No matter what happened, I would lose.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Sonya
“You know I’ve never held a baby before Ella, don’t you?”
Trish thrust her child into my reluctant arms as she bawled her head off. Sam barked along with her. He probably shouldn’t have been in the kitchen, but he panicked when I was too far out of his sight.
“Do we have earplugs anywhere?” I cringed. “This kid can be heard all the way in California. A friend of mine just called and confirmed it.”
Trish laughed. “She likes you.”
“You sure about that? It doesn’t seem like it.” I rocked Ella back and forth. “She tells that to everybody, doesn’t she?” She stopped crying for one second and actually did some sort of baby version of a giggle. Sam stopped barking. Then she went right back to it, wailing louder than ever. He looked at me like I should do something. What? I mouthed, completely out of my depth.
“No, I don’t,” Trish said defensively, oil from the pan popping as she sautéed a chicken breast. “Crap,” she said as it splattered on her T-shirt.
“When’s that going to be ready? I’m starving. I’ve barely been here a week, and I think I’ve put on five pounds.”
“Thanks for being my taste tester.” Trish’s enthusiasm for her food truck was infectious. I’d found myself eager to help her . . . which was new territory for me. But it wasn’t so bad.
I pinched the side of my stomach, a little flab between my fingers. “This is your fault,” I said accusingly over Ella’s cries. “Seriously, little lady; I know you want to be heard, but no one is going to like you if you scream all the time.” I didn’t mean a word of it. The crying was annoying, but I liked this baby better than any others I knew. Not that I knew any others.
“Mommy will always love you, baby girl.” Trish came over and kissed her child on the forehead.
“Not if you keep screaming,” I whispered.
“No matter what you do,” Trish assured her daughter.
“Is it really like that?” I asked, resting my rear against the counter as I tried to get Ella to settle.
“Is what like what?” Trish turned the chicken breasts. My mouth watered at the sight of the browning meat.
“Do moms really love their children unconditionally?” Ella stopped crying, as if she were as desperate to know the answer as I was. Trish’s eyes held more sympathy than I was prepared to face, as though she knew exactly why I was asking.
“I think so. I mean, I can’t speak for all mothers, but I can’t imagine Ella doing anything that would make me love her less. That’s not to say I wouldn’t be disappointed in her, but I can’t stop loving her. I just can’t.”
I swallowed hard, thinking about my own mother. She thought I worked on Wall Street for a prestigious firm and made a good, honest living. She bragged to all her friends about it, which prompted me to tell more lies. I wanted to give her the image she desired. Let her know she’d done a good job as a mother. That I was a daughter to be proud of. She had been a terrific mother. I was the one who was flawed. I couldn’t let her take the blame for my shortcomings, not when they weren’t her fault.
How could I keep secrets from someone who meant so much to me? She and my father had a decent marriage. It would do no good to tell her what he’d done and potentially destroy that. I didn’t hold it against him too much, but she would. There was no changing the past. And in this weird way, my life was as it should be. What would I be doing if I hadn’t fallen into this line of work? I’d only gotten my degree in architecture so I could join the family business. I had no interest in it otherwise.
I honored my mother by being anyone I wanted to be. Because I’d listened to her advice.
“Ella’s lucky to have you.”
Trish focused on cooking, as if she wasn’t used to compliments. “The privilege is all mine. You’ll see what I mean one day.”
I shook my head vehemently. “No way.”
“Don’t close the door on any possibilities. If I had, I wouldn’t be standing here, living my dreams.”
The woman was in a shelter for abused women, but she was the poster child for making lemonade out of lemons. I admired her strength, her ability as a mother. If I wanted something different for my life, I’d have to be like Trish.
“Sonya, may I see you in my office?” Mrs. Quinn broke in. She looked serious.
The back of my neck tingled, and I grabbed it in a nervous gesture before smiling brightly. “Of course. Let me finish up here with Trish.”
“Now.”
Well, hell. This couldn’t be good.
I placed Ella gently back in her bassinet. My lips found her forehead. “You trust your mommy. She’s a good lady,” I whispered.
* * *
Mrs. Quinn marched ahead of me up to her second-floor office. I respected her. She was here for one reason only: the women and kids who came here because they had nowhere else to turn. She did whatever was necessary to help and protect them. No task was beneath her. She was a kind woman, but not a pushover.
“Have a seat.”
I immediately took the chair in front of her desk while she rounded it and sat in her own. The thought of disappointing this woman was unsettling. Sam rested his head on my feet as though he wanted to stay out of sight.
“Some disturbing facts have been brought to my attention, ones I can’t ignore.” I kept a pleasant look on my face while inside I was reeling. “This is the first time this has happened in all the years I’ve been here.”
“I’m sorry, but I think you need to catch me up.”
“You’ve lied about your identity.” She slid a photocopied image of my driver’s license across the desk. It said my name was Gweneth Maddington with an address on Park Avenue. Mrs. Quinn even had a birth certificate with the same name. “You stated when you arrived that you were punched by your boyfriend. These images prove otherwise.” She showed me pictures. One was of me standing in the middle of a crowd at what was probably a club, pulling on another woman’s hair. The next photo was of me landing a punch as some chick hit me in the eye.
Son of a bitch. How had he known . . . Wait, it couldn’t be Tamas. If he knew where I was, he’d use brawn to get me, not intelligence. The only person who knew me as Gweneth was Tamas.
Except Drew.
Because of the fight. Fuck. That man. He’d been serious. He’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted.
“Mrs. Quinn, this isn’t what you think—”
“I believe in giving a person a chance to defend themselves, but this is pretty damning.”
I’d never seen the other woman in the photo. I’d never had a dress like the figure with my face on it. Until Tamas, I’d never been punched or thrown one for that matter.
I slumped in my seat. It was impossible to prove the pictures weren’t from last week. “I-I—”
“You lied in a written statement. Worse than that, you’ve taken advantage of what we have here. I don’t have the luxury of being skeptical when women arrive. I have to trust them, because if I don’t, and I turn them out . . . if something happens to them, that’s on my head. Not only have you deceived everyone, but you’ve made me question a process that up until now, I haven’t.”
“I apologize. That wasn’t my intent.”
“Consequences are a lesson the residents of this place don’t need to learn. They know firsthand what their choices and the choices of others can lead to. I don’t believe you know what the cost of doing something dishonest is.” I couldn’t begin to imagine where she was going with this. “I’ve calculated the cost of what you’ve taken from this facility to be one thousand two hundred and fifty-four dollars. You will pay it back, or I’ll be forced to prosecute. I can’t let this behavior go.”
“Mrs. Quinn,” I whispered. “I don’t have that kind of money.” Not cash anyway.
She frowned, that Park Avenue address insinuating otherwise. How could she know it was just another one of many temporary
places I’d lived with one of the many temporary men? “Then I will allow you to work off your debt, but you cannot stay. And I don’t want this mentioned to any of the other women. Their worlds are fragile. I don’t want to bring any more doubt into it than there already is.”
“I understand.” I reached for Sam, needing to feel him. This place had felt more like a home than anything had since I was a child. I didn’t want to give it up. “When should I begin?”
“In the morning will be fine. I’ve been in contact with an area shelter for our two facilities to work together. You’ll finish setting up the program for therapy animals you inspired and oversee it until it is operating smoothly. I expect you to do so with enthusiasm.” The look she bestowed upon me was pointed. She’d already initiated the program? When was the last time I’d inspired anything good? This was meant to be a punishment, but I felt honored. “I’ll escort you to collect your belongings and see you out.”
* * *
Drew was just down the sidewalk when I exited the front entrance, looking arrogant.
“You,” I said, shoving my index finger in his chest.
“Told you I would get you to my apartment.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Drew
Just because I had a soft spot for Sonya didn’t mean I wouldn’t do whatever was necessary to get what I wanted. Fabricating documentation to prove to Mrs. Quinn she wasn’t who she said she was had been a breeze. The way she was sulking, every so often trying to yank her hand from mine, I’d have thought she didn’t want to leave Paths of Purpose because the place was growing on her.
I’d yet to figure out why she was there, other than the obvious perks, but she had to have been looking for a way out. I was her perfect target. She should be happy I’d rescued her, except she was going to have to be the breadwinner for a while.
I smirked. “You could be a little more grateful.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I am pretty amazing, aren’t I?” She smacked my arm. “Oh, come on, sugar. It’s not like I left you with no place to go.”
“You left me with no choice,” she huffed, nostrils flaring.
“I do have a bit of bad news,” I said. Her plump lips pressed into a furious flat line. “We’ll be staying where my mother had her treatment. There’s a room, but my father gets the bed when he rests, and my brother and his wife have dibs on the sofa. The waiting room chairs aren’t all that bad—”
“I had a bed,” she shrieked, pummeling my chest. Then abruptly, she stopped. “Wait a minute. You don’t even go home at night?”
“No. It’s the best chance I have to spend time with her.”
Her brow furrowed, her steps slowing. “Isn’t she asleep?”
“Most of the time, but I read to her or just sit with her.”
Sonya’s blank expression unnerved me. At least when she was angry, I knew what she was thinking. “So all of you are staying with her?”
“Yes.”
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asked quietly, almost as if she didn’t want to know the answer.
“It is. We’re praying this experimental treatment works. If it doesn’t . . .” I shut that thought down immediately. “The doctors say she may be able to leave in a couple of days.”
“That’s good news.” Sonya stepped in front of me, walking backward a few steps until I came to a stop. She took my other hand in hers. “She’s a fighter. I don’t know her, but that was easy to see.”
“The toughest lady I know.” My voice cracked, betraying the hard exterior I put up, and I hated the weakness. Sonya pushed up on her toes and brushed her lips against mine, the gesture comforting, easing some of my tension.
“I hope you at least have a blanket for me,” she said, thankfully putting us back on more comfortable ground. Pushing each other’s buttons.
“You should have brought your own. I have one, but I don’t share.”
“Bastard.”
* * *
She didn’t complain one time about sleeping in a chair that was only marginally comfortable. I’d made up the part about not having a blanket, but I sweet-talked one of the nurses into giving me one. She liked me so much she threw in a pillow. The biggest thrill I got was when I returned to the waiting room and draped the blanket over Sonya before tucking the pillow between her head and the wall. The stunned expression on her face had me fighting a laugh. She really did think the worst of me and rightly so.
Sometime in the night, I stirred from a light sleep to find us sharing the pillow. The blanket was covering me too. The lobby was dark, though light spilled in from the hall, enough for me to see her face. I hadn’t realized how much stress she carried around when she was awake. Lines of worry relaxed as she peacefully slept. I watched her for a long time, wondering if this was the woman behind all the fictitious layers and if it was possible for this person to ever see the light of day. I wanted to know why my tigress lied to the outside world about everything. Seeing her this way, I believed the person she deceived the most was herself.
I pressed my lips to her forehead and brushed my fingers down her cheek. I should have left her in peace, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to touch her. If this Sonya ever surfaced during the day, I’d be in graver danger than I was now. I liked the bitchy one, but I was drawn to this side of her too. Even though she’d lit into me again before bed about how I’d taken her actual comfortable bed, I found myself looking forward to waking up next to her, and that hadn’t happened since Erin.
Since I was up, I decided to go sit with Mama for a while. I tucked the blanket around Sonya, though I was reluctant to leave her. If I didn’t, I’d repeat the mistakes of the past. I was already headed in that direction as it was. Reverse course! Reverse course! My mind screamed the warning, though I wasn’t sure I was listening.
My mother was asleep when I stepped inside her room. Sam was on the bed beside her. How he’d gotten up there, I didn’t know, but Mama’s hand was resting on his back. It was sometime in the wee hours of the morning, the only time my father would leave her to get some rest. I gently shut the door, taking the seat I always did by her bed. It was selfish to disturb her, and I debated for a moment whether to take her hand in mine. I wanted her to know someone was there for her, that she wasn’t alone.
“I’m awake,” she said, keeping her eyes closed. I threaded our fingers together, and she gave them a little squeeze.
“Did I wake you coming in?”
“No, baby. I’ve just been dozing.”
“Want me to read to you? The book is just getting to the good part.”
“Let’s just sit together.”
Her head rolled toward me, but her eyes remained closed. We were quiet for a long time, me watching as she rested. Seeing her like this tore me to pieces. And it made me angry. I’d known anger and jealousy for years, but this was different. Why her, God? I was the one who had ruined my family’s company. I had felt justified. I was the one who had blackmailed a woman to keep her silent. Again, I had felt as though my actions were perfectly acceptable. But here I was, pleading for God to take this from her. Silently, I begged God to let me trade places with her. This world would be better off without me, but losing her . . . there would never be anyone who could take her place. My mother had done nothing to deserve this suffering. It should have been me. I was the vile, disgusting human being. I had no regard for anyone but myself. I should be the one slowly being eaten from the inside out by the monster. Not her. Not. Her.
“Stop it.” She spoke into the darkness, her voice firm. “I couldn’t stand it if you were here in this bed instead of me.” Had I spoken aloud?
“Mama, I’m the one who deserves this, not you,” I spit out, angry with cancer, angry with God. Angry with everything.
“That’s not how it works. No one deserves this, but it’s a part of life. Would I rather be healthy? Of course. Do I hate this disease? You know I do. But if I dwell on that stuff, the sickness wins. I have to do everything
I can not to let that happen.” She opened her eyes as if it took a great strength. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of either. It’s called being human.”
“I don’t have a soul anymore,” I said quietly. “I’m not human.”
“Then what are you doing here with me?” She waited a second, but I didn’t want to answer. “Would you get my purse, please? I believe it’s in the closet.”
I retrieved it and returned to my seat, setting the leather bag in my lap. “What can I get you?”
“Look in the side pocket. There’s a cloth book that looks like a passport.”
I rummaged around until I produced what appeared to be a photo album, the black cloth worn, a small gold C stitched in the bottom corner.
“Go ahead. Open it.”
On each side, underneath clear plastic, was a tiny handprint and footprint. “What’s this?”
“The one on the left is you. The one on the right is Easton.”
“I don’t understand—”
“We had them done the day each of you was born. I never go anywhere without them.”
“But, Mama, they’re forty years old,” I protested, confused and surprised that my mother had these with her. She was sentimental, had loads of keepsakes, but this . . . I just couldn’t understand why.
“I wish you could have seen your father the day I told him I was pregnant again. He was thrilled the first time, but with you, it was different. And Easton, for all his gibberish, couldn’t wait to be a big brother. You can’t imagine how loved you were from the very beginning.” Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I keep these with me because this reminds me of the first time I met both of you. I was in awe that something living and breathing was inside me, and then you were there in the flesh. It still amazes me that you went from that to the man you are now.”
Thick As Thieves: An Enemies-To-Lovers Romance (Paths To Love Book 5) Page 15