“You know, Everly, there’s always this weird line where I want to say these things to my little sister but somehow still feel weird about saying them in front of you.”
Evie and Gracie grew up with Lenny basically as a member of their family. Their parents are close. Lenny’s husband, Bash, is Evie’s godfather.
“It’s not like I’m a blushing virgin, Len,” Everly swallows her wine, and Len scrunches her face up.
“So.” Len turns back to me. “Have you talked to your mom yet?”
Jules and Kenzie turn toward our conversation, and I suddenly feel bad. I’m not happy with my mom, but it feels weird talking about her with everyone.
“No. Not yet,” I admit.
“You need to call her, Lindy,” Len lectures gently.
“She hasn’t called me either,” I defend.
“Sweetie.” Jules takes my hand in hers. “If you want to be treated like an adult, you’ve got to act like one. And sometimes that’s realizing this is your mother, and you owe her your life. Literally.”
“If I say I’ll call her, will you all let me watch my husband warm up?”
“She called him her husband,” Jules snickers to Lenny. The two of them have been best friends forever. And in moments like these, I see it.
“She did. Our little girl grew up,” Lenny adds.
“You guys . . . Ugh.” I walk away, laughing, and move to the glass to find Easton. He’s skating lines in front of his goal. And damn, my husband is hot.
I promised Easton I wouldn’t wait for him after the game. He wanted me to go home with Crew and my friends, since we’re subtly trying to avoid the media until some of this firestorm settles down. That means I’ve got time to kill while I wait for him on the couch, snuggled up with Myrtle later that night.
I stare at my phone, trying to decide whether I want to call my mom or not.
I almost do it too. Until I chicken out and call Brandon instead.
“Hey, shortcake. I was hoping we’d hear from you soon.”
Damn it. His voice wasn’t supposed to make me cry. This is why I didn’t FaceTime.
“Hey, Brandon. How’s everything?” I ask and feel like a complete asshole.
“Gonna ask me how the weather is next, kid?”
I pull my chunky white-knit blanket around me and kinda wish I was sitting next to him right now. Brandon didn’t come into my life as a stepfather until I was fifteen, and he’s never treated me any differently than my little sister, Raven. “No. How is she?” I ask instead.
“There’s a lot of shes in this family, Madeline.” His voice is firm. Protective. He loves me, but there’s no one in this world he would choose over my mother.
“Mom. How’s Mom?”
“That’s a loaded question. Might be better off if you ask her. How are you?”
“I’m happy. Everything in my life is great, if I ignore the fact that my mother wants me to stay a child she can control forever,” I grumble, frustrated. “And I’m pretty sure I sounded like a petulant child the way I said that.”
“Kid. Your mom is hurt. She loves you, and you threw her a Hail Mary, expecting her to catch a pass she didn’t know was coming. She dropped the ball, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be recovered.”
“There’s my favorite football coach,” I tease. He tried being an analyst for a season after he retired, but it wasn’t for him. Now he’s the offensive line coach for the Kings, and he’s great at it. But . . . “Can you translate that to layman’s terms, big guy?”
“You threw her for a loop, kid. She wasn’t expecting you to come home married. She wasn’t expecting you to end up on every gossip rag there is. We don’t even know whether the news is true and we’re going to be grandparents or not—”
“You’re not,” I confirm. “I mean, maybe one day. Eventually. Many, many, many, years from now. But not yet and not in nine months.”
“Then you fired your security. She’s been worried about you.”
“I fired my security because he wasn’t mine. He was theirs. The family hired him. I hired someone new today. He works for me and answers to me. I’m not trying to be irresponsible. I just need her to let me breathe a little.” I run my hand over the soft fur of Myrtle’s head and try to see this from their perspective, but it’s just so damn hard.
“Any chance she’s going to be around tomorrow night?” Maybe it’s better if I just rip this Band-Aid off.