Chapter 6
Mallorie Jade
I’ve been sitting in my car in front of the coffee shop for fifteen minutes. Every few minutes, I roll the window down to get a quick whiff of the aroma that is like a drug to my system.
At least ten people have walked by, giving me the side eye, and I’ve had to talk myself out of throwing something at them each time.
I’m starting gossip, but what else is new? I’ve learned to accept it and move on.
Besides, the safety of my car seems less daunting than the fire-breathing dragon named Hayes that’s planted himself at a table beside the entrance.
He’s not alone, either.
A pretty blonde sits across from him, and each time he smiles at her, my stomach twists from the absolute gag-worthy sweetness of it all. He looks smitten. From the way she can’t take her eyes off him, I think she is too.
I’ve been torturing myself watching the two of them. At this point, I probably qualify as a stalker, but I’ve never seen Hayes in love before. I thought I had, but what we had wasn’t love. It was—I don’t know what it was.
Either way, seeing him with her now has piqued my interest.
He looks relaxed, and that man is never relaxed. I’m happy for him.
Well—I want to be happy for him, but it feels like a betrayal. I’ve counted on him being as miserable as I have been. It never occurred to me that he was busy finding peace while I struggled to survive the weight of the guilt these past six years. I should want to see him happy, but I can’t make myself. Maybe that makes me toxic, but neither of us should get to escape what we did.
It was too big.
A knock at my window startles me, and I jump, knocking my elbow against the side of the door. A hiss escapes past my teeth as I rub the spot I hit.
When I turn to look at whoever knocked, I’m thankful for the protection of tinted windows because my mom stands there in all her glory. She might be able to tell that I’m in here, but she can’t see me roll my eyes as she dramatically checks her watch as if I’m wasting her time.
I didn’t even know she would be here because I would have run the other way if I did. I came here to get away from her. One week home, and the house is stifling.
Pressing the power switch button for my window, I crack it just enough to hear her.
She sighs, her signature display of disappointment. “Mallorie Jade, what are you doing sitting in your car? It’s hot as Hades out here.
“Oh, I was just enjoying the view,” I grit out.
She must be immune to my sarcasm because she doesn’t even blink an eye.
“Well, come along. I have things to do,” she says, digging through her purse and ignoring that I still haven’t rolled my window all the way down.
“Um—well, don’t let me stop you. I’m just going to head home.”
She lifts her head, catching my eye through the crack. “Nonsense. You’ve been sitting here for fifteen minutes. Surely you want coffee at this point, or did you just come here to stir the gossip because you are certainly achieving that.”
She says all this through her polite smile, looking around and waving at a couple walking by.
Then it hits me that someone must have called and told her I was here, sitting outside the coffee shop and watching Hayes—bunch of tattletales.
“Yes, Mom. We both know I live for gossip.”
Mom fiddles with her keys, and my eyes focus on the movement through the window. It’s so unlike her it’s startling. She is never anything less than pristine. That small motion is nothing compared to what she says next.
“Would you please have coffee with me, MJ? I want to discuss something with you.”
There’s no demand or coercion in her tone. She’s sincere, and the fact that she used Hayes’s nickname for me has me nearly having a stroke right here in my car on Main Street—talk about good gossip.
Staring at her, I sit there dumbfounded, gaping like a fish out of water. I can’t remember one time she has ever asked me to do something. It’s always been a demand.
For a while, when I was young, I never questioned it—until one day, I did. It’s been a war between us since then. She could never accept that I needed to be my own person, and I couldn’t force myself into the box she tried to shove me in.
But this—I can’t deny her when she’s actually asking, even if it means I have to fight a few dragons.
I nod and grab my keys before stepping out of the car. She takes a step back to give me room, and before I’m ready, we are walking side by side into the lair—I mean coffee shop.
The bell jingles over the door when we push it open, drawing the eyes of every patron in the shop. My mom is taller than I am, so I try to use her as a human shield, but it’s useless. She steps to the side and throws me a questioning look before sacrificing me.
“Oh, hello, Hayes,” she says when she realizes why I’m hiding. She smiles at him like he’s the best thing since sliced bread, and I’m confused.
It’s been a week since what I deemed “the incident.” I didn’t have time to think about it much at the police station as I was busy trying to breathe through my panic attack, but now I realize just how friendly my mother and Hayes are. It’s a stark contrast to the relationship they had before I left—which was exactly none.
Hayes stands and hugs my mother. This has to be a parallel universe. It’s the only thing that explains it.
“MJ,” he says, his voice like ice as he lets go of my mom and turns to me.
Bruises cover the bridge of his nose and under his eyes, and I wince at the sight. I really did a number, and I feel bad about that—but also, go me, ya know?
“Hayes,” I greet in the same tone he greeted me, choosing not to mention the nose. I figure it’s a sore topic for him—no pun intended. “Who’s your friend?”
I might be the dumbest person in this room right now because no world exists where I actually want to know the answer, but it’s too late. Hayes is already turning back to the woman behind him, a smile of affection on his face. The contents of my stomach swirl, and I’m thankful there’s only a peanut butter cup in there; otherwise, it would not be pretty.
Hayes moves closer to the woman, standing beside her but not quite touching. He looks back at me and my mom and says, “This is Lily. Lily, this is MJ, and of course, you already know her mother, Abigail.”
The woman stands and stretches out her hand, and man, do I wish she had stayed sitting down. She’s tall—like model tall—and perfectly fits next to Hayes’s 6’3” frame. That peanut butter cup might be coming up after all.
Placing my hand in hers, I offer the best smile I can manage, with no teeth and my lips pressed together, before she says, “MJ, it’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
My smile falls flat, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy pulling her hand from mine and placing it on Hayes’s arm. My face turns stone cold as I glare at him. I hate that he’s told her about me. Did he tell her about Langston, too?
My heartbeat ticks up to a speed that is entirely too fast as I think about what the woman might know.
Hayes’s brows dip, but that’s the only indication he gives that he knows I’m upset. Before he can say anything, I push my mom towards the line and call over my shoulder, “It was nice to meet you, but we really must go. Bye.”
“Mallorie Jade—stop. What are you doing?” Mom protests as I lead her to the back of the line.
“Didn’t you say you wanted coffee?” I ask innocently.
“Well, yes, but that was very rude. That Lily is a sweet girl. You should get to know her.”
I’m sure she is—probably the perfect daughter—the one I could never be.
The fact that she seems to be dating Hayes and has my mother’s endorsement guarantees I will not be getting to know her, but I don’t tell my mom that.
She always made it known how she felt about any relationship I might have had with Hayes. So, I never told her our story. We never had that type of relationship. Plus, I hadn’t wanted to start World War III.
I need to change the subject from Lily, so I direct the conversation towards Hayes. I have so many questions.
“What was that back there with Hayes? If memory serves, you despised him before I left.”
The polite mask is back, signaling the end of that conversation before it’s even begun. I’m not getting an answer to that question, but it doesn’t keep me from prodding anyway.
“Oh, come on. Tell me.”
She picks an invisible piece of lint off her shirt and cryptically says, “People change, Mallorie Jade. People change.”
That statement would be inspirational coming from anyone else, but with her, I can’t tell if she’s talking about herself or Hayes.
______________________
Three hours after leaving the coffee shop, I regret leaving the house today.
My solo coffee trip turned into a mother-daughter, all-day shopping spree because my mother asked nicely.
Seriously, what is going on? There have to be hidden cameras somewhere. That’s the only explanation—I’m being punked.
“What do you think about this one?” Mom asks, holding up a blazer I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in a million years. I can’t tell her that, though, because as strange as this day has been, I have to admit she’s trying—at least for her.
However, she’s yet to tell me what she wanted to discuss at the coffee shop. I’ve tried prompting her several times, but she changes the topic every time.
It’s making me nervous.
Pasting on a smile, I say, “That’s nice, Mom, but I don’t have any place to wear that.”
She purses her lips, ignoring me, and flips the blazer back and forth to study it. “I think we can make this work.”
“Work for what?”
Apprehension grows in my stomach.
“Your interview, of course,” she says, like I should know what interview she’s talking about. “It’s what I wanted to discuss with you.”
When I left the city, I was a nurse at one of the major hospitals. It wasn’t the path I saw myself taking when I started college. I wanted nothing to do with the field my dad was in—the field that kept him away from home more often than not.
But after Langston, I ran. It was my junior year of college, and the path I was heading down no longer felt like the path that was meant for me.
I took a gap year, and during that year, I felt pulled toward the field I swore I would never be in—a field my dad would have been proud that I followed and one my mom would have hated, at least for me. It wasn’t the socialite path, after all.
I went back to school and got my degree. It took four years, and I didn’t tell anyone when I graduated with honors. I didn’t want them ruining it for me.
That’s where I’ve been the last year, working a job that was supposed to be my second chance, a place for me to pay for my sins, but then the second worst day of my life happened. Now, I’m not sure if it’s a path I took for retribution or if it was supposed to be mine.
I’m lost, and I’m not sure where I fit anymore. I’ve spent the better part of my adult life in college, and my experience in any other field is sorely lacking. I don’t know what other workable skills I have, and my mother’s idea of a job is hosting social parties.
Dread kicks me square in the teeth.
Is that what I’m interviewing for? Does she think I’ll be on one of her many committees now that I’m back?
She looks up from the blazer, takes one look at my face, and clicks her tongue against her teeth. The horror of that idea must show on my face.
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. The high school is looking for a nurse when school starts next month. I mentioned to some people on the board that you were returning to town. You have an interview on Monday. Besides, you can’t just sit around all day. I know you. You’ll go insane.”
My mouth hangs open, which I’m sure is not a good look on me, but I can’t help it.
This woman is so unlike my mother that I don’t know how to react except to say thank you—even if I’m questioning my position in the field. So I smile, take the blazer from her, and say, “I think this will be perfect.”
We continue to shop, and my mind starts to wander to my dad. That day at the hospital, I thought maybe I’d seen a difference in him, but since I’ve been back, I’ve hardly seen him. It’s just like it was before I left. But if my mom can change, couldn’t he, too?
Flipping through a rack of shirts, I ask, “Mom, do you think Dad will ever slow down?”
A sad look flicks through her eyes, her brows pinching together before she says, “How about we go grab lunch, and we can talk about it?”
“Okay,” I say, following her to the checkout, where she pays for the blazer. Then, we walk to a restaurant only a few blocks from the boutique we’d been shopping in.
I’ve never given myself hope that I could have a good relationship with my mom. It’s not who we are, but we’ve also never sat down and had conversations before—we couldn’t when we were always at each other’s throats. But she’s willing to talk to me about Dad, and that feels like a step towards finding a place where we see each other for who we are.
Once inside, she tells me to grab a table while she runs to the restroom.
Nodding, I turn towards the tables, searching for a place to give us a little privacy for the conversation we are about to have, but when I turn around, I’m not staring at open seating. A chest nearly bumps right into my nose.
Caught off guard, I flounder, trying to gain control of my balance, but it’s no use—I’m going down. With heat flaming my cheeks, I brace myself for the impact of the hard floor, but strong hands reach out, catching my elbows and righting me. My eyes fly up, searching for the face of the man who saved me, and I wince when I’m met with eyes that are so cold and calculating it sends a shiver down my spine.
With my balance regained, I step back, putting space between me and the man in front of me who looks like every villain ever written.
Unease settles in my stomach as the man watches me, not bothering to introduce himself. He doesn’t look any older than thirty-five with a Roman nose and tanned skin. He’s handsome, but that does nothing to hide the darkness that seems to crackle around him. His dark hair swoops elegantly to the side in a style that’s both classy and intimidating, and as I continue to stare, his mouth tilts up in a grin that can only be described as animalistic. His lips part, revealing straight white teeth, but the hunger in his eyes makes me take another step back, putting more distance between us.
“If you were looking to talk to me,” he says, leaning down so he’s in my space, “all you had to do was ask. No need for nearly knocking yourself over.”
I don’t even know this man, but the pure cockiness of that statement makes me want to take him down a notch.
Pulling my shoulders back and standing tall, which puts me nowhere close to his height but still gives me confidence, I ask, “Does that line ever actually work for you?”
I scrunch my nose, distaste settling in my mouth like a rotten tomato, but he merely shrugs and straightens his suit jacket, clearly unbothered by my comment. “I’ve never had a girl run over me to talk to me. So, I guess you will have to tell me. Is it working?”
“Absolutely not.”
My mom’s heels click from behind me, and the man’s eyes flick over my shoulder to where she’s approaching. When he sees her coming, that smile of his turns even more feral than as his eyes flick from her to me. I can see him piecing together who she is to me. I’ve seen that look in others a thousand times—it’s a look that says I’ve become a pawn in whatever game is being played here.
“I guess I’ll just have to try a different approach next time,” he says with a wink, and then he’s gone, slipping out the door before my mom reaches us.
“I see you met one of our newer firefighters,” Mom says, watching the man out the window as he jumps into his truck and drives away. Her face doesn’t hold the same contempt as mine, and I have to wonder what her thoughts of him are.
“Yeah, and he was a real jerk.”
She purses her lips but makes no comment.
“There seem to be a lot of new people around town,” I say as we walk over to an empty seat by the window.
I used to know this town—they used to think they knew me—and while some people might find it sad that the town they left is not the one they came back to, I don’t. This town was never my home, but maybe it can be now.
“That’s what happens when you are gone for six years. The town changes—grows. Time doesn’t stop just because you’re gone.”
The words aren’t meant to slice me. She merely states it as a fact, but it doesn’t matter. They slice me anyway.
I stayed away for my sanity. I had to find myself after everything that happened, but instead, I only lost myself further.
“Yeah,” I say, defeat dampening my words until there’s no emotion behind them, “I guess you’re right.”
Mom nods, sipping on the water the waitress brought us when we sat down, and the silence surrounds us. For a person I’ve always wanted to be able to talk to, I’m finding it surprisingly hard to start now. I’m just going to have to spit it out.
“Will you answer my question about Dad now?”
The straw in my glass spins between my fingers as I roll them together, my mind getting lost in everything that’s happened in the short week since I’ve been back home.
Nothing’s the same—but I wouldn’t have wanted it to be.
With careful moves, Mom sits her drink back on the table and sighs.
“I’ve been asking your father to retire for several years, but he refuses. I think the simple answer to your question is no. He will work until the day he dies. But the more complicated answer is that after Langston—well, after everything—he no longer had anything to throw himself into besides his job. So he uses it as an escape.”
I know she wants that answer to be enough. It’s clear by the set of her shoulders, but it’s not. Maybe these are questions I should be asking my dad, but the reality is, there’s only one parent here right now willing to give answers—and it’s not him. It will probably never be him. So, I’ll take what I can get, even if the answers don’t change anything.
“And what about before, Mom? What was his excuse before? Because it’s not like we saw him much before I left town either.”
There’s another sigh, and it hits me just how tired my mom seems. Gone is the shrewd woman from my memories, and in her place is a parent trying to understand her daughter.
It causes guilt to eat at my stomach. I came back expecting to have the same relationship with my parents as before I left, but I didn’t account for the fact that people change—sitting here having a peaceful lunch with Abigail Harrison is proof of that.
My mom has always been the villain in my story—the one who never understood me—but she’s been different since I’ve been back. And I can’t help but wonder if maybe I was the villain in her story, too.
“I’m sorry, Mom. You don’t have to answer that. How dad chooses to spend his time is not your burden.”
She offers me a half smile. Then the waitress is back, taking our orders, and as we eat our lunch, I vow to make a better effort with the woman sitting in front of me.