Chapter Twenty
Honor
I’m in the middle of trying to figure out what “GYAT” means on Urban Dictionary—which I’ve bookmarked on my favorite’s toolbar at this point—when there’s a soft knock on the door.
I expect to see a six-four right winger taking up the doorway, not my father and Cal, the security guard I say hi to every morning that he’s on shift at the front. “What’s going on?”
The frown on my face is heavy, but not as intense as the one on Dad’s.
Briefly, I wonder if I did something wrong that warrants a talk with security.
I’ve used the rink once or twice when I knew nobody would be around after checking the schedule, but I was told by at least three different people that it was fine.
One of them being the man I share half my DNA with.
I’ve snuck in snacks plenty of times at games because I find concessions to be wildly expensive, and I can’t afford to be stuck in a line when I should be taking pictures.
I’d like to think I’m sneaky about it, but maybe not.
Stomach heavy, I turn in my chair to face them.
Whatever it is, it’s probably a misunderstanding.
I’m a rule follower. A do-gooder to a fault.
The one and only time I was pulled over was for a broken taillight, not for speeding or texting while driving.
I still almost broke down crying when the woman handed me a fix it ticket and told me I had three days to get the problem taken care of and signed off on.
Max didn’t have time to deal with it, so I had to go to a mechanic and spend way more money than necessary to get the light replaced before the deadline.
Nerves bubble under my skin. “Is this because I kicked the vending machine when it ate my money and didn’t give my soda?”
My father’s eyebrows go up. “You kicked the vending machine?”
Cal laughs. “I saw that on camera.”
My foot still hurts from the outburst. “You did?”
“I didn’t know someone so short could hold so much rage,” he muses, smiling at me.
My father, who I have dinner with every Thursday in this very office, sighs when I say, “I am five-foot-three. That’s almost average height for a woman, thank you very much.”
Cal holds his palms up in surrender, still looking amused by the incident.
“This isn’t about the vending machine,” Dad tells me. “Although, don’t do that again. With your luck, you’ll break your foot.”
He’s not wrong. That happened at least three days ago, and I wince every time I step wrong on my toes. “What is it about then?”
The amusement on Cal’s face fades when he remembers why he’s here.
Dad is the one who replies. “Your mother came by the stadium and made a scene when Cal wouldn’t let her through.”
I blink slowly. “Mom is here?” Disbelief coats my words. “Is she here to see you?”
I’ve seen my father uncomfortable in a lot of situations, all pertaining to fatherhood.
We’ve had talks about dating and sex and periods that make him look as unsettled as he is now.
“She was here, and no,” he explains, rubbing the back of his neck.
“She wanted to see you. Apparently, she knows you work here. I’m going to assume you didn’t tell her based on your confusion. ”
I shake my head slowly. “I haven’t spoken to her in…I don’t know how long.” In hindsight, it’s not impossible for her to find out where I’m working. That would just mean she cares enough to get the information, which is shocking in itself. “What did she want?”
Cal speaks up. “She told me she needed to talk to her daughter. When I explained I couldn’t let anyone that didn’t have a pass go through the security checkpoint, she started yelling. I tried to offer getting you, but she didn’t like that idea.”
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Why would she even need to speak to me? She has my number. It hasn’t changed since I got a phone as a teenager, so it isn’t like she can’t reach out if she wanted to.
Then something hits me. “When you say she ‘was’ here, you mean she left?”
Cal and Dad share a look briefly.
“What?” I press, feeling antsy. If Mom came in here and made a scene, God knows where she would go and cause a bigger one.
I’m tempted to ask if she smelled like alcohol or had bloodshot eyes.
That’s her usual look. Disheveled. Frail.
Too skinny for her own good. She could get hurt in the city.
Mugged. Walk into traffic if she’s not paying attention.
Dad comes in and drags a seat over to me, sitting down with a solemn look about him. “She wasn’t listening to reason, so we had to call the cops.”
My eyes bug out. “You had her arrested?” I’m standing now, flinging off his hand that he extends toward me. “Why didn’t you come and get me when she was here? If she wanted to talk to me, I could have calmed her down. It isn’t like I haven’t done it before.”
My father looks taken aback. “What do you mean?”
He’s smarter than that. “We both know how much she liked alcohol. If you think she stopped drinking on the days she had me, you’re wrong. I know how to deescalate situations when she gets a little too high strung. I’ve had plenty of practice.”
Dad frowns, leaning back in his chair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I could tell him the same reason I told Bodhi, but I don’t.
It doesn’t change anything. “I had it handled,” I simply say, shrugging it off.
I can tell he doesn’t like that answer, but I don’t let him comment on it.
“You didn’t need to have the cops come. Mom is…
” I shake my head. She’s not sick. She’s just… Mom.
“They didn’t arrest her,” he finally says, still looking displeased by the information I offered him. “I asked them not to press charges if she left. It took some convincing, but she did. They offered to drive her back to her hotel.”
Relief sinks in, and my squared shoulders ease into their neutral state. “Did she say anything to you, Cal? Anything at all about what she needed to talk to me about?”
He looks apologetic. “Sorry, Honor. She didn’t say much. Whatever it was she wanted seemed to be urgent, but not urgent enough to let me get you. The only reason I called your father was because I didn’t want to put you in the position to deal with someone who seemed so agitated.”
I internally groan. I bet he thinks Mom is where I get my rage from, when in actuality, the vending machine totally deserved it.
I glance at my father. “Did you get her hotel information?”
His eyebrows raise. “Do you want to see her? Because I don’t know if that’s a good idea, kid. The way she was acting doesn’t make me want you to go to a hotel room alone with her.”
I swallow. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve dealt with her at her worst. But what if she has gotten worse? What if she’s into more than alcohol.
Oh God.
What if she’s doing drugs?
“I won’t go alone then,” I promise. He seems skeptical. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea if you come. There’s clearly still tension between you two that won’t help matters any.”
Thankfully, he doesn’t disagree. “Then who?”
I think about it. My options are limited. Mila could go. She’s seen my mom drunk plenty of times, so it wouldn’t be a first. But I don’t know if I want to bring her into it if I don’t need to.
There’s Bodhi, but do I really want him to meet my mother when she’s on who knows what?
It’s a far cry from spending the day with two very sober, very nice people at a pumpkin patch who seemed genuinely happy to meet me.
He’d be getting a disorderly woman who probably won’t be very happy I brought backup.
“Hoffman?” Dad asks, as if reading my mind. “I’d be okay if you brought him. He can hold his own. I know he’d take care of you if you needed it.”
Cal doesn’t seem surprised by the suggestion. Then again, he’s seen Bodhi and I walking around the building together. Never holding hands or making out or doing anything publicly scandalous, but I’m sure there’s gossip.
Although is it gossip if it’s true? I did accept a date with him. It hasn’t happened yet, but that basically means we’re…sort of dating?
A funny feeling rises in my stomach.
“I…” I wince. “I could ask him.”
Dad nods. “You do that. I can give you the hotel information if he can go.”
I gape at him. “Seriously? It’s Mom. She’s never hurt me bef—”
“I’m not taking a chance,” he says firmly, ending any argument that I can come up with.
“I may not have known what she did when you were younger, but I’m sure as hell putting my foot down now.
She’s not going to get the satisfaction of hurting you in any way, shape or form as long as I can help it. Understand?”
He’s never sounded so…fatherly. Protective.
It thaws some of the frost my mother’s appearance coated my heart with. “I don’t want you thinking that she’d physically lay a hand on me or anything. Mom is a lot of things, but she isn’t a monster.”
A small dose of sympathy comes into his features, lasting only a moment or two. “There are more forms of abuse than just physical, Honor. Emotional abuse can do a lot more damage than any visible marks left behind. And I think you know that already, kiddo.”
I look down, not willing to make eye contact with either of them. Something tells me he won’t relent on his conditions, which means I need to ask Bodhi if he can come with me to see my unhinged mother. Lovely.
“Hey, Bodhi. Do you mind stopping by a hotel to see my possibly drunk mother who may or may not cause a giant scene, call me names, and make a fool of herself? Great! Thanks!”
Talk about a mood killer. He’ll probably rescind his offer to take me out after meeting the woman who I look a little too much like.
You’re not her, an inner voice reminds me.
“Cal is going to make sure that she doesn’t come back,” Dad explains to me. “And he’s going to ensure his coworkers know not to let her gain access. I don’t know what she wants or what she’s capable of, but I don’t want her drama in these halls.”