“I know. I know.” Mom’s voice carries from the front of the house and gets closer. “I’ll figure something out for that day. It’s Dahlia that complicates things. I swear, she’s never happy with anything.”
I sit straighter in my seat and make a nasty face at the audacity of my mother’s words. A moment later, she walks past the doorway and her steps falter when she spots me.
Yeah, I’m glad she’s nervous now that she got caught talking shit about me.
I glare at her, and she rolls her eyes before she disappears into the kitchen. She lowers her voice, but not enough.
“She doesn’t know about the Reckoning,” Mom says.
The Reckoning?
I sit at the edge of my seat and strain to hear her.
“My husband prefers she doesn’t know. Mhmm. Yeah, I agree. As much as she’s too much to handle, I don’t want her getting her hands dirty.”
Too much to handle? Get my hands dirty?
A piece of my soul, a piece that I thought had already broken, shatters into tinier pieces. At this point, what else can hurt me? I didn’t think her saying I’m too much would have hurt, but it does. She might as well have stabbed me in the chest and twisted the blade.
Rocks. Stupid. Airhead. Weird. Loser. Freak.
All the insults thrown my way as a kid rise to the surface. I wince, wishing I could forget everything and start over.
How dare she. This isn’t the first time she’s painted me as this horrible person. She’s told her friends that I’m lazy and a slob, when really, I’m having a hard time holding a job and figuring out what I want to do with my life. As for being a slob, I’m embarrassed as it is that I can’t pick up after myself. It’s exhausting when all I want to do is relax with a book or doomscroll on social media.
I’d like to confront Mom, but that will end with me in tears. Not that I’m not already fighting them back.
I’ve been nothing but a broken doll to her for all of my life. Over the years, she’s made her true feelings more obvious. I’m the puppet and she’s the master who controls everything I do and feel. I wish I could move on and avoid getting hurt by her, but that’s harder than it looks.
The front door slams shut, followed by heavy footsteps approaching the living room. Jaxon walks in, phone out and his fingers flying over the screen as he types out a text message.
I swipe my tears away so he doesn’t see them. My mom may be a bitch, but I don’t want Jaxon to let loose on her because of something so stupid.
As if he’s connected to me and knows exactly where I am at all times, he turns his gaze to me and stops walking. He cocks his head and narrows his eyes. Whatever he’s seeing, it angers him, and his nostrils flare. His gaze drops to the paperback in my lap, then rises back to my face. His eyebrows pull together as he tries to figure out whatever is going through his thoughts.
“Flower,” he drawls.
Oh god, he’s about to play twenty questions with me.
“Shh.” I hold my finger to my lips as I listen toMom, who still chats in the kitchen as she closes the cupboards way too hard.
Jaxon frowns and slips his phone into his pocket while he walks toward me. He stops when he hears my mom, and I barely make out her saying how hard dealing with my lack of employment has been.
She may as well talk about me right in my face, since she’s not trying too hard to be quiet.
Jaxon’s shoulders tense, and he glances toward the kitchen. Anger clouds his features, casting shadows over his face. His eyes lose focus, and the situation becomes serious.
I fly off the couch and throw myself at him. Jaxon’s lips pull into a snarl, and I catch him right as he turns.
I squeeze my arms tight around him to stop him from storming into the kitchen. “Stay with me.”
Jaxon jerks in my hold, and I squeeze tighter. I rest my forehead against his chest and breathe through the anxiety.
“Please.” I gently kiss his pec, which makes him pause. “Just hang out with me.”
He relaxes, and I can finally take a breath without feeling like I’m about to burst. He hugs me tighter than what’s normal, as if he’s trying to pull my broken pieces back together.
“I’m gonna kill her,” he mutters, then sweeps me off my feet. With a sharp intake of air, I hold on to him while he carries me to the couch and folds himself on it, settling me on his lap.
