Her eyes widen slightly before falling away, the pulse at the base of her throat throbbing so hard the thin, fragile skin lifts under it. I wanted to suck on that spot, drag that little, hungry whimper out of her like at the shop.
Lifting the beer bottle to my mouth again, I down a big, healthy gulp. Too bad it does fuck-all for the heat raging through me like the fire that almost took out all of Chicago at one time.
“While talking to Connor’s friend, I couldn’t help but wonder where he would’ve been today if he’d gone straight into the graduate program or to a real job.” The soft wistfulness in Mom’s voice, or that she probably didn’t intend her words as a jab, doesn’t lessen the sting of them.
I’ve been involved in MMA since I was fifteen. Trained in one of the best gyms in the world in San Diego. Have competed in MMA organizations all over the world—California, Singapore, and Japan. I’m a brown belt in Guerrilla Jiu-Jitsu, a black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, and a two-time heavyweight champion. Now, I’m a business owner. But none of that equals a “real job” to my mother. Because none of it included a suit, tie, desk, and annual salary. Security. That’s what she’d wanted for Connor, knowing she wouldn’t get it from her other sons. Not with Jude apprenticing in a tattoo shop before he even graduated from high school, and Simon’s love of art and drawing. So when Connor chose to follow in my footsteps into MMA, she’d been deeply disappointed.
“He wouldn’t have been happy,” Eden says into the strained silence. “There were several offers from big accounting firms waiting for him when he graduated. But the thought of being locked up in an office all day and chained to a desk made him feel like he was suffocating. He would’ve been miserable.”
“But he would’ve been here.” Mom’s voice cracks on “here.” “Alive.”
She glances at me, and the guilt that always weighs me down until I choke with it increases in size and weight.
“You did this! He’s dead because of you! You and that damn fighting. Now my boy, my baby is gone…”
I blink, and the image of my mother crumbling onto the floor, her face ravaged by tears and grief, evaporates. But her screams continue to batter my ears for a few seconds longer. Other than her broken, hoarse outburst the night we arrived here to tell her about Connor—and other equally devastating words she yelled at me—she has never come out and blamed me for his death again. But she doesn’t need to vocalize it. The accusation is there in every sideways look, every moment of her suffering, every heavy silence.
Like now.
Shoving back my chair, I stand and stride for the kitchen. Tipping up the bottle I’d carried with me, I drink the last of the alcohol and grab another beer from the fridge. Half of it is gone before I turn and head back into the dining room and reclaim my seat. This time, Dan doesn’t bother with a those-are-mine squint. Maybe he believes I need whatever I can get to make it through the rest of this dinner.
Jude arches his eyebrow, silently inquiring if I’m okay. I answer yes with a jerk of my chin.
“…was thinking we could repaint your room.” Mom pats Eden’s hand. “Or redecorate it. Really make it yours,” she continues, not noticing the wince that flashes across Eden’s face.
Oh damn. It’s showtime.
Eden peeks at me, and I nod my head, encouraging her. Letting her know I’m here for her as promised, in spite of the tension permeating our relationship this week.
“Katherine, Dan,” Eden begins. Stops. Starts again. “I have some news. I—” She breaks off and slides her fingers from under Mom’s, hiding both of her hands under the table. Probably to conceal the twisting and clenching she’s certainly doing.
“What’s wrong, Eden?” Dan asks, concern evident in his frown. Though Connor had been his stepson, he’d loved him. Had been the closest to him out of all of Mom’s kids. And that love spilled over to Eden. “Is everything okay?”
From beside Eden, Simon frowns, stretching his arm across the back of her chair. “What’s up, sis?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she hurriedly assures them. Closing her eyes, she mutters, “I’m making a complete mess of this.” Inhaling deeply, she meets Mom and Dan’s gazes. “You two have no idea how much I love you and appreciate everything you’ve done for me. You’re closer to me than my own parents. Which is why knowing this is going to hurt you kills me. I’m…moving out.”
“Ohshit,” Jude breathes.
For once, Mom doesn’t reprimand him about his language. She’s frozen, staring blankly at Eden.
I don’t breathe. Just wait. And prepare to do what I can to deflect the shitstorm that’s about to whirl in here like a demented ballerina on crack.
“Wh-what do you mean?” Mom croaks, shaking her head. “I don’t understand. This is your home…”
“Did we do something, Eden? We didn’t mean—” Dan whispers.
“No,” she denies, voice firm. “Absolutely not. You guys have been nothing but good to me. It’s just… It’s time for me to stand on my own. To try and make it on my own.”
“But why?” Mom’s confusion and distress is so obvious, I force myself to remain in my chair and not go over to her, hug her. “This is your home,” she repeats.
Eden presses a hand to Mom’s arm. “It’s not,” she softly counters. “This isyourhome. Yours and Dan’s. And I thank you for opening it to me and giving me a soft place to land for a while. But that’s all it was intended to be—for a while. I’m stronger now than I was two years ago. That’s thanks to you and your family. I don’t want to hurt you,” she murmured, her voice cracking on the last word. “It’s the last thing I want to do.”
“Then don’t go,” Mom pleads. A note of sharp-edged panic pitches her quivering voice higher. She grabs Eden’s hand, grips it like she’s the last piece of driftwood sweeping past her, saving her from being battered and swallowed up by treacherous, dark rapids. “First Simon, now you…”
Simon bends his head, his fingers tightening around the fork in his hand. A small muscle pulses along his clenched jaw. He left the house a year ago, moving in with a friend in an apartment closer to SAIC, where he’s a senior. He’d stayed at home longer than he’d intended because of Connor’s death, to be close to Mom. For her to throw that low, guilt-inducing blow, even if it’d been unintentional, had to piss him off. And hurt him.
“Katherine,” Eden rasps.
