by Kate Stewart
But of course she doesn’t offer a touch or a word. She doesn’t know I need it, and if she knew, I’m not sure she would care.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Grip
I’VE BEEN IN the LA County jail all night and most of the morning, but this is the first time I’ve felt truly caged. I prowl the tiny visiting room like a starved beast. And I’m so hungry. I need to feel my sharp teeth tear into Charles Parker’s skin. I want to eat him alive and spit out his bones for putting Bristol in this position. There has to be another way, something I’m not considering.
Like a dark shadow, Corpse looms in my brain. I wanted options for desperate situations. Am I willing to go that far? I can’t even allow myself to imagine what I’ll feel if Bristol goes through with this. She thinks she has no limits? I’m not sure of mine anymore. Fury blots out everything else. I clutch my head, pacing from the table to the wall, back and forth, the problem winding around my brain like a serpent. Looping, coiling, poised to strike. I bang my head against the wall, impervious to the pain. I’m just praying the blow will jolt me; show me a way out of this.
“I always said you were hard-headed.”
My mother closes the door behind her. She crosses over to me quickly and wraps her arms around me, collapsing and sniffing against my chest. She’s the toughest woman I know and only has one weak spot.
Me.
This is the first time we’ve seen each other since the fiasco of Sunday dinner. This shit situation has hurdled any awkwardness between us. She knows I need her, and any differences we have we set aside at least for now.
“Are you okay?” She explores my arms and shoulders. “Did they hurt you?”
“Ma, this ain’t exactly Letter from Birmingham Jail.” I manage a weak chuckle. “The guards have been getting my autograph and taking selfies. They asked me to freestyle at breakfast. I’m good.”
“Good?” She rears back, running disparaging eyes over LA County’s standard issue blue scrubs. “This ain’t good, Marlon. I never thought I would see you here. Not you.”
“And I haven’t done anything to be here, so I’ll be out before you know it,” I tell her with more confidence than makes sense.
“You know I didn’t do this, right?” I dip to catch her eyes, not thinking I would even have to defend myself. Not to her. “Somebody set me up.”
“I heard.” Her glare is a laser cutting through any secrets I would keep from her. “I saw Bristol in the hall.”
I close off my expression. I can’t hear any shit she would say about the woman willing to sacrifice her dignity, her body, pieces of her soul to get me out of here. I would literally rot in here to keep Bristol from doing what that monster wants her to do. I can’t even wrap my brain around the money and power at Parker’s disposal. Abuses like these, he’s probably been inflicting his whole life.
When I get out of here, however it happens, I’ll make sure he regrets this one.
“She told me this is her fault.” Ma’s disapproval is palpable.
“It isn’t her fault,” I say impatiently.
“I know it isn’t the best time to bring it up,” she says, her elevated brows indicating it must be said. “But if you had stayed with Qwest, this wouldn’t be happening.”
“I don’t love Qwest, Ma.” I blow out a weary breath. “And I don’t need this right now.”
“You didn’t give her a chance. You could have—”
“I fell in love with Bristol years ago,” I break in. “In a week. Did you know that?”
I grasp her hands and press them to my heart. “She’s here, Ma. In my heart. In my head. I can’t get rid of her.”
I shake my head, a sad smile on my lips.
“I don’t want to. I want to spend the rest of my life feeling this way, like I’m only half alive when she isn’t here. There’s nowhere she could go I wouldn’t chase her. Have you ever felt that for anybody?”
Shock rounds my mother’s eyes, and her fingers tremble against my chest.
“No,” she whispers, her eyes searching my face. “I don’t think most people ever do.”
“It’s painful.” A hefty sigh heaves from my chest. “It’s precious, though. I won’t give it up.”
Pain tears my heart in half as I look at the woman who, on more than one occasion, went hungry sitting across the table making sure I ate—who literally went without so I could have.
“I won’t give her up for anyone.” I lean to kiss her forehead. “Not even you.”
“I only wanted . . . I only want what’s best for you.” Her bottom lip trembles, but she traps it in her teeth, eyes to the concrete floor. “A woman who knows how to fight. Who will stand with you and understands you. Who would do anything for you.”
The irony of it runs me through like a sword.
“You always said you prayed I’d find someone just like you. As fierce as you, ride or die like you, as strong as you.” I shake my head, rubbing her fingers between mine. “You don’t realize your prayers were answered, exceeded. Why do you think I fell for her? Bristol’s just like you. Don’t miss that because she doesn’t look it on the outside.”
“I can’t make myself want her for you, Marlon.” She doesn’t waste tears, but her eyes are sad. “I’ve always had this idea of who she’d be, and a debutante from New York isn’t what I was expecting. I guess we mothers always have expectations. We always assume we know exactly what to do in every situation.”
“Well, most of the times, mothers do . . .”
My words open up a path in my mind I hadn’t seen before. Dammit. I’m an idiot. Why am I just now considering this?
“Ma, I need you to do something for me. Someone I need you to call right away.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Bristol
WHAT DOES ONE pack for a trip like this? Will it really matter? The whole world will end up seeing my ass on Parker’s upper deck off the Amalfi Coast.
I hold the pantsuit I bought at Fashion Week last year up to my chest. I’m not sure that Alexander McQueen’s fall line is fitting for what amounts to rape and ignominy.
“Needs must when the devil drives,” I mutter, tossing the grandma period panties that cover my whole butt into the pile. I’m not wasting my good lingerie on Parker’s sorry ass. As long as my things are on the bed and not in the overnight bag, it’s easier to pretend this isn’t happening. That I’m not going anywhere.
The doorbell startles me since Parker isn’t due for another hour and a half. I’ve been relishing every minute I have before he comes to get me. I peer through the small window of my cottage door.
“Mother.” I stand there staring at her. She’s been to my home exactly once since I moved into the cottage last year. After our fight the other night, I wasn’t expecting her to darken my door anytime soon. “Is someone dead or giving birth?”
She walks past me, not waiting for an invitation.
“Don’t be vulgar, Bristol.” Mother’s eyes trace over the warm simplicity of my living room. I can’t imagine where she would find fault in the understated elegance, but then she never ceases to astound with her innovative ways to find fault.
“I didn’t realize death or birth were vulgar. My apologies.” I gesture for her to sit, but I remain standing. “What can I do for you? I thought we said all we had to say the last time we saw each other. I don’t have much time to spare.”
“Packing for your trip, are you?” Mother’s eyes heap disdain on my head. “Speaking of vulgar.”
My breath hovers in my throat, drawn but not released. How does she know? I mean, soon everyone will know, but I was clinging to my last days of dignity.
“Trip?” I choose to play dumb, but I’ve never been good at pretending to be anything but intelligent.
“Oh, God, Bristol.” Mother sets her Celine bag on the couch beside her. “From what I understand, we don’t have much time, so dispense with the games. What time will Parker arrive?”
I blink at her, disoriented like I�
��m an actor in the wrong play. I flounder for my line and wonder who this character is in front of me.
“Mother, what are you talking about?” I perch on the edge of the love seat across from her.
“Marlon’s mother called me and told me everything, so let’s figure out how to save you.”
“Ms. James?” It could be no worse than Grip’s mother knowing this about me. Knowing that her son’s girlfriend, whom she already dislikes, will be bartering her body for all the world to see. “She knows . . . she called . . . what’s going on?”
“Bristol, do keep up.” Impatience wrinkles my mother’s smooth brow. “Marlon asked his mother to call me about your predicament. Wisely, I might add. How could you even consider such nonsense? I raised you better than that.”
With everything else I’ve had to endure the last twenty-four hours, my mother’s selective memory is more than I can withstand right now.
“Actually nannies were primarily responsible for my upbringing, if you’ll recall, since you were managing Rhyson all over the world and couldn’t be bothered to actually parent.”
The temperature in the room drops so drastically, my words crystallize in the air as soon as they leave my mouth.
“Maybe I should have been more involved if you think this is acceptable behavior.” Mother tsks and studies her wedding rings. “Debasing yourself this way for a man.”
Laughter stirs in my belly and spills over, shaking my shoulders. I throw my head back and howl with it. I may be hysterical, but she is absolutely blind if she can say that to me with a straight face.
“The joke?” Mother asks with quiet dignity. “Please share it.”
“You accused me of debasing myself for a man.” My laughter does a slow leak until it’s all spent, leaving me hollow and insulted. “At least I know the man I debase myself for is worth every minute of it. I’d debase myself for Grip every day if I had to. And the man you’ve been debasing yourself for the last thirty-odd years? Is he worth it?”
Mother’s hostile eyes narrow on my face. Her hands clench into slim, beringed fists.
“You have no idea what my marriage is, what your father and I have.”
“Don’t you think I got an inkling when I caught him fucking a girl my age in our house? In your bed, and you did nothing but get drunk and cry about it?”
“How dare you.” Mother snaps to her feet. “I came here to help you.”
“Help yourself, Mother.” I stand, too, needing to be on level ground with her. “Do you know how much time I wasted trying to please you? Trying to be you? Trying not to be you? You were such a contradiction, I wasn’t sure if I should emulate you or eradicate you from my nature.”
“Only you can’t, can you?” Her eyes are solemn. “You think I wanted to fall in love with a man who cared so little for my feelings?”
Her bitter laugh echoes in the empty living room.
“It doesn’t pay to love, Bristol. I had hoped you learned that lesson from me with your father. With your brother.”
“Is that what happened?” I blink against tears that have nothing to do with Parker and everything to do with my mother standing in front of me telling me not to love. “You gave all your love to them and there was none left for me? They were worth the risk and I wasn’t?”
“What in heaven’s name are you talking about?” Mother frowns but takes her seat again by the Celine bag. “I guided you as much as you would let me.”
“I didn’t want to be guided, Mother. I wanted to be loved, but there was always a distance. You would only allow me so close.”
“That was for your own good. You were already too much like me.”
“It doesn’t have to be a weakness, you know,” I say softly. “With the right people, with the right man, love rewards hearts like ours.”
“Oh, so it’s strength that has you ready to fuck Charles Parker?” Mother asks, the crudity so at odds with her refined appearance. “Is that your reward?”
“No, Grip is my reward,” I volley back without hesitation. “For him, I’ll do whatever needs to be done.”
I look down at my bare feet sunken into the plush rug covering my hardwoods.
“I love him. He loves me. You do crazy things for the ones you love sometimes. You accept things you thought you never would. You know that better than most.”
Mother studies me appraisingly for a few moments before speaking.
“I do know.” She twists her wedding band. “It’s liberating knowing there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him, to keep him. And it can also be a dark lonely trap, with love as your prison cell.”
“Not for me,” I say softly. “Not with Grip. It’s taken me years to realize that I’m like you, but I’m not you. And Grip is nothing like my father. I almost lost him running away from this kind of love, but it’s giving me the strength to do what has to be done.”
“Let me tell you something about your father, Bristol.” Usually I’m not even sure if my mother is breathing she’s so serene, but today she draws a deep breath. “I don’t talk about my marriage. Not with anyone.”
This I know. I fasten my eyes to her lips like I might miss something and need to catch every word.
“I know what you saw that day.” She looks down at her lap and licks her lips, the only sign of discomfort she allows. “It wasn’t the first time, and I wish I could say it was the last. Do you remember when your father had his heart attack?”
I nod. We thought he would die. It was the impetus for Rhyson and my father to start repairing their relationship.
“I said I was away on a business trip,” Mother says. “But I was actually leaving your father.”
Mind. Blown.
And like a child the only thing I can think is I can’t wait to tell Rhyson.
“Yes.” She nods, a regal movement that barely disturbs her hair. “I’d had enough, and thought I could finally do it. I could leave him. I can not love him just enough to go.”
My cottage is quiet, like even the furnishings, the walls, the bulbs hold the same bated breath as I do waiting for her next words.
“When I got the call that he’d had the heart attack.” Mother pinches her lips together and blinks rapidly. “I knew I’d never leave him. It was like fate or some force didn’t want me to go.”
She looks at me frankly, her eyes as vulnerable as I’ve ever seen. As unguarded as mine when I’m alone.
“Things changed between us after that. Slowly, but they changed.”
My father had a difficult recovery, but my mother stayed with him throughout.
“When he told me he was working on things with Rhyson and wanted to move out here, I jumped at the chance.” Her knuckles whiten through her skin as she clutches the expensive handbag. “I thought maybe I can finally have my husband back.”
She swallows.
“My children.”
Shock skitters over my nerves and short circuits my synapses.
Say what?
“When we started therapy sessions with Rhyson, we also started counseling for our marriage.” Her laugh is truncated. “Can you imagine it? After thirty years? But we are trying.”
“I had no idea, Mother.”
“Why would you?” Mother’s haughtiness snaps back into place. “It’s private between your father and me. I didn’t run to you every time he cheated, so I’m certainly not running to you now that he’s trying not to.”
“So you’re in family therapy with Rhyson and marriage counseling with Dad, making things right with them, but didn’t bother with me.”
I will never figure out how not to be hurt by this woman. It’s like some claw dug into my heart in vitro, and I don’t know how to free myself from feeling anything for her.
“We have brunch,” she says defensively.
“Brunch?” My voice pitches to the ceiling with my outrage. “You mean those regular intervals when you find new and inventive ways to criticize me over vodka and a meal? Oh, very healing, Mother.”
“It’s different with you, Bristol. You’re . . . you’re all the best parts of me,” she says softly. “The tender parts, the tough parts, the smart and fighting parts. I’ve damaged you enough, and I don’t know how to fix it between us.”
“Well, manipulating me into marrying a tyrannical pervert isn’t best place to start, if you’re taking suggestions.”
“I just . . . I don’t know. I thought you could have all of that. That everyone wants all of that on some level. I didn’t want you to turn it down.”
“Maybe if I hadn’t met Grip I would have settled for that.” I shake my head, fresh tears burning my eyes as time disintegrates, and the time to go with Parker approaches. “I love him, Mother. You saw that even though I tried to hide it.”
“I recognized the signs, yes,” Mother says, a wry twist to her lips. “You were just like me when I met your father. I tried to hide it, too.”
“Is that why you didn’t want me with Grip?” I ask softly.
“Maybe in part.” Mother shrugs elegant shoulders, turning clear eyes to me, or as clear as hers can be. “At any rate, he must love you to come to me after our confrontation the other night.”
“He loves me very much.” Just saying the words and believing them thaws some of the ice collecting around my heart.
“If you love him, then don’t give yourself to Parker, and in such an undignified way.” The distaste in her voice matches or exceeds the distaste on her face.
“I can’t just stand by and watch . . .” My words drown in my guilt. “Grip’s there because of me. His life, his career, his good name—all on the line because of me.”