Losing Control (Kerr Chronicles #1)(18)
Author: Jen Frederick

“The chase,” he says slowly, as if trying to parse out exactly the right words to make sure I don’t hang up on him, “just whets the appetite. And if what you catch has no substance, then yes, the chase was the only worthwhile part of the whole game.”

The mass in my stomach feels like hard stones. “At least you’re honest,” I say, faking some brightness so he doesn’t hear my disappointment. I have no right to be upset. Colin once called me a stage five clinger because I’d been upset about him sleeping with other people. At the time I was angry at him for being a cheater, but maybe relationships aren’t about fidelity but enjoying the experience. I don’t think I can do that. I fall too quick, too fast, too easily.

He sighs at this. “When is your next outing with your mom?"

"In a few days. She has chemo on Monday, so we do something the weekend before.” The thought of spending time with my dear mother outside while she’s feeling healthy immediately lightens my spirits. Who cares what my new employer thinks of me? I’ve got no time for game-playing men.

“Specifically,” he adds.

“Saturday probably.” I wonder if he is finally going to tell me what this secret project is all about.

He hums. “Alright, have a nice day.” With that, the line goes dead. Tossing the phone aside, I actively fight the feeling of disappointment at the abrupt ending to the conversation. I recite all the positive things in my life. I’m in good health. I have some money. My mom is still alive. She and I are going to the park. These are wonderful things, and I certainly don’t have room or time for a half-baked relationship with someone who undoubtedly wants to screw me and leave me.

Renewed, I get up and fold the bed away.

Chapter 10

“TEN DELIVERIES DOWNTOWN AND THEN come back.” Sandra orders. With a nod of assent, I’m gone.

The deliveries downtown consist mostly of shuttling paper between law firms. Sometimes its tubes of architectural or design plans, but mostly it’s still just paper. All these firms and all their technology but nothing can replace the signed blue signature on the bottom line.

Makes no sense to me, but as long as there are things to be delivered, I still have a job. It’s about all I’m capable of doing. The thought makes the space between my shoulders pinch and all morning long when I’m usually able to just enjoy the activity of being outside and whipping in and out of traffic, my useless future rides me.

By mid-morning I’ve nearly run into four cabs and one bus. I’m behind because I swerved into the curb and punctured my tire to avoid getting leveled by a bus. As I’m patching my tire, I lecture myself. If the last few years of dealing with my mother’s cancer has taught me anything, it’s that you can only deal with one day’s worth of shit at a time. Otherwise you’re paralyzed by the fear of tomorrow.

I don’t hear from Ian again, so all of his talk about helping out really was nothing more than niceties mouthed to a pathetic girl. I put him out of my mind the best I can.

Malcolm keeps me busy along with my regular job. I deliver drugs to three celebrities—two actors and a Broadway star. The famous people are very uncomfortable. I stare at the ground and pretend not to recognize them. The rest of my deliveries are mundane. Rich housewives, a few business people based on the briefcases in the entry hall or suits that they’re wearing when they answer the door. Some try to tip me—hoping I guess that the extra money will help to keep my mouth shut. Don’t they know that we’re all in the same boat? I’m not going to tell anyone I’m delivering drugs to these people because I don’t want to go to prison. I just tell them that discretion is part of the service. They nod and I leave, both of us feeling uncomfortable.

Most deliveries are to different addresses although there are a couple that I’ve delivered a package to each week. I try not to think about what the drugs are doing to these people. Maybe they all have cancer and it’s just weed I’m delivering. I’d like to think that were true, but I’m sure it’s not.

When Saturday rolls around, I deliberately start humming in order to put myself in a good mood. I don’t want to ruin the day.

“Have a good week, dear?” Mom asks as I putter around our small apartment getting ready.

Today I’m getting my mother out of the house and springing for a nice meal with the money I’ve made.

“It wasn’t bad, but how can I not be happy on a today like today? The sun is shining. I’m spending the day with my best friend. And we’re going to see cute animals.” I give her a gentle pinch on the cheek and she grins back.

We hold hands on our way into the park, Mom swinging my arm like she did when I was a little girl. I realize in this moment that nothing I could ever do for Malcolm or Ian wouldn’t be worth seeing the smile on my mom’s face. We reach the zoo’s open gates and join the other families going inside. Is there any place happier than the zoo? I think not. Glancing at my mom, I give her a huge smile and refuse to allow the worry to color our day together.

Leaning over, I give her smooch against her forehead. “Love you, Mom.”

“Love you too, sweet dear.”

“I can see where you get your looks.”

My head snaps up. It’s Ian. Ian f**king Kerr is lounging against the iron post of the left zoo gate, looking for all the world like he owns the place. Hell, based on what he told me the other night maybe he does. He’s wearing his standard uniform of boots, jeans, and big watch. Instead of a T-shirt, he’s wearing a Henley with the top three buttons undone and the sleeves pushed up to showcase muscular forearms, sprinkled with dark-colored hair over heavy veins.

“Were we meeting someone?” My mom turns to me with a twinkle in her eye. “You should have told me you had a surprise for me. No wonder you’re in such a good mood this morning.”

Oh, shit. She thinks Ian is my boyfriend and that I’m bringing him to meet my mom.

“Mom,” I protest. “I was in a good mood because you and I were going to the zoo!”

“Mrs. Corielli, I’m Ian Kerr. Friend of your daughter’s.” He picks up the hand that she offers and actually kisses it or presses his face to it. It’s archaic but causes my mother to flutter like she’s a tween at a One Direction concert. “Come on in, I’ve bought the tickets.” He waves three tickets in front of my face. My mother heads toward the ticket attendant.

“Malcolm?” I mutter under my breath as I pass him. The side of his lips twitches but he says nothing. “Hope you paid through the nose for the information.”