Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
But when the Nissan drops me off, someone’s waiting on the porch.
My mother is here.
That’s weird. We don’t have plans tonight. A flash of worry cuts through me. Did something happen to my dad? I hoist my overnight bag on my shoulder and cut across the stone path to the small porch. She’s smiling. Doubly odd.
“Hey, Mom. What’s going on?”
She lifts a Hydro Bottle and waggles it proudly. “I was in the neighborhood. And I wanted to bring you this as a gift and thank you.”
That still doesn’t compute. “For what?” I ask, unlocking the door and heading inside.
She follows me. “I read about the deal you did. With your new client.”
She’s never come by to congratulate me on a deal. She’s more apt to come by to lecture me. “It’s a good deal. I’m happy for him,” I say, still wary.
She sighs, then her smile disappears as she holds out her hands. “Maddox, I’m trying.”
I turn around. “Trying what?”
“I’m trying to be involved in your life. To understand you. Hydro Bottles is a green-centric company making environmentally-friendly products. I know that matters to you. But it also donates a bottle to a school for every bottle sold. When I read the news, I thought my son did this,” she says, proudly.
She hasn’t sounded that way in a long time.
But I’m still a dog wary of someone offering me a bone. “This is what I do. I know you and Dad don’t like it.”
She frowns. “Look, I wish you wanted to work with your father and me, but I know you’re not interested in our side of the law. I accept that. So I simply wanted to say I’m glad to see some inroads. Working with good companies and good men,” she says, and this feels like she’s damning me with faint praise.
But it’s more than I’m used to from her.
“I’m glad you approve,” I say, and I hate that there’s a touch of truth in that statement. I suppose I do still want their support. They’re my parents after all. And Mom did come here.
I let down some of my guard. “I appreciate you saying as much, Mom,” I say, then I take the offered bottle. I set it on the living room table. But I don’t invite her to stay for a drink. I need to get ready for the theater.
“I use Hydro Bottles,” she continues. “And Zane is a great spokesperson. He actually uses the bottles. He cares. I truly like seeing that.”
“That’s what I do, Mom. I pair athletes with brands they care about. In this case, the brand is one that matters to you too.”
“I hope you do more of those,” she says diplomatically, then reaches for her phone from her pants pocket. She slides her thumb across the screen. “Even his little niece uses these bottles. This isn’t a promo video. But you can see it in the background. He posted one recently from her softball game.”
My mouth twists. That sounds wonderful and awful. “Please don’t play it,” I warn, desperately.
Her finger freezes above the play button. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“Nothing,” I say quickly, trying to mask my emotions.
With curious eyes, she lowers her phone. “Maddox? What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I bite out.
She studies my face intensely in that most mom-like way. “Do you have feelings for Zane?”
“Mom,” I hiss.
“Are you in—”
“—No!” I shout. And even if I were in love, I wouldn’t tell her first.
She lifts her hands as if in surrender. But my mom doesn’t know the meaning of the word. She simply holsters her weapon, slides it into her pants pocket, and tries a new tactic. “Sweetheart,” she says gently, like that’ll get me to confess.
But I don’t want to crack open my heart. I don’t want to be judged by her. I don’t need anyone else telling me I made a mistake. I’ve told myself enough damn times.
Instead, though, she reaches for my arm, squeezes it compassionately. “I know you love your job. I don’t understand why, but I respect your passion for it.” She draws a deep breath. “Just make sure your work isn’t the only thing you’re passionate about.”
Then she advances closer still, surprising the hell out of me when she offers her arms in a hug. I’m disarmed, so I take it. It’s quick but affectionate. “I love you,” she says, soft and earnest.
“Love you too,” I mutter, speaking words I haven’t said in ages. To anyone.
Then she turns on her heel and leaves.
Leave it to a mom to see through my facade.
I slump down on the couch, drop my head in my hands, and wish I knew what to do about this crack inside me that’s letting far too many emotions rush in.
“The show is about to begin. Please take your seats.”
The modulated voice resonates from the loudspeakers in the theater as I make my way down the aisle. Bryan’s parked in the fifth row, and I reach him quickly, grateful for a friendly face. I’m still reeling from Mom seeing through me. I didn’t realize her parental vision was that sharp.