“Fine. Good.” The edge in Zach’s tone matched Alex’s own. “Ms. Clegg better continue to do her damn job, because we can’t afford another screwup.”
“Whatever her job description might be, I am responsible for my own behavior. Not her. No matter what happens, she’s not at fault. I want that absolutely clear.” The fucking nerve. “Is that all? Because I have better things to do. I haven’t flossed for several hours, and I hear my future producers are also considering whether my plaque levels are within contractual bounds.”
A long silence stretched over the line, and Alex half wondered whether this was it. The moment, the conversation, that would sever their partnership at long last.
The prospect should probably frighten him, and maybe it would later, but it didn’t now. Either Zach showed Lauren respect, or he could fuck off to somewhere else in Hollywood.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.” Zach’s voice was tight.
“As much as I ever did,” Alex said, then ended the call.
To cool his temper afterward, he read a Cupid/Psyche fic where Psyche was a small village’s intended human sacrifice to a clan of werewolves headed by Jupiter—at least until Cupid, Jupiter’s grandson, fell in love with her and spirited her away from danger.
After that, matters got rather heated, and it was all extremely delightful.
Spirits restored, he then FaceTimed his mother. Complete with video, this time and every time. Without fail. Because he needed to see her expression, her body language, for himself.
Linda answered after two rings, her gray-streaked brown hair gathered into a messy ponytail atop her head, her face lit in a happy beam.
The sun was just setting in Florida, and the warm golden glow bathed her perch on the back porch swing. She set it to rocking, and her tidy yard whooshed back and forth while her face remained steady and centered on the screen.
“Sweetheart!” Her eyes, the same gray as his, creased at the corners with her smile. “I didn’t know you were calling today.”
She looked good. She sounded good too, and something wound tight within him released. At least, until the next phone call.
He wished he could recapture the joy, the unalloyed comfort, her voice used to give him. That sense of homecoming and acceptance, despite all his grievous flaws.
Her voice hadn’t changed. Her love for him hadn’t changed.
He’d changed, just over eleven years ago.
And it was for the better, it really was. He should know how he’d wronged someone he loved as dearly as he loved her, so he could do his damnedest never to make the same mistake again. But the guilt, the self-directed anger, had stripped away the simple solace her presence, her loving words, used to provide. Now when he talked to her, he wasn’t simply talking to his mom anymore. He was talking to someone he’d harmed, and he couldn’t forget it. Wouldn’t forget it.
“I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing,” he said, and it was the simple truth.
No hesitation. “I’m doing great. How about you?”
As usual, she fiddled with the cheap locket around her neck as she spoke. He’d given it to her … what? Twenty years ago? Not long after he’d left for L.A., anyway.
She still wore it every day, because she loved the pair of tiny photos inside. On the left: the two of them, mother and child, from when he was a toddler. On the right: the two of them fifteen years later, posed exactly the same way as in the earlier shot.
He’d even managed to find reasonably similar clothing for the second photo, although his mom had insisted he leave out the pacifier for the department-store shoot. If memory served, he’d called her a spoilsport and produced a beanie with a propeller on top instead.
At some point, he’d have to introduce Lauren to his mom. He suspected they’d discover a great deal of common ground when it came to him.
“I’m an exemplar of good health, good looks, and good choices, as usual.” He smirked at his mother, who merely rolled her eyes in response. “What’s happening for you this week?”
“Not much.” She tilted her head in thought. “They finally have the new kid fully trained, so I can take an extra day off. I’m going to set up my big umbrella, put some paperbacks I don’t mind getting sandy in my bag, and relax by the water on Thursday.”
Alex sent enough money for her not to work, but she preferred to keep busy. Her part-time job at a seaside used bookstore kept her happy and well supplied with reading material.
At least she’d finally accepted a new home by the beach a few years back. She deserved the world, and that would be true even if he weren’t roiling with guilt.