The Trouble With Love: New York Times Bestselling Author

by Contreras, Claire

  “Of course. Please, come in. Ben, I’ll see you later?” He frowns, looking at his son, his expression clearly dismissing him.

  Bennett stands slowly and walks over to where I am by the door. I keep my eyes on the floor as he nears, unable to meet his gaze. If I do, I’ll break down. I know myself. Despite everything, right now, I want nothing more than to have his arms around me, shielding me from the cruelty of the world, from its harsh realities that seem to drop without warning.

  “You okay?” he whispers.

  I nod, still not looking at him. He seems to get the point and finally walks out and closes the door behind him, leaving emptiness in his wake.

  “Please, sit down,” Mr. Cruz says.

  “Thank you.” I lick my lips, walking up and taking the chair Bennett just cleared. “I’m so sorry to barge in here like this.”

  “Stop apologizing. What do you need? Is it the class?”

  “No. The class is perfect. It’s awesome.” I close my eyes and will myself not to cry. “I know this is awful timing, but I need a few days off. My mom just called and . . .” I gasp for air, but instead of holding back tears, I start to cry with absolutely no warning at all. “She’s an addict. Was an addict. Is an addict,” I say. “I guess once an addict, always an addict, but she’s had her shit together for two years and she just called me and she’s spiraling. I can hear it in her voice and Devon’s wedding is coming up and he has all this crap going on and I don’t want him to worry about this on top of all of that—” I bury my face in my hands. “I know you ask Devon about her but he’s embarrassed to say any of this to people, especially you and Barbara and Bennett, who seem to have the perfect family.”

  “You do what you need to do, Morgan.” Mr. Cruz gets up from his chair and walks around his desk. He places a hand on my shoulder. “Does Bennett know any of this?”

  “He knows some, but not the part about her spiraling. It just happened and I just . . . I need time.”

  “I understand.” Mr. Cruz steps back and looks at me with the most compassionate expression I’ve ever seen. “Listen, you go do what you need to do. I would appreciate it if you let Bennett know about all of this because I know he’ll be worried sick, but I understand if you need a breather before doing that.”

  “Thank you. I’ll take my computer and work remotely for now. I promise I won’t drop the ball.”

  “Morgan, we’ve all been there. Maybe not what you’re dealing with specifically, but we all have families and families bring complications. Take the time you need. If you need anything from me or Barbara, please let us know.”

  “I will. Thank you so much.” I start to cry again. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I’ve never had people who seem to genuinely care like this. I mean, aside from Devon.”

  “Well, you do now. I’ll tell you the same thing I told your brother when I first met him: you’re family now. No matter what. No matter what happens between you and my son, you’ll always be family. I mean that.”

  Somehow, I manage to smile, and I force myself to walk out of his office before I completely lose it and start bawling again. I grab my laptop, my purse, and walk out.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  I have the driver drop me off at the address my mom sent me and stand outside of the gate for a full minute before ringing the bell. It’s the kind of mansion that looks like it could be featured on Million Dollar Homes, with iron gates, a circular driveway, and a fountain with an angel shooting water out of his trumpet. This is definitely not the kind of man Mom usually goes for. I assume he’s old and boring, because if he’s not, I don’t think he’d be with Mom. I take a deep breath and push the doorbell. A light flickers above the bell, a camera. I do a little wave and the gates go into motion, creaking gently as they open up toward the house. Hiking my bag on my shoulder, I make the trek to the front door, which I can tell from here is massive and much like the gate, covered in ornate gold that weaves into what looks like two doves. Either this Rodney guy bought the house from the pope or he’s extremely religious. By the time I reach the front door, it’s opened for me. A man stands on the other side with a kind smile and kind eyes, but he’s definitely too old for Mom, and dressed in a butler’s outfit.

  “Your mother is in her bedroom,” he says as he holds the door open. “I’m Ramses.”

  “Nice to meet you.” I walk inside and stand in the middle of the lavish entryway. Devon and Nora have a pretty nice house in Boston, but this is unlike anything I’ve ever seen in person, with a double staircase that curves on either side of where I stand.

  “This way,” Ramses says. I follow along quickly, taking the stairs behind him. We come to a stop in front of a large glossy wooden door, and he knocks. “Ms. Tucker, your daughter is here.” He turns back to me. “She won’t open the door for any of us. She has asked only for you or Sir Rodney, but he won’t be back in until tomorrow evening.”

  “I’ll be needing to take her away,” I say quietly. “I don’t have a car, but—”

  “Sir Rodney would like you to take one of his. I’ll have it out front when you’re ready. The missus doesn’t want to accept his money, but he will have nothing of it. He insists on paying for any treatment she may need for as long as she needs it,” he says, lowering his voice. “Sir Rodney lost his wife five years ago to addiction. As a recovering addict himself, he knows how difficult this is and he genuinely cares for your mother.”

  I nod slowly, everything becoming a little clearer now. I glance back at the door and wait for Ramses to leave before turning the knob and pushing it open slightly. The room is cloaked in darkness, despite it still being daylight outside. I walk forward.

  “Mom?”

  “Morgan.” Her voice breaks upon saying my name. “You came.”

  “I told you I would.” I walk over to the foot of the bed in the center. Even this looks like it belongs in Versailles. “You . . . how did you . . . how have you been holding up?”

  “I’m okay,” she says, her voice soft. “I haven’t used. My sponsor was on the phone with me for two hours. I feel a little settled.”

  I walk over to the windows and pull the curtains open, squinting at the blinding light that floods the room. Turning around, I catch the first real glimpse of my mother and can’t help but gasp. She looks like hell. Her eyes are puffy and red, her hair is messy, she has no makeup on, which wouldn’t normally matter if it weren’t for the state she’s in. Despite the hell she’s put me through, it breaks my heart to see her this way. I expect my anger to kick in, the way it often does, but it never comes. Maybe it’s because I’ve grown up. When I was a teenager and she hit rock-bottom, as she calls it, I was scared and alone and confused and angry because parents weren’t supposed to leave their children to fend for themselves. Now that I’ve lived a little more, met different people, experienced life a little deeper, I see this entire situation differently. My mother looks small and fragile, like a child. Her eyes are wary as I make my way to her, sitting down beside her on the edge of the bed. While I was still living at home, Mom tried to seek help three times and wasn’t able to remain sober. Each time she fell back into it was linked to some kind of trigger—her on-and-off boyfriend leaving a final time, Devon leaving for school, and me being accepted into an out-of-state university. When I finally did leave, I visited often so she’d see that I wasn’t abandoning her, and that was when I found out she’d been sleeping with the only guy I allowed myself to open up to. Being back here now, under these circumstances, brings back all of those memories. I try to push them away, to not give into the pain building inside me, but it’s impossible.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I whisper. “You were doing well.”

  “After I saw you that night, I started thinking about what you said, and I don’t know.” She shrugs a slim shoulder. “You wrote me off. Your own mother. I started thinking about all of the things I’ve done throughout the years—the things I remember anyway—the things I’ve been told I’ve said and done, and I’m n
ot okay.” Her voice breaks. She blinks, letting tears trickle down her cheeks. “I’m not okay, Morgan. I thought I was. I met this amazing man who’s willing to stand by me, who’s welcomed me into his house without second thought, but I lost my family. I lost my baby girl. I’m losing my son soon.”

  It occurs to me that everything I felt during Devon’s bachelor party wasn’t dissimilar to what my mother may be feeling right now. I put my hand over hers. It’s the first time I’ve had any physical contact with my mother in as long as I can remember. Vada Adams was never a physical person, not in love nor in discipline. It’s a wonder my brother has always been so affectionate. It’s a wonder I welcome it as well as I do. She lets out a strangled sob, her shoulders shaking as she holds my hand back in a tight grip.

  “I’m so sorry for everything,” she whispers.

  I look down at our hands, because what else can I do? Despite my being here, I’m not sure I’m any closer to forgiving her than I was the last time I saw her. I’d like to say I’m a big person who can forgive and move on, but I’m not. I think about Bennett and how much it still hurts when I imagine playing a part in the demise of his marriage and my lip begins to quiver.

  “Let’s pack your bags. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.” I let go of her hand and stand up. “Where are your clothes? The closet?”

  “Yes,” she says. I walk in that direction and switch the lights on.

  “Holy shit.” My mouth drops as I take in the entirety of the closet. “This is the size of my bedroom.”

  “Rodney designed it.”

  “He’s very . . . extra.” I cringe the minute the words leave my mouth. What if he records the conversations in his house? “What does he do anyway?”

  “He owns a successful production company.”

  “Oh. Wow. Must be really successful,” I muse as I go through her things. She has more clothes here than I could ever dream of owning. I search for loungewear, which for my mother means gym clothes. She doesn’t really believe in lounging comfortably.

  “He’s also a philanthropist. He’s in Venezuela right now helping people get out.”

  “How did you guys meet?” I ask, because let’s be honest, how would a successful producer who happens to also be a philanthropist end up with a woman who runs her own prostitution company?

  “Philanthropic producers also like to fuck, you know.”

  “I know, but I wouldn’t think he’d keep you around.” I glance up to see her walking into the closet. “No offense.”

  “None taken.” She smiles, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. She looks so tired, so sad. “Truth is, sometimes two people from entirely different worlds meet and just click, and that’s what happened with us. We met in a casino and started talking and much to my dismay, he didn’t try to take me back to his room. He bought me dinner instead.”

  “Why didn’t you go with him on his trip?”

  “No passport.” She shrugs.

  That doesn’t surprise me. The only reason I have a passport is because my friends and I went to Mexico for spring break in college. Otherwise, I still wouldn’t have one. Mom helps me pack the rest of her things in silence. She falls asleep easily and I decide to slip out of her room when I feel like it’s safe to. I feel exhausted, but I know there’s no way I’ll get any rest tonight. Instead of sleeping, I open my computer and start working on some of the things Mr. Cruz and I spoke about during our meeting, mostly jotting down ideas for apps and things social media should take a look at once we start this campaign.

  The following morning, Ramses helps us put our things in the car. As I get into the driver’s seat, it hits me that this is definitely the most luxurious car I have ever driven. I’ll probably only be comfortable driving it at turtle-speed because a scratch on this baby will probably cost what I make in a year. Ramses comes around to the driver’s seat. I lower my window.

  “Sir Rodney will fly directly to Los Angeles.”

  “So I leave the car there? At the facility?”

  “That’ll do,” he says. “Sir Rodney knows the owner. It won’t be a problem.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Thanks, Ramses. It was nice to meet you.”

  He smiles. “Likewise. Maybe we’ll see you again around here.”

  I smile back but don’t respond. I can’t imagine ever coming back here. When I start the car, the radio is set to a Christian station.

  “He’s very religious,” I say as I drive out of the gates.

  “He’s not religious. He believes in the Word. There’s a difference.”

  “If you say so.”

  I’m not going to sit here and argue religion when I’m driving my mother to rehab. Besides, the music is catchy and soothing.

  “You didn’t tell your brother you were coming,” Mom says.

  “He’s getting married in less than a week. I didn’t think it would be fair to drag him into this. As it is, he doesn’t even want my boyfriend to try to get back together with me until after the wedding because he doesn’t want the vibe to be less than perfect.”

  Mom snorts. “He should start burning sage in the morning.”

  I glance over. “Are you kidding? Nora does that every morning, and now he does too.”

  Mom laughs, shaking her head, then stops laughing suddenly and starts crying. The amount of emotions she experiences within the minute is jarring. I turn the music a little louder in hopes that it soothes her, but all it seems to do is make her cry harder.

  “I’m a total screwup,” she says. “How did I go from having a good bank teller job to this?”

  “Mom, I know you’re having a moment right now, but we’re literally driving a two-hundred-thousand-dollar car right now. You live in a mansion and your boyfriend wants to be there for you. He wants you to count on him. I think you’re doing okay.”

  “I don’t have you. Your brother is starting his own family now. He already doesn’t call much. Once they start having kids I’ll probably never hear from him.”

  “I’m trying to be nice, but honestly, we didn’t exactly grow up in a great family environment.”

  “I know,” she wails. “And that’s my fault.”

  I bite my lip. I can’t really argue that.

  “Do you think you’ll ever forgive me? For Justin?”

  I take a deep breath and let it out. “I don’t know.”

  After that, she’s quiet. Somewhere in the four-hour drive, she falls asleep and stays asleep. My phone starts to buzz, but I ignore it. I’m too paranoid, driving this expensive car, to even attempt a phone conversation right now. Especially if it’s Devon.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  I stop to put in gas, end up having to Google how to do it, and book a hotel in Los Angeles on my phone while I’m at it. I also look at my missed calls and see one from Bennett. My first thought is: Great, his dad told him what happened. My second is: Oh, shit, I hope he didn’t call Devon. Either way, he called two hours ago, which means it’s too late to worry about either.

  By the time we reach Los Angeles, it’s past lunch and I’m starving, but I refuse to stop until I get to the treatment facility. When I do, I wake up my mom and grab her bag. She starts crying again and maybe it’s because I’m tired or because I’ve heard her crying on and off since I got her phone call, but I can’t wait to get inside and drop her off. She sits beside me as I fill out papers, her knee bouncing the entire time.

  “You did the right thing,” I tell her. “You didn’t cave.”

  “But I would have.”

  “But you didn’t.” I glance over and meet her gaze. Her eyes look haunted, as if she’s barely there.

  “I still want to.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing we’re here, then.”

  I go back to the papers in front of me. They call her name. We both stand up. I grab her bag and walk alongside her toward the nurse, who leads us to an office and tells us the doctor will be right in. We take a seat. Mom is still shaking. I stop writing notes on the admittance pap
ers and look at her.

  “Mom, are you sure you did not take anything?”

  She shakes her head, but I’m starting to doubt my own ability to read whether or not she’s high. Maybe I’ve been away from this too long and somehow forgot? The door opens and a lady about Mom’s age, wearing a comforting smile and lab coat, walks inside.

  “I’m Dr. Pierce. You must be Vada Adams,” she says, looking at Mom. “We got a call from Rodney earlier about your arrival.”

  Mom shoots her a distrusting look. “How do you know Rodney?”

  “He’s been here once or twice.”

  “Did you fuck him?”

  “Mom.” My eyes widen. I hold back on reminding her she slept with her own daughter’s boyfriend even though it’s on the tip of my tongue.

  She looks at me. “He’s a very handsome man.”

  “I was his doctor, Ms. Adams,” Dr. Pierce says, taking a seat behind her desk. “I can assure you we keep things professional in this facility.”

  “She’s been here before,” I say.

  “Oh.” Dr. Pierce raises her eyebrows. She opens up the chart in her hand. “How long has it been? Two years?”

  “One year and nine months,” Mom says.

  “And you have not used,” Dr. Pierce says, glancing at me for confirmation.

  “She says she hasn’t. She called me yesterday, but this is the soonest I was able to bring her,” I explain. “I don’t know if she used.”

  “I didn’t,” Mom says loudly. “I told you I didn’t.”

  I sigh.

  “Since she’s been here before, I’m assuming you’re familiar with our schedule and visitation,” Dr. Pierce says. “We like to wait a week before allowing visitors to come back. During that week, she’ll be in therapy and detox.”

  “I live three thousand miles away. It’s kind of difficult for me to visit.”

  “You’re not coming back?” Mom asks, her eyes filling with tears. “You’re just going to leave me here?”

  “You need to get better.”