Just as I suspected, there’s a click from the knob turning, and a stream of light from the hallway beams across my room, snuffing out the shadows I’ve been watching. If the soft knocking didn’t give away it was Mom at the door, then the nonexistent footsteps would. Mom has always been soundless when she moves.
Lashes tickle against my cheeks as I close my eyes, trying to pretend to be asleep. The mattress of my double bed dips beneath her slight frame. Fingertips brush over my cheeks, and I realize a tear has slipped down my cheek. I shove Mom’s hand away and swipe furiously at the wetness.
“Jagger, I’m sorry, baby.” She slips her fingers into my hair, scratching gently at my scalp like I’ve always loved. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” A heavy sigh spills from her lips. “I-I’ve had a bad day, but that was no excuse to take it out on you.”
Mom is sick. That’s what Graham and Dad always tell me, but not like a cold or something. Her head is sick, and since my baby sister died, she’s gotten worse. My dad and brother tried to make it sound like it wasn’t so bad. We even moved to California for the summer, so she wouldn’t be surrounded by the memories of Bonnie back at our house in New York.
I knew it was bad, though. Worse than they wanted me to believe. I’d caught her trying to hurt herself a few times. I probably should’ve told Dad or Graham. Instead, I beg her every chance I get to teach me more on the guitar, hoping it will distract her. But today, it didn’t work. She yelled at me.
Getting upset is stupid, and the truth is I’m not upset because she hurt my feelings. I’m upset because I just want to help her. I know she’s always had bad moments, but spending time with her has always made her feel better. At least it used to.
Even now, I don’t know what to say, so I just don’t. “Tomorrow we’ll practice, okay? First thing, I promise.”
I turn to face her, my mouth twisting a bit. My shoulder tips toward my ear. “It’s okay, Mom. We don’t have to. I know you’re tired.”
She cups my face, stroking along my cheekbone with her thumb. “Such a good boy,” she whispers, her lips screwing into a smirk.
I freeze. Pressure grips my chest, seizing my breath.This isn’t right.
“A very good fucking boy.” My brows dip, confusion and nausea filling me as her face distorts and green eyes become blue. Dark tresses fade, strand by strand.
Not Mom.
I go rigid, unable to move. My skin crawls as she hovers close. Blood-red lips dip to mine, and bile rises in my throat. My body tenses and…
Sweat coats my forehead as my eyes fly open. My heart pounds in my chest as nausea and panic build, mixing with guilt, regret, and so much fucking bullshit. I screw my eyes shut.
When her face appears behind my closed lids, I launch myself from the bed. Movement and soft moans draw my eyes back to the mattress. My panic increases until I spot dark hair spread across the pillows instead of blond.
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I blow out a breath of relief.
This is why I don’t do sleepovers. It might make me an ass, but it’s better than waking up in a cold sweat. Or worse.
I only have myself to blame. I let the text about lawyer appointments fuck with my head. It was fuel to my already raging fire after the argument with Maverick. Between Absinthe and X, ending up in a strange bed with a strange girl is the most normal thing that could’ve happened.
And the nightmare that followed is typical.
Another moan drags my attention to the other side of the nameless girl, and I barely contain my growl when I see another dark head.
Ripping my hand through my hair, I take a breath, cursing myself for indulging to the point of blackout. You’d think I’d learn my lesson after…I shake my head, hating that the oblivion I seek is one of the many causes of why I seek it. Hating that it also triggers sleep. And with sleep comes the bullshit nightmares, especially when the reminders are so fresh in my mind. And when the memories mix and mingle with my regret and shame, I relive it all over again, except worse. Because that psychotic bitch and my mom don’t belong in the same thought.
Silently, I grab my clothes off the floor, along with my phone, and walk out the bedroom door into an open floor plan apartment. Judging by the pink throw pillows on the navy-blue sofa and the cream shaggy rug in the middle of the living room, this is definitely a girl’s apartment. At least I shouldn’t have to worry about any boyfriends coming home.
Once dressed, I turn my phone on, swiping my fingers across the screen to pull up my contacts. It rings three times before the rough voice answers. “We left the club five hours ago. Unless you’re a two-pump chump, how in the hell are you awake already?” Thad grumbles.
I glance at my watch. “Shouldn’t you be at the office already?” I whisper as I walk toward the door.
“Yeah, I might make it by noon. Now, why are you calling me? I’ve been asleep for a fucking hour.”
“Where’s my car?”
“It’s your car. Shouldn’t you know the answer to that?”
“Don’t be a dick. Hurry and tell me before someone wakes up. I want to get out of here.”
“I drove it to your apartment last night. It’s perfectly safe. Can I go now?”
“You drove my car after you’d been drinking?” I growl.
