~Rhys~
Sometimes you’re going through your day, and then it hits you. That thing you have to do, that you know you should’ve done ages ago but never had.
I was on my way home from dropping Emma off when it hit me. And I had found myself on the highway headed to a place I had unwittingly burned into memory.
Now I was standing on the stone steps, staring up at nothing less than a mansion, sure it probably even came with its own butlers and cleaning service.
It was disgusting.
I walked up the steps and rang the doorbell, half-hoping nobody would answer the door.
But of course someone did.
“Do you have a meeting with Miss Herring?”
Herring. Her maiden name. “Yes.”
“Name?”
“None of your fucking business,” I spat, pushing passed the elderly man in the crisp tux. The house was huge on the inside. Ornate and elegant and everything I hated. I could feel my skin crawling and wished I could just find her and get out as fast as possible.
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave—”
“Where is she?” I demanded. “Is she here?”
“Sir, I—”
“Rufus? Who on earth is making such a ruckus down here?”
I shouldn’t remember the voice, but I did. I remembered it like any child would, that small part inside of every person that could never forget.
I turned slowly to face the woman, satisfied when I saw how unalike we were. Her black hair and green eyes and short build. The sharpness to her features.
She was nothing like me.
There was no greater relief.
“Hi, Mom,” I greeted tonelessly, hands shoved in my jeans pockets. She grabbed the railing of the stairway she was on, holding it in a white-knuckled grip.
“Rhys?” she croaked. “My son—”
“Don’t ever call me that,” I spat.
“You are dismissed Rufus,” she said. The man behind me walked away. “Rhys, what are you doing here?”
I snorted. “I can’t believe you remember me. It’s only been almost sixteen years.”
“I think a mother should always be able to recognize their son.”
“You are not my mother,” I stated so sincerely I nearly believed it. “You have no right to call yourself by that name.”
She winced. “I suppose I deserve that.”
“A whole lot more, too. Can we talk?”
She nodded, sweeping a hand out to an open door. “Yes. In the library.”
I walked with purposeful strides and didn’t bother looking at anything along the way. I didn’t want to commit anything about her life to memory. I never wanted to come back, either. I sat down in the tall-backed chair and waited for her to do the same in the one across from me.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“I don’t want anything from you,” I deadpanned. “Except answers.”
She licked her lips but nodded. “Sure.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Rhys . . .”
“And I don’t want any of that other useless bullshit Dad used to feed me,” I interjected.
“I wasn’t cut out for the family life,” she said. “I couldn’t be a mother to you. The mother you deserved.”
I barked out dry laughter. “How would you know? You never even tried.”
“I did try.”
“How?” I exploded. “By freaking running out because things a got a bit too hard for you to handle? By never looking back so you wouldn’t have to remember how shitty of a parent you were?”
“Lower your voice, Rhys.”
“I don’t think I will!” I retorted angrily. “My life was shit, Mom, all because you wanted to screw my dad!”
“Rhys! You will not use that language within my home!”
“Does it look like I give a crap, mother? My childhood went all to hell because of what you did. I know you’ve moved on and clearly don’t care and that’s just fine with me. But you could have done something. Visited once and made sure everything was fine and peachy. But you didn’t.”
“Your father wouldn’t have wanted me back there.”
“My father was a corporate zombie who refused to believe he had a smaller life in the house to take care of,” I hissed back.
“You wouldn’t have—”
“No, of course not. Because how could a five-year-old kid not want his mother to be around?”
Her eyes dropped. I could see the lines of fatigue riddling her face. I felt no sympathy.
“That is all I want to know,” I stated in a quiet voice.
“You wanted me to come back and proclaim by undying devotion to you both,” she said. I had no response, because for a time, that was exactly what I wanted. “I couldn’t do that, Rhys. Yes, you were my child, but I knew you would be okay.”
“You had no way of knowing that,” I growled. “You were never there.”
“True.” She leaned back in the chair. “I fancied myself in love with your father, you know.”
I snorted in derision. “How romantic.”
“It didn’t last, of course. I was in love with his looks, his money.” She stared down at the fancy carpet. “Love is a child’s game, Rhys. It exists only in the imagination.”
I frowned. “You didn’t come back because you didn’t love my father.”
She shook her head.
“And I was just an inconvenience.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She rubbed a hand over her face. “I am sorry your life has been so difficult. I truly am. What do you want me to do? Do you want money?”
My lip curled in disgust. “No. I don’t want anything from you.”
“It’s good to see you have my views, though,” she remarked. “Stay strong, Rhys. Stay independent. Love breaks you down. It’s an illusion that makes you weak.”
I didn’t believe her.
“Caring about someone is poison in the veins. It gives them the greatest advantage over you. Allows them to hurt you.”
“Shut up,” I snapped harshly, as the only image that popped into my head at her words was Emma. Her face, her tears, her innocent grey eyes. Her desire for fairness in a world of injustice and the faith she could put in self-destructing bombs like myself.
I stood abruptly, feeling I had overstayed my welcome. I started toward the door.
“You’re welcome back, you know,” she stated. “If you ever want to talk.”
“I’ve heard everything I needed to,” I snarled, and headed straight out her door without another word. I sat in my car, simmering. Maybe visiting my mother hadn’t been the best idea. I was even more ticked off than before.
I pulled my phone out of my pocket, fingers trembling as I scrolled through my contacts, looking for someone in particular. It was a theory that I needed to test.
I leaned my head back against the seat.
“Hello?” her soft voice came through. And just like I thought, I could feel it seep into my veins and act like a natural sedative. I closed my eyes.
“Hi, Emma.”
“Rhys? You never call me.”
I smirked. “I need to talk to you.”
“Oh, no. This can’t be good.”
“I’m serious. Go to Vittorio’s, I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” I replied, pulling away from my mother’s house. If I had it my way I would never go near it again. “I think I’m finally about to do something right.”