“Sweetheart, calm down. You’re not doing your girl any favors by freakin’ the fuck out.”
“Okay, fine. Just tell me where she is.”
“He said she’s been hanging out with some different kids lately.”
Different kids?
“Guess she’s been ditching Killian after school and getting rides from a girl named Brooklyn.”
“Brooklyn. I’ve never heard her talk about any girl named Brooklyn.” She talks about a group of girls she’s made friends with, but they go see movies and go out for ice cream. “So she’s probably with her. Did Killian give you a number?”
A slight grimace twists his mouth. “Problem is, Killian doesn’t hang with that crew. According to him, they’re troublemakers.”
I feel my expression fall and my jaw go slack. My stomach turns and sours. “Oh no.”
“She’ll be fine, Mouse.” He sounds so sure. How can he be so sure? “But sounds like you girls need to have a mother-daughter heart-to-heart.”
I shake my head. “She doesn’t listen to me. She hates me.”
“Impossible.”
“No, I’m serious.” I groan and pinch closed my eyes. “It’s too late. I’ve lost her.”
He hooks my chin with his fingers, forcing me to look in his eyes. “It’s never too late.”
“You don’t understand—”
“I do. My dad’s a dick of epic proportions. He’s never been anything but a dick. Ever. You love your girl, she’s gotta feel it. She’s pissed. She’ll get over it. But she needs you. Do not give up on her.”
I stare at his handsome face, absorbing his words said with so much conviction it’s impossible not to believe him.
“I don’t know what to do.”
He runs his hand up my back. “You’ll figure it out.”
“She’s rebellious. She makes bad choices. I don’t want her to end up…” I exhale and fight the guilt that wells up at what I’m about to say. “Like me.”
“There are worse things than ending up like you, Mouse. I’m sure you talk to her, you’ll—Click.
The sound of the front door has us both on our feet. I rush to the kitchen to see Elle stumbling in through the door.
She sways on her feet, jiggling the door handle. “Stupid fucking keeeey.”
Worry and relief fuel my anger, and I cross the kitchen to get in her face. “Are you drunk?”
My question sends her body around so fast that she falls back against the wall. Her bloodshot eyes, rimmed in an obnoxious amount of black eyeliner, go wide over my shoulder. The heat of Blake’s presence behind me and his support make me stand taller. He literally has my back. “Answer me.”
Her sloppy eyes slide to mine. “Chill, Momma, chill.”
“Aw, fuck,” he murmurs for only my ears.
Aw fuck is right.
“It’s nine o’clock. On a school night.” There’s so much I want to say, but my mind scrambles to grasp just one coherent thought. “It’s not safe, Axelle. You’re a child, and you’re drunk. I trusted you.”
She glares at me and pushes off the wall. “Yeah, and I trusted you.”
That doesn’t make any sense. It must be the drunk talking. “Go to bed. You’re not making any sense.”
Her head rolls around on her shoulders. “Really, Mom? How about the fact that you sat on your ass. Doing nothing. Make sense?”
“What are you talking about?” I throw my arm out to indicate our home. “I’ve been working my butt off.”
She steps up, putting her nose just inches from my face. “Maybe you need to work harder.”
I blink through the stench of liquor on her breath when I feel Blake’s bicep press against my shoulder.
Damn, he’s hearing all this. He needs to leave. I need to end this. “Go sleep it off, Axelle. You don’t have the slightest clue what you’re talking about.”
For a second her eyes clear and she gives me a biting, deep-blue glare. “Don’t I?” She coughs up a laugh. “Not a baby anymore, Momma. All those years… you thought I didn’t know?” With a slow swipe of her eyes from my head to my ankles and back, she smiles. “You’re so fucking pathetic.”
“Enough.” Blake steps between us. “Bed. Now.” He grabs Elle’s arm and drags her to the mouth of the short hallway.
She rips her arm from his hold. “Fine, He-Man. That’s what I was gonna do anyway.” Her body ping-pongs down the hallway to her room, where she slams the door behind her with a muttered curse.
I stand there stunned but not at all surprised to hear her voice her feelings. I assumed she felt that way. Doesn’t make hearing it from her mouth any easier, though. It also doesn’t help that those exact words flowed from Stewart’s mouth frequently, oftentimes in front of her. Despite all my efforts to shield her from the ugliness of our life, she managed to have a front-row seat to the worst of it.