by Callie Rose
“Yeah. Well.” She shrugs, her gaze growing a little unfocused as she gets lost in her thoughts. “They talked to that doctor I threatened at Bayard Medical Center. I don’t know how on earth they dug him up.”
I stare at her, wide-eyed. “Mom. Doctor Soudek was incompetent. And he wasn’t listening to you. If you hadn’t yelled at him about changing my course of treatment, I might not be alive right now.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that I threatened to kill him.”
“In the heat of the moment! With your daughter in the middle of cancer treatments! Of course you would get worked up!”
“I know, Harlow.” She touches the glass again. “But that’s the exact point Scott says they’ll make. That I got ‘worked up’ about Iris going after you. That I’m an overprotective mother who would do anything to protect her daughter.”
“Fuck, Mom,” I whisper. “Fuck.”
She doesn’t give me a hard time for my language. She barely even seems to hear me.
Nausea roils my stomach. Did Hollowell know this would happen? Maybe his advice was intentionally bad, designed to set us up for a trap.
That fucking asshole.
“It’s okay, Low,” Mom says softly. “It’s not over till it’s over, right?”
She musters up a weak half-smile, so I try to do the same. She perks up a little as she straightens, and I can tell she’s deliberately changing the subject.
“How are you? How’re classes going?”
Ugh. Not great.
“They’re okay.” I shift a little in my seat. It’s not a lie, but I’m stretching the definition of the word “okay” to its limits.
“And you’re still staying with your friend River? Are you okay for money? Do you need anything?”
She asks the question as if she could provide it if I do, as if she’d do whatever it took to make sure I got whatever I need. But fortunately, without having to pay rent, my expenses are pretty minimal. If it gets desperate, I could always try to get back into a couple of those poker nights the kids from Linwood host, but so far I haven’t put too big a dent in the remainder of Mom’s savings.
“No, everything’s okay, Mom. I’m good. And I’m…” I pause, biting my lip as a million things I want to tell her crash against the walls of my chest. “I’m not staying with River anymore.”
“Oh.” She sits up straighter, worry sharpening her brown eyes. “Where are you staying? Are you with the Black family again? Samuel said you were welcome as long as you wanted.”
“I know he did, but I’m actually—I’m actually staying with Dax and Chase. You might’ve met them at one of Samuel and Audrey’s cocktail parties. Their parents are the Lauders?”
Her eyelids flicker for a second as she sorts through her memories, and then she nods slowly. “I think I remember them. The twins, right? With the brownish-red hair?”
I nod. The two boys really do stand out in a crowd. Their looks would be striking enough on just one of them, but the fact that their gorgeous features are repeated twice over makes it hard to look away.
“And that’s going okay?” Mom presses. “Their parents are okay with it?”
I can tell she hates this. Hates not being able to do normal parenting things like call their folks to make sure it’s all right for me to stay with them. Like know where her daughter is living, for fuck’s sake.
Maybe that’s why I open my mouth and say what I do—because I don’t want my mom to think she’s lost me completely, that she has no idea what’s going on in my life.
“Actually, I’m sort of dating them. Dax and Chase.”
She blinks a few times. I don’t think she’s even quite processed what I mean by that, but I rush on anyway before I lose my nerve. This wasn’t exactly how I planned on telling her, but it’s too late to stop now.
“And Lincoln. And River.”
Now she doesn’t blink. At all.
She stares at me for such a long, loaded moment that my stomach knots and unknots itself over and over as I wait for her to say something.
But she doesn’t. She doesn’t speak a word. I can’t hear anything through the phone’s earpiece but her soft breathing, the only indicator that she hasn’t turned into a statue.
Panic flares in my chest. Fuck. I shouldn’t have told her. What the hell was I thinking? Like this? While she’s in prison? While she has so much else on her plate?
I thought I was doing it for her, but maybe I was doing it for me, being selfish because I miss her so fucking much, because I just wanted my mom back for a few moments.
Desperate to undo the blank stare on her face, I open my mouth and start babbling.
“I know it’s—it’s probably not what you were expecting. Hell, I wasn’t expecting it, but it just happened. I care about them, Mom. A lot. And they’re good to me. They’re good for me. They make me better, stronger. And they love each other so much, being with them makes me feel like I’m part of something good, something unbreakable, that could stand up to anything.”
The words are pouring out of me now, like they’ve been lying in wait for weeks, trapped in my heart with no way out.
“Some people will never get it, and I know it’s different, but it’s not any less real than if I was just with one of them. They all fit me in different ways. Lincoln is so strong, no matter what gets thrown at him. And Chase is like you—he finds the good parts of everything. Dax has the biggest heart, and River is so fucking smart. He sees so much; he sees right through me.”
My heart is bashing against my ribs, and Mom is still gazing at me, a look of something like shock on her face.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. Or maybe I shouldn’t have even told you now. But I’m happy with them. Please don’t hate me, and please don’t tell me I’m wrong. Because it’s not wrong, Mom. I know it. I’m falling in love with them.”
When I finally stop talking, I let out a shuddery breath. It’s done. I can’t take it back. Not the first thing I said, and not any of the things I blurted after.
Mom keeps staring at me, but this time, I don’t fill the silence. I just let it be.
And then, suddenly, her expression cracks. Tears flood down her face, and even though burning disappointment fills my gut, I cry too. Because I never meant to hurt her with my choices, and I hate that I brought this up when there’s a literal wall between us. I shouldn’t have. It was fucking stupid.
Mom’s shoulders shake with sobs, and she drops her head, her free hand pressing against her stomach like it might keep the emotions contained somehow. I sit with her and watch her cry because I can’t fucking hug her like I want to, and I hate it more than I’ve ever hated anything.
When she finally speaks, her voice is a raw, stuttering whisper.
“I’m so scared, Low. I’m so scared I won’t get out of here. Ever.” Another tear slips from her eye, and she reaches up to swipe at her cheek as she pulls herself back together. “I’m terrified of leaving you alone. I think about it sometimes, and it feels like my heart just dies inside my chest, like I can’t breathe, I can’t live.”
My heart clenches, and we both lean toward each other, our faces so close but so distant.
“I hate it,” she says. “I hate that they took me away from you. I hate that you’re out there on your own trying to navigate this insane, messed up world we live in. I want to be there for you, Low.” She smiles sadly at me. “For everything.”
“Me too, Mom.”
My voice is small, and I feel like a little kid in a cancer ward again, leaning on my mother for support when it all becomes too much.
Mom presses her lips together, her nostrils flaring as she draws in a slow breath. Then she presses her hand to the glass, and my hand is moving to meet hers before it even touches the smooth surface. With our palms pressed together, she meets my eyes. Hers are sad and tired and glassy with tears, but they’re still so full of love it makes my chest ache.
“I wish I could be there for you,” she murmurs, her voi
ce falling directly into my ear through the old-fashioned phone receiver. “I wish I could be there with you. But if there are four more people in the world who care about you—that’s a good thing, Low. It’s a good thing.”
The certainty in her voice cracks open my heart, spreading something warm and comforting through my entire body.
I don’t have to choose.
I won’t have to choose between the boys I’m falling in love with and my mother, my best friend.
We keep our hands pressed to the glass, fingers splayed, as we talk in low voices, letting out a whole mess of emotions we’ve both been holding back for too long. And with every word we speak, I feel lighter somehow. As if acknowledging our fears made them a little less terrifying.
“I love you, Mom,” I whisper.
“Love you too, Low. So much. Always.”
When I finally lean away from the partition and stand up to leave, the pane of glass between us seems thinner somehow, and it occurs to me that maybe the plexiglass isn’t the only thing that’s been separating us for the past few months. Maybe it’s been the lies and the secrets too.
There are still some things I can’t tell her, but I resolve that I will.
Someday soon.
My whole body feels exhausted when I walk out of the visiting area and head toward the prison entrance, my muscles shaking slightly like they do after a hard workout.
Dax drove me, and he’s waiting for me at the front. The second he sees my face, his whole body tenses.
“Low? What’s wrong?” His gaze shifts behind me, in the direction I just came from, and he looks like he’d take on anyone—whether it was a prison guard or my own mother—if they hurt me.
“Nothing.” I shake my head, anxious to get out of here.
He shoots me a look like he knows I’m full of shit, but when I say, “It was just mother-daughter stuff,” he lets me leave it at that for now.
Taking my hand possessively, he leads me outside to his car. I can feel him shooting glances at me as I get in the passenger side and he walks around the front of the car to get in behind the wheel, but he doesn’t say anything until we’re halfway home.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” Deciding to keep up my trend of not holding things back from the people I care about, I add, “I told my mom about you guys. About us.”
His brows fly up, and his blue-green eyes shine with curiosity and worry as he cuts his gaze to me. “What’d she say?”
“Well, nothing at first. Then I ranted for a while about how great you guys are, and…” Tears threaten again, but I clear my throat, pushing past them. “She said if four people care out here about me, that’s a good thing.”
He reaches over the center console to take my hand in his, brushing his thumb over the back of my hand.
“I like that.” His gaze slides over to meet mine. “And it’s true, you know. It must’ve been scary as fuck to tell her though.”
“It was.” I let out a breath, then turn to face him. “Did you ever tell your mom? Or your dad?”
Dax scoffs under his breath. “Nah. I mean, they probably know. Unless they’re slowly going blind and haven’t told us. They’ve seen me and Chase with you, and they’ve seen River and Linc with you when they come over. I don’t think any of us are all that subtle about our feelings. But it’s different with our parents. They don’t give a shit. Your mom… cares. So it means more if she approves.”
I hold his hand tighter, clasping it in both of mine. “Yeah. I think she does. I mean, there’s still so much more we have to talk about, but for now, she’s just happy I have people on my side.”
“Good. ’Cause you do.”
I glance down at the hand encased by both of mine. It’s bigger than mine, the palm slightly calloused and the fingernails neatly trimmed. Just like everything else about Dax, there’s a rugged, rough-around-the-edges beauty to it that I love.
Loosening my grip on it, I slip my hand out from his and rest his palm on my thigh instead. Heat spreads outward from the place where he’s touching me, slow and steady and strong, like lava. The radio plays quietly, filling the car with music, but we don’t talk the rest of the way back to the house.
His hand stays were it is though, that single connection between us burning hot as a flare until he pulls up the drive and into the garage.
He turns the car off, and the music dies with the engine.
It’s quiet.
Still.
Neither of us move. We don’t even look at each other. Like we’re both held in suspense, waiting for something.
The sensor on the garage door activates, and it slides closed.
And as if an invisible string has snapped, Dax and I turn toward each other, our lips colliding in a frantic kiss.
17
I don’t know what’s driving Dax, what’s spurring on his desperate movements as he kisses me with bruising force, one hand cupping the side of my face while the other slides farther up my thigh, squeezing and kneading the flesh of my leg through my jeans.
But I know what’s driving me.
Everything I told Mom about these boys back at the prison was true. I said it all to try to comfort her, to make it a little less terrifying to hear that her teenage daughter is dating four guys at once. But in trying to convince her it was okay, I finally admitted to myself how much this connection I have with the kings of Linwood means to me.
These boys were my tormentors once.
Then they became my protectors.
And now they’re so much more than that.
Dax’s hand on my leg reaches the apex of my thighs, and I spill a small noise into his mouth as he finds my clit through my jeans, pressing hard against it and then backing off, making me buck my hips to chase his touch.
I didn’t even take my damn seatbelt off, and as I try to reach for more of him, wanting to wrap my arms around his shoulders and press our bodies together, the strap pulls to its limits and suddenly tightens, halting my movement with a jerk.
Dax chuckles, the sound low and sweet. “Maybe we should get out of here.”
No. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to let go of the incredible sensations sparking to life inside me. But he’s right. We’re not gonna get very far strapped into the front seats of his car.
I nod, still pressing kisses to his full lips. “Yeah.”
He draws back and reaches for my seatbelt buckle, pressing it and tugging on the strap to release me.
The green in his eyes seems even brighter than usual, all but eclipsing the blue, as he unbuckles his own seatbelt and slides out of the car. I watch him walk around the front and let him open my door for me. I’m not the type who usually needs help getting out of a car, but when he extends a hand down to me, I take it. My legs feel a little wobbly as I stand up, and I’m a little lightheaded, as if I’ve got too much oxygen flowing to my brain.
I expect Dax to lead me out of the garage toward the house, but instead, as soon as he slams the passenger door shut, he picks me up and deposits me on the hood of the car.
Thanks to spending the entire winter parked in a garage, there’s no snow on the hood, but the metal is cool on my ass, even through my jeans. The contrast between the cold steel and the heat burning through me makes me gasp, and Dax steps back, cocking his head as he takes in the sight of me perched on his Mercedes.
It’s not like I’m a perfectly tanned bikini model posing tits-up on the hood of a Firebird—I’m dressed in my winter coat, my hair is messy, and my cheeks are flushed from cold and arousal—but Dax looks at me like I’m something even better.
When he steps forward and takes hold of the zipper on my coat, I feel my breath catch against my will. It’s just a fucking coat, for crying out loud, but as he tugs the zipper down, revealing the soft blue sweater I’m wearing underneath, I feel like a present being unwrapped.
I rub my thighs together, doing my best to remain still as he slips his hands inside the jacket, brushing his palms ov
er my breasts as he pushes the thick outer layer out of the way. He tugs it off my shoulders and down my arms, laying it on the hood behind me.
Fuck.
I take off this much when I get home from school. Only my face and hands are bared, everything else still covered with fabric, but I still feel practically naked.
“Dax,” I whisper, reaching for him with desperate hands. “Let me—”
He allows me to pull off his coat, bracing his hands on the hood on either side of me as I work his zipper down, dropping his head to nip at my lips.
When his coat falls to the floor, he stops teasing my lips, swooping in to kiss me with the same desperate ferocity he did in the car. His hands splay across my cheek and jaw, his fingertips sliding into my hair as he leans over me, draping his body over mine as I fall back onto the hood. My feet find purchase on the front bumper, and I press against it to lift my hips, needing him to continue what he started.
To put his fingers back on me. His mouth on me.
When our kiss finally breaks, Dax’s hair is disheveled from my greedy, grasping fingers. His full lips are swollen and flushed, and his eyelids droop with lust. He drops his head again, brushing his nose against the space where my neck and shoulder meet as he draws in a deep lungful of air.
He’s… he’s smelling me.
The thought makes a surge of wetness flood my panties, makes my pussy ache. His own sweet clove scent clings to his Henley and his warm, sculpted body. I close my eyes, letting it drift over me. I don’t know what I smell like to Dax—maybe a little like the pomegranate body wash I love—but I know what I want to smell like.
Him.
I want his skin on mine, his body cradling mine, inside mine, until we’re so fully bound together that his spicy scent seeps into my pores. I want to smell him on me tomorrow, a tangible reminder of this moment right now.
He takes another hit, breathing in once more like I’m his favorite drug in the world, then his tongue flicks out to taste me.
Do I taste the way I smell?
Maybe he likes this even better, because Dax doesn’t stop. The tip of his tongue trails over my collarbone and down the center of my chest until he hits the neckline of my sweater. His hands are already gathering the hem of the fabric, and I arch my back as he pulls it off me in one swift movement.