Devoured

But even after Mom screwed her over, tried to talk Seth who was just a teenager into taking the rap for her—even then Gram stood by her side.

My grandmother, with all of her kindness and humility, deserves so much better than my mom. Seth and I deserve so much better than our mother, and though I hate to admit it, more than our dad, too.

Because a phone call every other week and the occasional awkward visit on holidays was about the equivalent of a hello from the homeless man who trolls the coffee shop I go to for Tomas in Los Angeles each morning.

“I know,” Gram says, her voice catching on a sob. “It’s hard—what with the house and Rebecca. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going anymore.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be home soon and we’ll take care of everything. I swear it.”

“It’s hard,” she says once more. “I-I’ve got to get to bed, sweetheart. I’m going to go back to the hospital for your mom tomorrow morning and I’ve got a doctor’s appointment of my own. But baby, I love you so much.”

“Love you too, Gram.”

But when I hang up, my teeth are gritted together. Lucas finds me like this with my head buried in my hands, grinding my teeth furiously. “Don’t gri—” Then he sucks in a mouthful of air, striding his way across the marble foyer and into the living room in a matter of seconds. “What the hell is going on?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sienna,” he says in a cautioning voice, and I glance up at him, revealing my tear-streaked face. He rolls his body down the side of the couch until he’s right beside of me. It’s almost comical, how absolutely helpless he looks when confronted with my tears, but he pulls me into his arms. Lucas Wolfe, the most commanding man I’ve ever met, lets me sob into the front of his white shirt, allows me to drip mascara all over him.

I sniffle. “My mom got beat up in prison.”

Holding me by my shoulders, he pulls away from me slightly, placing just enough space between the two of us so that he can look into my eyes and feel me out. He frowns, rubbing his lips together. “I’m taking it you’re not exactly sad about your mom getting an ass-whipping.”

I laugh, in spite of the tears, and drag the backs of my hands across my face. “God, no. She’s had it coming for years. It’s”—I let out a small, strangled sound and he buries his head in my hair again, stroking the back of my neck, making me feel safe—“my grandma, you know. My mom’s been so awful to her, and yet Gram keeps taking the kicks over and over again. It just hurts. It hurts so f**king bad.”

Lucas murmurs that he understands, but I can’t miss how his voice hitches. How it feels as if there is something left unsaid between the two of us.

But he listens to me sob, listens to every complaint I have about Mom. It’s like a dam bursts and I tell him everything, breaking every dating rule in the book. When he firmly tells me to go to bed, tucking me into the king sized bed in the master bedroom, the unsaid words are clear to me simply by the way he looks down into my eyes.

What I had said to him earlier about Gram—about her taking the kicks repetitively—that person used to be me.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I get the pleasure of seeing the documentary maker again the very next morning. He meets us in the hotel lobby, briefing Lucas on how today needs to go down. He gives me a curious once over and a courteous greeting, but other than that he doesn’t say much to me. As I walk behind them, typing notes on my Samsung tablet and trying not to roll my eyes, it takes a lot of effort not to point out that nothing about this documentary seems very realistic. He’s even prepping Lucas about how to act around his own parents.

And speaking of Lucas’s parents . . .

Biting my lip, I send Kylie a message asking what I should expect. I know this is probably something I should have asked her before, but a few days ago my feelings were nowhere near this strong for Lucas. Something has happened between us, just as he promised. I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of their folks or leave a horrible impression that might last forever.

Because this evening, I plan on accepting the rest of his offer. Aside from rescuing my grandmother’s house—which I can safely say that I’ve done at this point—there’s nothing I’ve wanted more in a very long time than to be Lucas’s.

My cell phone goes off and I check the message from Kylie. Dude, my parents love everyone. They liked my ex-husband, so you can run naked through their yard if you want and still be okay.

A moment later, she sends another message. But really, don’t run through their yard naked.

Feeling a sudden sense of relief, I take Lucas’s hand as he helps me into the limousine that will take us around Atlanta for the day. He holds my hand a little too long, skimming the tip of his thumb over my knuckles. I flush. Stare away.

The documentary creator leans forward, a slow smile forming on his pale face, but Lucas shoots him a look. The cameraman is the last person to climb inside of the limo. Lucas and the creator of the documentary—which I find out is called Rock on the Road—sit on one side of the car, and I sit with the camera guy on the other so I won’t be seen. The whole time Lucas talks about his life growing up in Atlanta, he’s staring at me and not the camera.

“I played baseball—first baseman—at that high school over there my freshman year.” He points out the window at a school on the right side of the street. It’s a private religious academy, much to my surprise. “Took a hit in the balls with a baseball and that shit ended pretty quickly,” he adds, rolling his eyes dramatically for the sake of the camera.