Scar hands me the pamphlet, and I can’t help but laugh seeing the pictures inside. “This place looks like a fucking resort! It has more amenities than The Hilton.”
“That’s almost verbatim what I said,” Scar replies. “And her response was that the important thing is that she gets clean and that… you’re rich and shouldn’t mind paying for it.”
My face feels warm and tense hearing my mother’s words leaving Scar’s mouth.
A woman who never did shit for me or any of her other children, thinks I owe her this?
And not only is she crazy for thinking this money should come from West and me, but her track record proves that these rehab stints don’t work for her.
She’s typically clean for six months, then she’s back at it again, deeper into the exact same mess than she was before.
“And she didn’t think to reach out to me herself?”
“My guess is she knew you’d say no if she did.”
“Of course, I’m saying no! That woman’s never lifted a damn finger to help me my entire life. Now, I’m just supposed to dump ten grand into this place on a hope that she sticks with the program? No thank you.”
I take a step back, breathing deep when I feel myself getting worked up.
“She’s more than welcome to go to a state-funded facility. Like the dozen other times she tried this and failed. She will not rope me into paying for something she doesn’t deserve,” is my final word on the matter.
But, apparently, my husband has something to add.
“Is it really fair to just turn her down without a conversation?” he asks. “I mean, she wants the money so she can get help. Not so she can take a cruise or something.”
My eyes shoot toward West. Has he ever heard a single thing I’ve told him about my mother? Has he forgotten how she neglected us and chose whatever she could put in her veins over us time and time again?
“She doesn’t get to call the shots,” I snap. “If she wants help, it’s out there for her, and she knows how to find it. But she doesn’t get this. Not at our expense. She’s a user, and I won’t reward her shitty behavior.”
West takes a breath, and I pray he’s weighing his words. “I’m not saying it should be an immediate yes. I’m just saying we should at least consider it. It took a lot for her to reach out, to ask for help. Maybe she’s really trying to change.”
A laugh slips out. One laced with frustration. I’m fighting my thoughts, fighting the feeling that West is outside his jurisdiction. Husband or not. The fact remains that he didn’t grow up with this woman, didn’t endure her manipulation, didn’t experience her abandonment.
He takes the brochure, looking it over like he’s actually considering this. Regardless of how I feel about it, at that.
Scar and I glance toward one another, and when her brows lift, I read the look. It’s her leave me out of it face. So, when I feel myself about to explode, I start toward the truck, leaving West standing beside the porch.
It’s beyond me why he wouldn’t stand with me on this, but I feel his judgment. Whether he means for me to or not.
I climb into the truck, slamming the door behind me, staring straight out the windshield as he rounds the hood, then gets in beside me. I hate this. We’d just salvaged the night after a near disaster at Coach’s house, only to get tripped up on this.
West starts the engine, but doesn’t speak. And when he places the brochure over the visor, taking care not to lose it, I’m furious.
Too furious to just let this go.
“Would it have killed you to stand with me on this? Would it have killed you to trust that I might know my mother better than you do?”
A confused look crosses his face when he turns toward me.
“Blue, I—”
“She doesn’t get this,” I repeat, cutting him off.
He drops back against his seat, staring straight ahead. “All I’m saying is that I’ve worked hard to get where I am, Blue. And if my money can go toward helping a family member, I can’t think of a better way to spend it.”
My head snaps toward him, but it takes a moment to find words because there are so many racing through my mind. Starting with, really asshole?
“Your money?”
I’m breathing so fast I’m dizzy.
West rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Really? Because it sure as hell sounds like that’s what you meant. It sounds like, because you’re the breadwinner, you think this decision is yours to make. To hell with the fact that she’s my mother.”
He pushes his hands through his hair as he exhales.
“What’s mine is yours. It’s always been that way, so don’t take one thing said in the heat of the moment and twist it, Blue.
Please. It’s been a long day, and it’s possible I’m not thinking straight.
Let’s just… go home. Please,” he says again, starting the engine, maybe thinking that’ll put an end to the conversation, but it doesn’t.
“Since you think you know what’s best, do whatever the hell you want.”
“Never said I know what’s best. But what I am saying is that we can speculate all day about whether she’s sincere this time or not, and maybe this is the wrong time to try to teach your mom a lesson.”
His words cut deep. Probably deeper than he realizes.
I’m silent as he pulls away from the curb, easing onto the street without another word.
He stares straight ahead and so do I. I replay the conversation, digging deep to see whether I want to take anything back, and I don’t.
I stand firm on my decision to stay out of this situation, but I’m clearly the only one in this marriage who sees through my mother’s games.
So, I’m going to officially wash my hands of this entire fiasco.
“You have the pamphlet, you have your money, and you have my word that I’m done with it. Whatever you decide to do, just… keep me out of it.”
Neither of us speaks after that. Not even once we’re home and in bed. Like so many things lately, this disagreement feels like it’s sucked just a little more life out of us.
Out of our marriage.
And if I’m honest, I’m not sure how many times we can keep bouncing back.