“He’s never been good enough for you. Always treating you like shit. ’Bout time you finally realized it,” he says. I’m stunned and totally unsure how to respond, but it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t give me time to respond. He walks off and into the 101 Club. And I’m left there, speechless and barely able to think. It takes me longer than I’d like to get my head right before I can deal with my mother.
I keep my head down as much as I can when I finally make it inside. The 101 Club is owned and operated by Tyler McCovey—an asshole I couldn’t be fonder of—who is fiercely loyal to Forsaken. Tyler and I get along well, but if I can avoid him, we won’t have to get into a conversation about Grady. Or my dad. Or anything, really. Because when Tyler wants to talk to you, he talks. And he only talks to you if he likes you, and he likes me. I like him right back, but I don’t want to talk, and the last few times I saw him, he talked. He’s always been good to me, even keeping peppermint ice cream around for me even though nobody else likes peppermint milkshakes, so when Tyler talks, I listen. He’s a curious sort of man who has a whole mess of ice cream and shit in the kitchen, but he doesn’t put any of it on the menu. “Milkshakes are for family,” he says and won’t serve you one if he doesn’t consider you family. I don’t want to lose my milkshake privileges, so regardless of how painful or difficult it is to listen to Tyler drone on and on about stuff I’d rather not hear, I shut up and listen.
“Over here, baby,” my mother says loudly while wavering an arm in the air. My eyes bug out and my head shoots up as I find her in the crowded space. Just a few tables behind her is Grady sitting with Holly. I guess he just stepped out to talk with his brothers or something. My mother’s loud-ass mouth has them both looking my way.
Jesus Christ, discreet she is not. Lona Phillips is a woman of average height, a little more than average weight, with light golden brown skin, and, despite nearing fifty, few wrinkles. Everything about my mother is average except for two very important things. One, she is insanely beautiful. She has almond eyes and a straight nose, a petite little chin and high cheekbones. Her brown eyes shine even when she’s sad, and her plump lips look heart-shaped when she’s trying not to laugh. She is pure femininity, small and petite even with her rounded middle. I have her straight nose and her high cheekbones, but my father’s influence prevents me from looking delicate or feminine. I don’t think I’m ugly, but standing at nearly six feet with broad shoulders and stupid long legs, I don’t feel particularly womanly or graceful either. At least not the way my mother is womanly. Not the way Holly is feminine. Not the way most men want a woman to be.
I plop down at the square table across from my mom and give her a flat look. She waves me off and, as usual, doesn’t care what kind of mood I’m in. “Nice try sneaking into the place,” she says.
“Nice job blowing that for me,” I mutter and look down at my hands. She pats the table in front of me and laughs lightly.
“Figured you’re trying to avoid Grady and his old lady.”
“Avoiding everybody,” I answer, trying to act as normal as possible.
“Your father liked to lie to me just like that,” she says. “Got tired of fighting and started to pretend I believed him. I won’t do that with you, Elysia.”
“Do me a favor and just tell me what you’re trying to say.” This is supposed to be a good lunch, but it sucks so far.
“I know your father isn’t the only man you’re missing. I didn’t notice it when it was happening, but now that you’re not sleeping together anymore, it’s obvious as can be.”
“Since whatever he and I were is done now, we don’t need to talk about it. He moved on and so have I.”
“He has, but you haven’t.” Her words cut me right to the bone. I try not to let it show, but I fail miserably, I’m sure. I try to say something, but I can’t even get my lips to move. We don’t ever do heart-to-hearts like this. My mother is an understanding woman. She always seems to want to talk with me about what’s going on in my life, but I always shut her down. It’s not that I don’t trust her with things that are personal to me. If I trusted anybody with my feelings, it would be her.
“I won’t push,” she says.
And just like that, we’re done with the uncomfortable topic of me and Grady. I need to talk to him about the current case I’m working, but he’s huddled in a corner with his new piece of ass and I’m not going to approach him with my mother watching. Especially not now with that bombshell she just dropped.
My head starts to turn in Grady’s direction before I stop myself and focus my attention on the table before me. A deep-seated resentment ignites in my gut, and I hate Sterling Walter Grady so much in this moment that if he were to talk to me again, I might end up going to jail for trying to kill him. I never used to feel taken advantage of. Sure, he knew how I felt about him—he had to have known—but I never held that against him. I was nineteen when we started hooking up. Old enough—or so I thought—to make my own decisions. Old enough to know what love is. Old enough to know a good man who cared about me when I saw him.