Throughout the remainder of the reception, Seth and I spend our time dancing, drinking, and occasionally socializing at the table. My mother doesn't attempt to speak to me. There's a half hour left before the event ends and, at this point, I've accepted the harsh truth she's not interested—in me, in my life, or how I feel about our relationship. If she did, she'd have sidelined her reservations and made a beeline for me during any of the moments I've been alone.
Which I am right now. Seth just ordered us another round from the bar and as I watch him return to our table, my eyes go wide when he veers off course to speak to my mother. He's shared a few heated moments with Oliver during the afternoon, but this is the first with her. Her posture is stiff as he approaches, lowering to speak into her ear, and with nothing more than a flip of her hand she shoos him away as if he's a pestering mosquito.
There's disappointment slumping his shoulders when he reclaims his seat next to me. Instead of mentioning the conversation, he hands me my Seabreeze and takes a sip of his scotch.
"What did you say to her?"
He doesn't look at me, instead finding something fascinating about the ice in his drink as he swirls it around his glass. "I said her time was running out to get to know her daughter."
An appreciative smile curls my lips. "I thought she wasn't worth it?"
"She's not." He quiets, his focus on the glass. "But you are."
Valued. I feel it seep into my bones.
I lift my hand, combing my fingers through the onyx locks above his ear, drawing his attention. When I have it, I kiss his cheek. "Thanks for trying, but I'm actually ready to get going."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, it's clear she's not interested in my life so I'm tired of trying to make myself a presence in hers. I'm ready to go." I want to spend the rest of this day with him, the one who supports me in everything I do, untainted by the smog that is my mother's disapproval. "Plus, I think Snatch is showing on AMC tonight. I wouldn't want you to miss that."
He gives me a cheeky grin. "You just want me back in your bed."
"That too."
He chuckles, setting his drink down. "Let me just hit the bathroom first and we can head out."
I watch as he stands and heads across the room, feeling confident in my decision to leave. I switch my gaze over to my mother. She's standing in a circle with her bridal party, laughing as though none have a care in the world. They probably don't. But although my mother is content in letting me leave without hearing about my life, I'm not. I'd come today, not only to stand up to her, but to tell her I'm doing okay. That I'm making it on my own, my own way, without her help.
She may not be worth an attempt at rekindling our relationship, but I deserve the moment to express that.
Standing, I approach her circle. My steps are assured as I weave throughout the crowd and bypass the now familiar dance floor. Just as I'm within earshot, I hear my mother gabbing about my life—the one she knows nothing about. It's embellished and fabricated. According to her, I'm flourishing in a bustling city where so many fail; I'm steadily climbing the corporate ladder at Wright Publishing and am one of the most acclaimed editors in the industry. We speak daily so she can fill me in on words of her wisdom. As she begins rattling off details about my potential engagement to my wedding date, I can't resist my frown.
Not only has she manufactured an acceptable path for my life, she's inserted herself into it, acting as the guide who drew the roadmap to my nonexistent success.
Irritation boils beneath my surface, powerful and violent. My life may not be impeccable but it's my life. I don't need perfection to be proud of it and I'm not about to let her invent a mirage and feed it to her friends so she can be, too.
My previous apprehensions about being close to my mother don't register as I step directly beside her and insert myself into her group.
At my intrusion, they all slip on bogus smiles, but June is the first with the verbal greeting.
"Ellie, it's fantastic to see you," she says in the same tone my mother did earlier. "Your mother was just filling us in on your recent life in New York. I can only imagine how wonderful your adventures as a successful editor must be."
It's all for show. Each of these women is as fake as the smiles plastered on their faces. If they had any interest in my 'adventures' in New York, they would've attempted to actually speak to me today, which they haven't.
It's why I have no interest in formalities. Not anymore.
I slip on a smile that reflects each of their own. "Well, I don't want to brag, but life has been pretty great. Not only did I quit my job after my boss blackmailed me into staying with his company, but now I'm unemployed and ready to take on the retail world." I toss my hand onto my hip proudly. "I also have a fantastic roommate I've been sleeping with who has quite the scandalous past. But as we all know, a bad boy is remarkable between the sheets."
All the other ladies'—smiles drop, along with their jaws. The cleaning crew might have to mop them off the floor after the festivities.
"Ellie," my mother scolds.
I bat my lashes innocently. "Yes, Mother?"
"Would you excuse us ladies?" My mother grabs my arm. "My daughter and I have some things we need to discuss."
She turns us around and pulls me along so we're located along the wall an acceptable distance from her ease-dropping gal-pals. I feel no fear with her fingernails digging into my skin, so familiar to the way they have in the past. I only feel anger.
I rip my arm from her clutches. "Don't touch me."
"What do you think you're doing?" She inches herself into my personal space and keeps her voice low.
I cross my arms over my chest. "Just filling the ladies in on my wonderful adventures in New York."
"By shaming yourself?"
Of course that's how she'd view the reality of my life—as a disgrace, not only to myself, but more importantly, to her.
"No, by speaking the truth and being okay with it. You see, some of us actually live our lives. We don't tiptoe around, hiding behind a perfect façade. We stumble, we endure, and at the end of the day, we come out stronger because of it."
"Quitting your job doesn't make you strong. It makes you foolish. Just like you were when you ran off to college."
"Brown University, Mom. Brown. A university you fail to recognize is an Ivy League school because it wasn't the choice you'd made for me and it got me away from you."
"You had no reason to leave. You had a good life here."
"No. I had a controlled life."
"Controlled meant safe."
Her hands lift into the air, either aching to reach for me or slap me for speaking so freely. I'm betting on the latter.
I eye her hands. "It felt like something different to me."
"Don't look at me like that," she scolds, lowering her hands. "I was a good mother to you. You always had food on the table, a roof over your head, and a place to call home."
"And what about love?" There's a trace of desperation in my voice, the part still yearning for the mother I once knew. The one who died with my father, drowning in her sorrow. I would have done anything for her in the past. I would have fought for her, defended her, and maybe even forgiven her now. If only she exposed a single ounce of remorse for any of the things she's done in the past, I could. I'd somehow find a way to see past all the pain and forgive it for the woman who lost herself in her own grief.
But it doesn't happen. There isn't a single flicker of the woman I once loved when she scoffs. "You had love."
"No, I had discipline."
The need to instill discipline is surging through my mom's right hand. It's clenching at her side, itching to meet my face in an act of dominance. I'm finally pouring my heart out to her, telling her how I feel about the things she's done to me and what I ultimately needed instead of those things, and all she can offer me in return is what drove us to this point.
She squares her shoulders. "Because of me, you're strong."
I finally lose it. Her violence resulted in a lot of things, but my strength, that's all me.
"Let's get something straight." I inch forward into her space this time. "Because of you, I clean at least thirty minutes a day, craving perfection, which is impossible. Because of you, I couldn't have anyone touch me for nearly a year. Because of you, I stayed at a company that took me for granted, fearing what would happen if I took a leap of faith and trusted my own voice. But because of me, I finally stood up for myself and discovered self-worth. Because of me, I'm strong."
Her eyes widen in shock at my new vigor. It shatters me that this is the only way to show my mother the power I've acquired throughout my life, but she needs to understand. This didn't come from her. It came because I've lived.
"And sure, my life isn't perfect. I'm figuring things out as I go along and it's terrifying, but a façade of a perfect life isn't everything. Being proud of yourself is, and I am."
I look at her now with her stunning pearls, pristine make-up and inflexible expression. Life hurt her in one of the most brutal ways and instead of coping, she found solace in perfection. She ensured a comfortable life and found a means to control the only person who still truly loved her. But it backfired. Rather than keeping me safe and protected, she pushed me away, leaving her with a circle of friends who wouldn't know the term genuine if it slapped them in their faces.
It has me asking, "Can you say the same?"
She blinks. Her lips purse but otherwise stay shut. Her body is rigid, her expression vacant, and although she isn't countering my accusation, she still refuses to show any emotion whatsoever.
Sadness lands in my throat and I struggle to swallow it down. "That's what I thought. Congratulations; it was a wonderful wedding. I'll call you in six months."
I turn to the exit doors. I'd said my peace and I'm ready to go. I just need to find Seth. Since he didn't join me with my mother and he isn't waiting at our table, I can only assume he's still waiting in line for the bathroom.
I walk through the exit doors and into the entryway to find Seth and Oliver in a heated argument. Seth has Oliver pinned against the wall with his forearm against his throat, and before I'm able to take another step, his fist collides with the side of Oliver's jaw.
Adrenaline spikes as I charge toward them.
"Can't say I didn't warn you. You're lucky I don't kill you, you piece of shit," Seth seethes, landing another crack against Oliver's face. It results in blood splattering from Oliver's mouth as it swings to the right. My new step-father's eyes roll back in his head before he aims a kick to Seth's shin, earning him another crack to the face.
"Hey!" Wrapping my hands around Seth's right arm, I feel it tremor with rage beneath my touch. "Seth, stop."
Oliver spits more blood as Seth turns to me. His nostrils flare, his lips lift in a snarl, and his eyes are so dark I barely recognize the blue I've fallen in love with. He's pure predator.
"Please." My fingers brush along his black suit, easing him down. I have no idea what started the fight but I'm determined to be the one who finishes it.
Seth's eyes relax, as do his brows and mouth when he focuses on me. It's a slow process but a successful one. His left arm releases Oliver, who slides down the wall into a crumpled ball on the floor, and he takes a step back. His voice is low, menacing, when he says, "He brought it on himself." Then he stalks out the front door.
After a lingering glance at Oliver, I chase after Seth. He's already getting into the car when I catch up, so I follow suit. I throw open the door and slide into the passenger's seat. His body still trembles from the remnants of his adrenaline when I reach for him.
"Don't."
Pulling my arms back against my chest, I watch him. He has a hand on either side of the steering wheel, white-knuckling the leather. His chest expands with each sharp breath he takes and he's staring straight ahead. Considering a well-manicured bush rests in his sightline, I know he's replaying the fight and not gawking at the venues landscaping.
"Fuck." Seth breathes, tightening his bloodied hand on the steering wheel. Every muscle in his arm strains as he grinds the leather beneath his palm. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, before he raises his right hand and slams it against the steering wheel.
"Fuck!" He pounds his fist against the steering wheel again. "Fuck." It's louder this time, followed by another hit to the steering wheel and an even louder, "Fuck." It transitions into an onslaught of both until he finally loses steam and dips his head, cradling it in the palms of his hands.
His whole body trembles when I reach for him again. He flinches when my left hand makes contact with his shoulder and as I start to lean over, he says, "I fucked up."
He lifts his head and looks at me, exposing the anguish in his eyes. The darkness has faded, leaving a somber blue rimmed in red. He's still shaking, his shoulders are tense, the blood from his hands is smearing onto his pants, and I'm aware he's seconds away from unraveling. If I pull the wrong thread, he'll come apart at the seams.
I want to know what happened in that entryway, but I want him intact first.
"It's okay." Running my hand over his shoulder, I ease the quakes from his body. The torment he holds resonates through my skin.
His fingers clench into fists again in his lap before he lifts them to tangle in his hair. "It's not okay. I wanted to kill him."
"But you didn't."
His hands drop and he tilts his head to face me. Astonishment creeps over his expression, replacing the devastation. "You're not angry?"
I could lie to him and say no, but I choose the honest response. "Not yet." I'll decide whether or not to be angry once I get the full story. Until then, I'm keeping my judgment to myself.
He nods, slowly, shifting to stare back out the windshield. His body no longer shakes, but it's still tense. The breaths he takes are still uneven.
"Do you need me to drive us back to the motel?" The last thing I want is for Oliver to come storming out in a tornado of rage and destroying the progress I've made thus far in calming Seth down.
"You don't have a license."
"I'm feeling rebellious."
His gaze shifts over to mine, exposing the amusement my tiny joke brought. It's how I know he's stitched back together enough to ask my next question.
"What happened in there?"
He grimaces as storm clouds roll in again. They blacken his disposition, fill our compact car with his bottled fury. I'm stroking the beast, but I need to know.
"Seth."
"He said things." He takes a deep breath, shaking as he releases it. "About you."
"Those things being?"
He glares at me, all fire and rage. It's a warning I don't heed. "Tell me."
"He said you looked easy. And then asked how much it would cost to rent you out for a night." He shakes his head, blowing out a harsh gust of air. "There was more, but I'm not repeating it."
The trembling returns; I feel it beneath my palm still resting on his shoulder. My blood is hot as it simmers in my veins, resulting in my own trembling. How dare Oliver degrade me that way. I suddenly want to beat the crap out of him myself, but then again, it's not necessary. Seth already did.
And now he's sitting beside me, a hazardous mixture of fury and self-condemnation for letting that fury get the best of him. After the altercation with my mother, I appreciate his deed. He'd fought for me, protected my honor, and because of my stance on his fighting in the past, he's beating himself up about it.
Taking his clenched, bloodied fists in my hands, I wait for his focus. When I have it, I do my best to ease his guilt. "Thank you."
Confusion creeps in, etching lines into his forehead. "You're thanking me?"
I nod. "You defended me."
"The last time I defended you with my fists, you screamed at me."
I still don't condone violence and I still don't believe it's the right choice for anyone to make. But after coming to terms with my mother's inability to express any real emotions toward me today, I can't reprimand Seth for showcasing his emotions the best way he knows how. For someone so terrified of feeling emotions, he's practically bursting with them. I'm simply grateful they're there.
Lifting his battered hands to my lips, I place a delicate kiss on each. "And this time, I'm thanking you."
We toss Seth's bloody clothes into a plastic bag and shower at the motel when we get back. He lets me wash away the stains of his fight while he washes away the sting of my mother's detachment. Together, we shed the remnants of the day.
He leans in to kiss me. It's slow and languid as water cascades down our cheeks, and right there in the shower, he takes me.
Afterwards, we settle into bed together. Snatch plays on the screen. My head rests on his chest and the heat of his bare skin seeps against my cheek as he plays with my hair. With each brush of his fingertips against my scalp, I drift further toward sleep. It couldn't be more welcome. I'm ready to say goodbye to today.
My phone pings from the nightstand. Sighing, I lift from Seth's warmth and reach for it to read the text message. The blood drains from my face.
"What's wrong?"
I can't pull my gaze from the image of Marsha and a man smiling at me from my tiny screen. More importantly, I can't pull it from the actual words below and his name.
He asked to make things official tonight and I think I've lost my mind cause I might say yes. What do you think? Is Calvin boyfriend material?
"Ellie."
I thrust the phone in Seth's face. "Please tell me your Calvin doesn't look like this."
He takes the phone, studying the dark-haired man whose goatee brushes against the cheek of my best friend. The dread slipping over his expression gives me my answer. His verbal, "fuck," confirms it.
Panic swarms in, short circuiting my brain. All I can focus on is Marsha bound and gagged somewhere in the future, acting as leverage for Calvin to get Seth back. All because I hadn't been honest with her about Seth's past.
"She doesn't know who he is." My voice shakes.
Seth glances at me. "I know."
"How?"
"Same way you know she's unaware of what's happened in the past with your bitch of a mother."
Right. We have an understanding, and at another time I'd be sentimental about that fact, but not when my best friend is in the clutches of a powerful mafia lord. Calvin manipulated Seth in the past. What if he's doing the same with Marsha?
Biting the inside of my cheek, I gnaw until I taste blood. "Do you think he's using her to get to you?"
"Doesn't matter." Seth throws the covers off and steps out of bed. "He's a ruthless bastard either way."
He pulls on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt while I watch in a shocked haze. I'm immobile, but when he finally starts tapping on the phone, I find my voice to ask, "What are you doing?"
"I'm calling her and telling her to get the hell away from him. Then we're heading back to the city." He lifts his right hand. "Get dressed."
I grab the first t-shirt I see and toss it over my head, reaching for my shorts next. "Is it safe to call her now? She's with him."
He's contemplating his answer when a knock sounds on our door. It's three loud, distinct bangs, made with intent.
"What the fuck is it now?" He drops my cell onto the bed. I continue throwing our belonging into our suitcase as he opens the door.
"Are you Seth Carter?" It's a male voice; one I don't recognize.
"Yeah," Seth says. "Who's asking?"
"I'm from the Lancerfield Sherriff's Department. You're under arrest for the assault of Oliver Jones."