“It’s okay.”
She nodded, her teeth nearly splintering under the weight of her counterfeit smile. “That’s nice.” She twirled her mug on the table, then she lifted it to her lips. “You know, you can move home. We’d be happy to have you. You can even take the apartment over the garage, so you have some personal space.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Mom, what do you want? What’s really going on?”
She exhaled shakily and set her mug on the table again. “Evan called your dad last night.”
I raised one eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
“He’s worried about you,” she whispered as she slanted her body against the table.
I snorted. “I don’t give a shit about Evan. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop talking to him.”
Her light pink lipstick disappeared as she pressed her lips into an unyielding line. “I can’t do that. The Deverons are family friends. Very close family friends. We have a special relationship,” she hissed. “Just because you and Evan pressed the pause button on your engagement doesn’t mean I’m going to kick him or his family out of our life on a whim. That would be awkward when you get back together.”
I rolled my eyes. She was so predictable. “I didn’t press the pause button. I ended the engagement.” I unfolded my arms and gripped the edge of the table. “It’s over. Stop pretending otherwise. I hate him. I hate that I wasted so many years with him. I hate that I accepted his engagement in a moment of weakness. I don’t want anything to do with him.”
“You don’t mean that. You’re overly emotional. You’re still recovering from the…” Unwilling to complete the sentence, she waved her hand in front of me.
“Abduction. Is that the word you’re looking for?”
She nodded. “Yes, and that’s why I wanted to talk to you. We’re going on a family retreat with the Deverons next weekend.”
“You and dad?”
“All of us.”
“No way. I’m not going,” I snapped.
“Yes, you will.” Her lips pursed in disapproval. “It’s been arranged. It’d look bad if you didn’t come.”
“I don’t care how it looks. They fucked up my entire life. They arranged my abduction. Does that change your mind? Or are you too worried about screwing up your social calendar to care what they did to me?” The minute the words exited my mouth, I wanted to shove them back. I’d never been good at confronting my mom. As a child, I had rebelled in subtle ways, plotting my time until I could escape from her sphere of influence. She wasn’t used to open rebellion.
Her mouth dropped open. “What are you talking about? That doesn’t make sense.”
I squeezed my hands into fists. “Forget about it. Forget I said anything. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I’ve never been better.” I picked up my purse from the chair next to me and slammed it on the table. “Are we done here?”
“Oh my God, Evan was right. He was telling the truth.” She covered her mouth, and her eyes flared with panic.
My heart galloped, and my shoulder muscles contracted into tight balls. “What did he say?”
“He said he thought you were suffering from…” Her voice faded away, and the silence stretched like hours instead of a few meager seconds. Then, she cleared her throat. “Traumatic bonding.”
My stomach contorted into a hundred tiny acid-filled knots. “Traumatic bonding?” I repeated.
“You know…Stockholm syndrome. When a victim becomes attached to her captor. He said you’ve been defending and rationalizing the actions of your captors.”
I glared at her, resentment whipping through my veins. She actually believed his lies. “Evan doesn’t know anything. He’s a liar. Why would you believe him? Why would you take his side?”
With her eyes narrowed in thought, she studied me like she didn’t recognize the person in front of her. “I’m on your side. I’m always on your side. That’s why I’m here. I want to make sure you’re happy and healthy.”
“You want me to be happy?” She nodded, and I shifted in my seat. “Great, then stop pushing me to reconcile with Evan. He’s not who you think he is. His dad isn’t either.”
“Evan said you’re blaming him for what happened.”
“If the shoe fits,” I spat.
“He thinks you’re still communicating with someone in the Vargas Cartel and that person is influencing your actions.”
I scrubbed my hands over my face. So this was his plan. Evan thought he could make my family believe I had lost my mind. “Mom, do me a favor. When you want to know the truth, call me.” I snatched my purse from the table. “Until then, we’re done talking.”
She grabbed my wrist. “Are you coming next weekend? I think it’d be nice for us to spend time together.”
“No, but you can give Evan and his dad a message from me.”
Her brows furrowed. “What’s that?”
“Tell them they won’t get away with what they did to me, and I have every intention of exposing Senator Deveron.”
She shook her head back and forth. “That sounds crazy, Hattie. Is that some kind of threat?”
“It’s not a threat.” I ripped my wrist away from her. “It’s a promise. If you pulled your head out of Senator Deveron’s ass for a few seconds and opened your eyes, you’d realize you need to be far, far away from him. It’s only a matter of time before his corruption is exposed.”
My whole life, I had waited with baited breath for my mom to believe in me and support me 100 percent, but I was starting to realize it’d never happen. She second-guessed every decision I made. She treated me like a naughty toddler instead of an adult with dreams and goals. Her inability to let go of my relationship with Evan had gone on long enough. If she wanted me in her life, she had to choose my dreams over hers.
“Don’t go. Let’s talk about this. You can’t make those kinds of accusations and run away. Maybe you should come over tonight and talk to your dad about some of your concerns.”
“Let me know when you’re ready to listen to the truth, and if dad wants to call me, he has my number. Goodbye, mother.”
Chapter Nineteen
Hattie
At exactly 11:45 a.m., I tried to turn the door handle to Ryker’s apartment. I didn’t have a key, so I’d left it unlocked. If he found out he wouldn’t be happy, but he lived in a secured building, and I hadn’t been gone long.
The handle didn’t move. Shit. Ryker beat me home. I slipped my phone from my purse, checking for any missed voicemails or texts. None. He hadn’t attempted to contact me.
I balled my hand into a fist and tapped on the heavy, dark wood door, lightly at first and then harder when no one answered. The thud echoed down the long hallway.
Just when I had decided to give up and call Ryker, the door opened.
“Who are you? Where’s Ryker?” I glanced over his shoulder, but I didn’t see Ryker.
“You weren’t supposed to leave without calling Ryker,” the man said, a faint accent flavoring his words.
“How do you know that?”