Hold On (Page 16)

Her lying on the couch was bullshit. She was talking movies because she knew Ethan would be into that. Normally, she’d be working in her yard, deep cleaning the grout in the bathroom, or with her bitches, playing poker. Even though she looked great, was fit, and had lots of energy, she had ten years left of being on her feet, schlepping food to people. Then she’d use the meager retirement she’d saved to take the sting out of living below poverty level on social security.

I hated that for her. Just like I wanted more for my boy and went all out to get it for him, I wanted more for my mom.

And there was another part of why life sucked, knowing she’d never get it and I’d never be in a place to give it to her.

I’d put her through the wringer. My little girl years were not filled with Barbies and dreams of marrying whatever British royal was moderately hot at the time but instead listening to my father beat on my mother. Then I’d gone wild, pissed at the world that we didn’t have a lot, that my dad was a dick who didn’t give a shit about me or my mom and showed us just that. Onward to shacking up with a junkie, letting him get me pregnant, and ending up as a stripper with a boyfriend who had about fifteen screws loose and wasn’t afraid of using a hatchet.

Mom had loved me through it all, though. She’d been there for me, for Ethan, every step of the way.

And she still was.

Which meant she’d shown me the way. I might not have learned early, but the least I could give her was eventually getting there.

“Got homework,” Ethan said, walking in and dumping his backpack on his gramma’s coffee table. “But it’ll take, like, ten seconds to do.”

“We’ll see about that,” Mom murmured. “You do it, I check it.”

“Jeez, Gram, I know the drill,” Ethan returned.

“Just makin’ sure you don’t forget it,” she replied.

Ethan did his favorite thing—rolled his eyes—then declared, “I’m gettin’ a pop. You need more iced tea?”

The last was for his gramma.

“I’m good, sugar,” Mom replied.

Ethan took off to the kitchen.

Mom looked to me.

“You good, Cher?” she asked.

“Good, Mom,” I answered, moving in and bending low to kiss her cheek.

She had the softest skin imaginable. It was like she had a collagen facial first thing in the morning and the last thing at night every day of her life. Not many wrinkles, which boded well for me, but to top that, her skin had a softness that was surreal.

I loved it.

Always did.

Even when I was young, stupid, and being an asshole.

“Have a good day at work,” Mom told me as I straightened away.

“Always do,” I replied, and she knew I did. Being a bartender might not be like being a jet-set supermodel, but it was a fuckuva lot better than being a stripper.

“Kid! Your mom is hittin’ the road!” I shouted.

Ethan came in with a can of Sprite in his hand, looking at me.

“Later,” he said, mouth curved up.

No hug. No kiss.

I wasted several seconds of my life wishing I could turn back time, just a year, maybe two, when Ethan wouldn’t let me leave without both.

When I didn’t get my wish, I said, “Later.”

I grinned at him. I grinned at Mom.

Then I took off.

I hit the bar and saw that Morrie was the one in to start opening. This was good. Colt might have told Feb what had happened with Merry and me, and she’d hesitate half a nanosecond in getting up in my shit about it.

“Yo,” I called to Morrie as I hit the bar.

“Yo, babe,” Morrie returned, at the cash register, putting in our float.

I went to the office to stow my purse and cardie, grabbing my cell to shove it in my back pocket, came out, and hit the back of the bar.

“Just so you know, I owe you five hundred dollars, seein’ as me and Merry emptied that bottle of Talisker Friday night.”

As I spoke, Morrie’s eyes on me grew huge.

Now, Morrie Owens, he was cute. A big ole bear of a man with a protective streak, a great sense of humor, and a deep love of family.

“Say the fuck what?” he asked.

“Mia,” I answered quietly.

His surprise left and he looked to the cash register, muttering, “Shit.” His eyes came back to me. “Shoulda known.”

“Merry did the bottle some damage, but I kept him company after closing and we emptied it. Not his choice. He was up for calling a taxi. So I’ll catch you at end of shift with my tips and hit the ATM tomorrow before I come to work.”

He shook his head, attention back to the register where he was closing the cash drawer. “That’ll be me and Feb’s contribution to the cause of Merry bein’ a dumb fuck and not claimin’ back his woman.”

That pissed me off, and being me, I let it be known.

“All was fair in life, Mia Merrick would waltz her round ass in here and pay you that five hundred for being an even dumber fuck and not claimin’ back her man.”

Morrie looked back to me, and I might have worried about what he’d read in my words if I was the kind of woman everyone knew me not to be.

“Wasn’t her whose mom was murdered in her own damned home when she was a kid,” I carried on. “Wasn’t her sister who was in that house and heard that shit go down. Wasn’t her who had to live with that, grief buried deep, none of that family havin’ the tools to sort out their heads. But it was her who had a man who lived that, and it was her who didn’t stand by that man. So, far’s I’m concerned, he’s good that he’s finally shot of her. Maybe next time, he’ll find a better one.”