“How’ve ya been, Ma?” I ask, once at her side.
Face devoid of emotion, she glances at me, then back to her iPhone. “I’m good. You?”
“Doing great,” I murmur. “School’s going good; football too.”
Jesus, she reduces me to a babbling five-year-old. I loathe the need that saturates me to make her happy. Why I continue to try I’ll never know. It’s an illusion that’ll never fucking happen. I’ll never meet her expectations.
“That’s great, Brock. I’m glad your life is going so well. Someone’s in this family should.” Her voice is tinged with pain. The burning kind that never dissipates. The kind she douses in buckets of liquor to numb herself with.
“I’d love to see you more,” I say, discomfort knotting my throat. “Maybe I can take you out for breakfast this week?”
Fuck me. I’m losing it. I gun a shaky hand through my hair, chastising myself for being such a pussy. I’m a grown man who doesn’t need his mother’s approval. Reining in my features to appear carefree, I smile nonchalantly.
She looks at me, her mouth thinning in thought. Her bitter presence penetrates the air, yanking the oxygen from my lungs. Christ, I wish I could rip those sunglasses off her face and see what’s really hiding beneath her stare. Is it thick resentment, festering like a rancid sore? Or just pure hatred? This is what eats at me, the unknown of just how much she detests the man I’ve become. The man who, in her eyes, will always be the culprit behind Brandon’s kidnapping.
“I need to check my schedule,” she responds after a short pause.
“Right,” I murmur, knowing she’s blowing me off. Whatever. Fuck her and the blame she’ll forever tag me with, the blame I placed on myself long before she did.
“You booked the reservation for seven, correct, Brock?” My father’s voice breaks me from my and my helpless mother’s unrepairable relationship.
I glance at my watch. “Yeah.”
“Let’s head out, then,” he says. “I reserved a limo for the adults. It should be outside by now.” He swings his attention to Amber’s foster parents. “Cathy and Mark, you can ride with us. Brock, you can drive with Brittany and Amber.”
Typical John Cunningham—take charge and direct, a man who doesn’t allow others to make their own decisions. A cheating prick who always has to have a say in everything, even if it’s a limo ride reserved for adults.
“I’m taking my own car,” Brit says, her voice strong, unmoving. “I have work to do after this.”
My father nods, his eyes flashing with disapproval. He doesn’t like that she’s overstepping his order, but he’d never argue in front of people. Unlike my mother, my father’s aware of society’s perceptions of what the perfect family should look like, how it should smell, talk, and sound. “All right. Brock and Amber can meet us there. Brittany, you follow behind. Let’s go. There’s nothing worse than being late.”
Amber’s brows raise, an are we not considered adults? confused look pestering her face. I can tell she wants to speak up, her brain working the situation as her grip on my hand turns fierce, protective. Though I’m sure she’s mulling over saying something nasty yet flavored with the right amount of politeness to my father, she stays quiet, her jaw tightening as she aims a pretty smile in his direction.
Cathy does one of those girly eep things, completely oblivious to the turmoil churning in the air. “This should be fun. I’ve never been in a limo before.”
“Come again?” my mother asks, shock rocking her tone.
“A limo, we’ve never been in one.” Cathy’s voice is warm, her eyes alight with excitement as she tilts her head toward Mark. “Not even on our wedding day. The funds just weren’t there.”
My mother’s mouth drops agape, but my father shoots her a warning stare, silencing whatever judgmental sludge is about to drip from it. She huffs, going back to whatever the fuck it is she’s doing on her phone.
Amber clears her throat. “All right, so we’ll see you there, then?”
“Sounds good, sweetie.” Cathy grins. “This’ll be a treat for us.”
My chest burns at the way she converses with Amber. It’s clear to see how much she loves my girl. Loves her like she’s her own flesh and blood. She looks at her with such a tender expression, my stomach flips, doing somersaults. This evening’s already throwing me off my game, and it’s just begun. Something’s telling me it’s gonna take one of Amber’s expert blow jobs and at least a pound’s worth of green to recover from this shit.
“Awesome,” Ambers says, her voice a thin, uneasy stroke as she hugs Cathy and Mark good-bye.
As Brit and both sets of parents make their way out of the lobby, I tangle my fingers through Amber’s, squeezing her hand in a display of gratitude, a silent thank-you for putting up with the freak sideshow that is my life. I’m as hesitant of this situation as she’s become, my hackles raising with every beat of my heart. But I know I need to man up and give her some form of reassurance. She lets out a breath, stress flaking the whites of her eyes. I take the opportunity to pull her close and wrap my arms around her waist, trying with everything in me to kill the anxiety spitting through her veins. After a few quiet seconds, I release her from my hold and we move outside to wait on my Hummer, my nerves unleashing their torrent on my muscles—tightening each one like a virgin’s pussy—as the valet pulls up.