Chapter 51
FIFTY-ONE
Nova
She looks like him.
Only smaller. More petite. Much, much shorter.
And there’s something absolutely fragile about her.
Like the wrong word, the wrong action, the wrong blink of my freaking eyelids, and she would explode or shatter or—
Worse.
“I don’t know why my son didn’t tell me he was dating someone,” she whispers, tears streaking down her cheeks, eyes darting from side to side. “Why wouldn’t he tell me?”
“I—” Her head whips toward me so quickly that the words stick in my throat, and I have to force them out. “We just started dating.”
“And you’re living together?”
I wince.
Steve woofs.
And neither of those two things are helping this situation.
Frankly, this situation probably can’t be helped, considering I walked into Lake’s house and found his mom sitting on the couch that I ordered weeks ago now, Steve warily watching her from the other side of it.
“Well,” I say. “He was nice enough to let me stay for a bit.”
Now her face changes.
In a not nice way.
In a—
“So you’re using my son.”
I freeze, heart suddenly in my throat, and I force a smile. “Can I get you anything? A glass of water? Wine?”
“Offering me hospitality in my son’s house?” she asks archly.
My head goes a little woozy, but I force a smile. This is fine. It’s all fine. Lake has already told me that she’s a handful, that she tries to seek out drama—and finding out her son has a live-in girlfriend is perfect fodder for that.
I just have to buy enough time for Lake to get home and deal with her.
“How about a honey rosemary mule?” I ask brightly instead of turning and running out the door like I want to. “It’s one of my specialties.”
She sniffs. “No, thank you.”
Steve growls.
She gasps, clamping a hand to her chest. “Th-that beast just growled at me.”
Yeah, he did.
Because…instincts. I’m aware that I’m inclined to not like her, solely based on what Lake has told me.
But Steve is not a beast.
He’s just good at reading people.
I move over to him, scooping him up and carrying him back into the kitchen.
It’s late. I’m tired. I want to crawl into bed with Lake and sleep until morning, sleep until I wake up and try this interaction over.
“Steve is friendly,” I say, moving to the cabinets and searching for something that might placate her.
Wine?
Cheese and crackers?
Enough vodka so she passes out.
When in doubt, mules.
Plus, it’ll give me something to do so I don’t run out the door.
Using Lake. Shit.
That was…terrifying and not me. Only…wasn’t it? I’m staying here and—
Stop.
I grab some lemons, start slicing them, wracking my brain for a question that won’t set her off, that won’t have me traversing a landscape of broken glass in bare feet.
“Did you have a nice flight?”
“God no,” she snaps. “Travel is always arduous for me.” A sigh. “Especially when I’m traveling and my son isn’t here to greet me.”
“Oh,” I say, squeezing the juice into a bowl, straining out the seeds. “Did he know you were coming?”
I can’t believe he wouldn’t say anything, but he has been really busy lately, with travel and photoshoots and testing the next version of my mules that I’m creating.
I’m thinking cucumber and raspberry.
But…that’s off topic because Lake’s mom sniffs again. “No.”
“Oh,” I say again. “Okay.”
Right.
I get that, but also—
“Did you think to tell him?”
“Did my son think to tell me he’s got a whore in his house?”
I’m cutting another lemon, and the knife slips, nearly slicing my hand off. Luckily, I jerk it out of the way in time.
But I decide that maybe knives and this conversation shouldn’t mix, so I set it aside, try to broach this strange, landmine-filled gulf with his mom again.
Move forward.
Just keep moving forward.
But even as I’m thinking that, I still feel myself inching toward the road, desperate for escape.
“Maybe I should let you wait up for Lake,” I say.
“Oh, I see,” she snaps, crossing her legs in a jerky movement. “You think you’re too good to talk to me.”
“I can’t do this,” I whisper to the bowl of lemon juice. “I can’t do this.”
I never even had a mom, and I sure as shit am not equipped to deal with one like Lake’s.
There’s no map to navigate this, no app to guide me through.
That road is calling, open and free and uncomplicated and—
Absent of this feeling.
Like I’m fucking up.
Like I’m not doing all I should for Lake.
Like I am using him.
Steve whines, and I look down at him with stinging eyes.
I can’t do this.
I scoop him up, move toward the hall, glad my boots and my coat are in the mud room.
“Hey! Where are you—?”
But I’m already at the door to the garage, already shoving my feet into my boots, already reaching for my coat.
Hooking on Steve’s leash.
And escaping.
Heading for freedom…
And that open road.