I scoff.
He frowns. “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay with Greyson choosing you over his future.”
“Great. Then get out.” I point to the door.
“I could,” he allows, but he pulls a chair closer and takes a seat instead. “Or I could tell you why I bothered to show up in the first place. I’ve got a busy schedule, Ms. Reece. Doing charity work isn’t usually part of it.”
“Maybe you’d get more votes if you did charity work,” I retort. I sit up straighter. “But, sure. Call me curious.”
“I know that detective outside is pressing you for information you don’t want to give. And you’ve had no recollection, so you say, of who took you.” He raises an eyebrow. He’s so manicured, it’s almost comical. Gray hair, smooth face. His forehead doesn’t even crease with the expression, and his skin has that spray-tanned color. His teeth are so white.
Maybe all politicians look like that, and I’ve just never noticed.
“That’s what you know,” I say. “But what did Grey say?”
He smiles down at his shoes, then meets my gaze. “His mother used to call him that. She’d carry him around the house singing to him. He was her little raincloud. Always crying, always thunderous in his emotions. He lets you call him that?”
A lump forms in my throat. “He loved her a lot, you know.”
“Yes, of course he did. She was his mother.”
I swallow, ignoring the burn behind my eyes. I need to return that photo album to him. I’ve been holding back—and holding out—because I was worried he was just using me. But he found me, even after Mia took me. He left one of the most important games to come save me. I believe him when he says he loves me. It just took a little while…
“My son understands you.” He appraises me. “He says you’re afraid to name your abductor because of what they’ve threatened. Did they say they’d come back and kill you? Harm you? Perhaps your view of our justice system is tainted because of our history.”
I keep my eyes on my lap. “Maybe it wasn’t me who was threatened, Senator, but your son. If it was me, I could live with that. I would’ve given up a name by now. But him? Never.”
He leans forward, bracing his hands on the side of the bed. “Listen to me, Violet.”
I lift my gaze and meet his eyes.
“For this, I’m willing to make the system work in our favor. Do you understand?”
“She can’t be allowed to walk free.” A tear slips down my face, and I quickly brush it away. God, I hope he’s telling the truth.
“She?”
“Mia Germain,” I whisper. How easily I’m folding. I can only pray he has good intentions. That he cares about his son enough to put her away forever. His face remains blank, not recognizing the name. How funny, when she’s been such a big presence in my life. I add, “The artistic director of Crown Point Ballet. She’s been following me. She took me against my will and then she drugged me.”
He rises. “Thank you, Violet. I’ll take care of it.”
When he’s gone, I sag back against the pillows. And the tears flow for real.
58
VIOLET
“Do you want to deal?” Willow shuffles the cards, leaning back against the footboard of my bed.
I hold out my hand for the stack and shuffle again. I’m being discharged today, after the doctor checks out my most recent blood panel and gives the okay. Then I’ll have to wait for paperwork, but everyone who works here tells me it shouldn’t be later than three o’clock. Ish.
Sometimes things run slowly.
Willow’s been a comfort. She arrived early, right after the morning rounds, armed with iced lattes and breakfast sandwiches. And games. Something else, too, that I only briefly looked at before tucking it away again.
I relayed what happened with the senator. She’s less surprised than Grey was, but I think she has a better handle on how things work. Tricky relationships between parents and children, money and agendas.
“Knock, knock.” Grey leans into the room. “You have a visitor.”
“You knew Willow was going to be here, didn’t you?”
Willow rolls her eyes.
“Not her. Or me.” He comes farther into the room, and worry creases the corners of his eyes. “Just say the word, and I’ll have security toss her out.”
I swallow.
A second later, my mother inches into the room. Her gaze darts around, from the bag of saline over my head to the window, to the monitors, to the needle taped to my arm. Everywhere except me, right in front of her.
Willow slides off the bed, taking the cards from my hand. “I’ll be outside.”
Grey takes up a position against the wall. Maybe out of her sight, or out of her focus, but certainly not out of mine.
“I was so worried,” Mom finally says.
I don’t answer.
What the hell am I supposed to say to that?
She clears her throat. Shuffles. “Violet, please.”
“Are you here hoping I’ll be prescribed more opiates?”
My mother flinches.
I sit up. “I’m going to tell you something. And I need you to hear it, okay?”
She nods and approaches, stopping at the foot of the bed. She grips the plastic.
“You traded in being my mother for drugs.” I keep my eyes glued on hers, and she doesn’t look away. “You brought me to his father’s suite, at one of Grey’s biggest games, because you wanted money from him.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
I close my eyes for a moment, then force myself to meet her gaze. “I think it’s best if we go our separate ways. I love you, but…” A lump forms in my throat. I love you, but—the phrase has been haunting both of us for a while. My mother and I just don’t fit together.
Still, she doesn’t move. “I only ever did this for us—”
“Don’t lie to her,” Grey snaps.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I’m so sorry.”
I let out a breath when she slinks away.
Grey sits on the edge of the bed, then pulls my arms away from my chest. He interlocks our fingers. “You okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” I look down at our hands—and then I remember what Willow brought. I release him to lean over the edge, grabbing her bag from the floor. “I got you something.”
His eyebrow raises. “Oh, yeah?”
I set the bag on my lap and pull out the photo album. It was kept safe in the attic crawl space in our apartment.
He looks at it for a moment, presented in my hands, like he’s second-guessing whether it’s what he thinks it is. He flips open the first page and glances down at it. Has it only been a few months since he took me up into his room and snapped at me to put this down?
I’m glad I didn’t.
And then he starts to talk. I settle back against my pillow, and he adjusts to sit next to me. He tells me about the photos, pointing out people, and my heart aches for him.
I rest my head on his shoulder as he weaves another picture entirely about the family he lost. And for most of it, I hardly dare breathe in fear that he’ll stop.
Grey offers me his hand.