Page 109 of Twisted Control

34

GRACE

The next morning, I wake up in Mom’s spare bedroom, sunlight filtering weakly through thin curtains. For one disorienting second I think I’m dreaming. Then yesterday crashes over me all at once. Dad throwing me out, the endless walk in those stupid heels, the fact that my boyfriend’s a hitman, and the moment I learned my mother never actually left Alton Hills.

The whole story still feels surreal.

When she walked out on Dad, he cut her off. But her golden boy, Finn, has been quietly paying her rent and covering her bills this entire time. All while pretending to both Dad and me that he had no idea where she was.

He let me believe she was halfway across the world, living some glamorous exile, happy to be rid of me after the awful things I said. Mom tried to defend him, of course—saying she’s sure his intentions were pure. But she also admitted he told her I wanted nothing to do with her. And, get this, he changed my number in her phone. To her, it looked like I’d been ignoring every message and call. I’m willing to bet he did the same to hers in mine.

That asshole.

Mom’s full of excuses for him though. I gave up trying to tell her how evil he really is. And this is evil—separating me from my own mother for an entire year.

I pull on the clean clothes Mom lent me. Soft sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt. The sweatpants are comically short on me; Mom’s only five-foot-two, so they barely reach mid-calf. But they’re warm, and they smell like her, so I don’t care.

I head to the kitchen.

We didn’t get through much last night. I was so exhausted I was falling asleep on her couch mid-sentence. I haven’t even told her why I’m here.

She’s standing by the coffee pot, humming quietly to herself. When she hears me, she turns with a warm smile.

“Did you sleep okay?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I slide into a chair at her small, creaky dining table. She pours me a mug and joins me, wrapping both hands around her own cup.

I study her for a moment. She looks so different now. There’s so much we didn’t get to say yesterday. So many questions.

I don’t know where to start, so I ask the first thing on my mind.

“Why are you living like this?” I gesture around the modest little kitchen with its worn counters and slightly crooked blinds.

Mom tilts her head, studying me with that gentle, knowing look only mothers seem to have.

“Finn offered me a penthouse,” she says softly. “But this is the kind of house I grew up in. It feels like home.”

I glance around the small, slightly shabby kitchen and find it hard to believe anyone would choose this over a penthouse. But there’s something warm and peaceful about it, I suppose.

“I’m so sorry for what I said,” I start, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“It’s alright,” she says immediately.

“I really regret it,” I continue, my voice cracking a little. “I didn’t understand. But I do now. I really, really do.”

She just smiles at me. It’s such a warm, forgiving expression that it makes my eyes sting.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asks.

I take a shaky breath and twist my fingers together in my lap. And then, I tell her everything. Meeting Drew at The Patriot. Dad hiring him as my bodyguard. Charles. The little moments where falling in love with Drew started to feel inevitable.

I tell her how safe he made me feel. How calm everything in my head became when he was around. How I genuinely thought he might be the best thing that had ever happened to me.

Mom listens quietly the entire time. There’s this small smile on her face while I talk, like she understands far more than I’m saying out loud. Which only makes the next part harder.

I pause, staring down at my hands.

“I was going to leave with him,” I admit quietly. “But then Dad told me what Drew actually does.”