by Quinn, Cari
“I can eat both.”
“Pfft.” She grabbed the plate, reattached the cellophane, and then placed all of her covered dishes into a large handled bag. “Here. Be careful with this.” She whipped off her apron, hung it on a hook and scurried toward the bedroom. “I’ve gotta get ready. Have fun,” she called.
Five minutes later, she ran back through and banged the front door shut behind her.
Shaking my head, I tugged out my phone to text Mia. She had an afternoon shift at Vinnie’s, but she was due back anytime. Just as I was about to send my message, the buzzer sounded.
Expelling a breath, I went to the intercom. “Forget your keys?”
I hoped like hell it was Mia or her sister. I so didn’t want to deal with anyone else tonight.
“It’s me, Tray. Can I come up?”
My mother. Fabulous.
“Yeah.” I buzzed her in and pressed my forehead against the intercom. I had too much shit on my mind already to handle this too, especially when we had an afternoon appointment at my father’s law firm tomorrow.
She knocked a moment later and I pulled open the door, already preparing to brush her off. I couldn’t keep opening myself up to her and getting shut down.
The small powder blue suitcase in her hand made me clamp my lips closed.
“I left him.” She lifted her tear-stained face. “I don’t know where else to go.”
The jangle of keys up the hall dragged my focus from my mother to Mia’s arrival. She stopped halfway up the hall and bit her lip. “Uh, sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt. I can go—”
“It’s your place,” I said shortly to Mia, stepping into the hallway to hold out an arm to her. “And we have plans tonight.”
It wasn’t easy watching my mother’s chin crumple, but I wasn’t willing to jump feet first into hope so easily. Not again. Then there was the little problem that, for fucking once, I needed my father’s help on Mia’s behalf. If my mother was taking off on my dad, he wasn’t going to be open-minded toward Mia’s plight.
I wanted my mother away from him. Safe. Whole. But that didn’t mean I knew what to do with her tears—or her suitcase.
“Tray,” Mia chided, moving forward to take my mother’s suitcase. Something I hadn’t thought to do. “Mrs. Knox, please come in. Sit down.”
My mother shot me a speculative look. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and guided her inside while taking a surreptitious glance at my watch.
Normally, I wasn’t Mr. Social Engagement, but I needed to talk strategy with Slater tonight about Mia’s fight. We were running out of time. Friday was five fucking days away.
I couldn’t spend another evening under the false assumption my mother was really going to leave. How many times had I fallen for that hat trick? Too many, and I had too much else going on right now that demanded my full attention.
The situation with my parents would be there next week. As it always was, eternally.
“I’m sorry, you’re busy.” My mother perched on the edge of the couch. “I just thought Tray would like to know that I…well, that I’ve left his father.”
“We’ll see.” The door left my hand and slammed shut.
Mia cut me a glance. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“No, she’s not. Anyone would be thrilled to hear that if they had any inkling what that bastard put you through all these years.” I leaned against the door and crossed my arms. “If this was actually happening, I’d dance a fucking jig.”
After tomorrow—after we’d gotten the information we needed from my father. I might’ve been mercenary, but I was my father’s son. And Mia came first, always.
“It’s happening. I’m here, aren’t I? With my clothes. Would I be carrying them around with me like some ragamuffin if I had anywhere else to go?” Even as she spoke, her gaze drifted to Mia’s bulging backpack.
My girl had never fully lost the habit of carrying a few changes of clothes with her—both for the gym, and because she’d always had that fight-or-flight instinct finely honed.
“I only packed the essentials,” my mother added weakly, apparently gauging from the silence that her ragamuffin comments weren’t welcome here. “I’ll need to go back for the rest.”
I said nothing.
Mia sat beside her and took her hand. “Would you like something to drink? Maybe a cup of tea? My sister stocks chamomile.”
“That would be lovely, thank you.” My mother’s glance told me succinctly that she wasn’t appreciative of my lack of manners, but she was lucky I was just being cool to her. I was far too close to the edge lately, and I’d been down this road way too often.
Self-preservation dictated I not be the dumbass one more time.
“Sure thing. Just one moment.” Mia stood and climbed over my mother’s legs on the way to the galley kitchen. “Tray? Can I speak to you for a second?”
Inwardly, I sighed. Ganged up on again.
“Sure thing, darling.” I headed into the kitchen and braced my arm on the cabinet above Mia’s head. “Don’t start.”
She fussed with the teapot and the wicker basket of teabags Carly had set out. Mia’s sister was an odd combination of wild teenager and middle-aged grandmother, and you could never be sure which side would emerge on a given day.
Mia, on the other hand, was all badass, and she showed me that by baring her teeth.
“She’s your mother,” she said under her breath. “Show her some respect.”
“Right. Like the respect she showed you with that ragamuffin crack.”
“She’s allowed to think the way she wants. I understand why a woman in her position would see me as a bit rough around the edges.”
I laughed harshly. “Her position requires sitting around and holding lunch meetings. Yours you’ve earned through blood, sweat, and tears.”
Mia filled the pot with water from the sink and cast a glance over her shoulder to where my mother sat on the sofa, hands folded, staring off into space. “Do you think she really did it?”
“Probably. She’s done it before. Problem is it never sticks.”
“I thought you said she’d never left him.”
I gave into the frustration I had on a short leash and banged the nearest cabinet door shut. “Does it count if it lasts less time than a trip to the john?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother jump. I swore under my breath. I was handling this all wrong.
“This isn’t the week for this bullshit,” I muttered. “She has fuck-all timing. You need to be focused. I need to be focused.”
Mia set the tea to steep, angling her body toward mine. “She has a suitcase.”
Shutting my eyes, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Noticed that, huh?”
“We have to make room.”
My eyes flew open incredulously. “Where?”
She lifted a shoulder and cast a helpless look around the cramped apartment. It was bigger than the one she’d had when we met, but that wasn’t saying much. Three people living there was pushing the boundaries of sanity. Four—and one of them being my uptight mother—plus my very large dog would risk certain death.
And not mine.
I could send Veyron on play dates with my groomer and her dog, as he was right now. Where, exactly, could I send my mother?
“We have to help her.” Mia reached overhead for a mug. She frowned at the chip missing from the handle and rummaged around for another one. “We need new cups.”
“No, we don’t. She’s not at the fucking Ritz.” I snatched the nearest mug and snapped it down on the counter.
Mia lifted a brow and leaned in, her voice low. “If I was my sister, I’d say you’re so bitchy because you need to get laid. But you couldn’t have gotten any more laid yesterday and still be standing.”
I didn’t want to smile. This was serious business, and we weren’t in the position to deal with any extra BS this week.
Worst of all, I didn’t want to risk believing in my mother again when she’
d let me down so much in the past. Only suckers fell for the same punch half a dozen times.
“I’m worried her presence will affect future laying,” I said against Mia’s ear, grinning when she hooked her fingers in my belt loops and gave me a teasing tug.
“We’ll manage.” She turned her sinkhole-sized dark eyes on me, and I almost forgot I’d ever any objections. “It’s the right thing to do, Tray.”
I groaned as the teapot started to whistle. “I’m not giving up the bed.”
Even as I said it, I knew I would. She was my mother and I only had one. I had to take the chance one more time, just in case.
Mia took the pot off the burner and poured steaming water over the teabag she’d tucked carefully in the mug I’d selected. I always loved the glimpses of her domestic side, because they were so rare. “There is an option.”
“What? Sleeping in the shower?”
She turned to take the cream out of the fridge and poured in the small amount she’d learned my mother preferred. “Two words: sleeping bag.” She sailed past me while I worked on getting my tongue back in my mouth.
I was a grown man. The idea shouldn’t have turned me on that much. Then again, Mia and I all wrapped up tight, trying to be furtive and quiet in the dark…
“Here you go, Mrs. Knox.” Mia sat beside my mother and offered her the mug. “Can I get you something else? My sister made cookies.”
“I don’t know how you manage to stuff three people in an apartment this small.”
From the kitchen, I cleared my throat. “So says the person with the suitcase and the pitiful expression.”
“Tray,” Mia snapped before turning back to my mother. “It’s been an adjustment, but to be honest with you, I was alone for so long that I’d rather have too many people here.”
I swallowed hard and gripped the edge of the counter at my back. Then I pushed off it and strode into the living room. “You’re not to say anything like that again. Understand me, Mother? She’s been nothing but kind to you, and you’ll show her the same respect or you know where to go.”
“Tray,” Mia said again, softer now, her cheeks pale.
“No, no, dear. He’s right.” My mother shocked the hell out of me by patting Mia’s hand. “I’m sorry. I’m just on edge.”
“It’s okay. We’re on edge too.”
“I apologize if my arrival added to your discomfort,” my mother said stiffly, setting down the tea without taking a drink.
“No, it’s not that.” Glancing at me, Mia laughed awkwardly. “I have a fight this Friday, and we’re getting back into training this week.”
I barely resisted a smile. That was Mia’s way of politely sticking up her nose at my mother. She knew my mother didn’t approve of me fighting, so she definitely didn’t think my girlfriend should. That wasn’t something classy women did.
Mia, in her own, overtly polite way, had no problem exhibiting exactly who she was. As much as I hated her getting back into the cage, right then I had nothing but pride for my girl.
She was who she was, take her or leave her.
“You’re fighting again?” My mother’s gaze swung from Mia to me. “Both of you?”
“Just her.” I grabbed a seat on the coffee table and pretended not to see my mother’s lip curl. It was a toss-up whether it was from my choice of seating or news of Mia’s new fight. “I’m training her to fight for some likely mafia types who probably want her dead because she cold-cocked one in the mouth for talking shit.” I cracked my knuckles at their audible inward breaths. “Any other questions?”
“Subtlety was never his strong suit,” my mother said, shaking her head as she lifted the tea again and took a tentative sip.
“No kidding.”
I let them share a moment of fond smiles at my brutish behavior then cocked an eyebrow. “You’re welcome to stay here for a few nights, but we’ll have to figure something out after that.”
A large part of me expected her to say no. Staying in Mia’s tiny apartment was where the rubber would meet the road for a fussy type like my mother. If she consented to moving in, even temporarily, chances were good this was more serious than any other of the times that had come before.
“I appreciate the offer.” She fiddled with the tea bag. “I’m sorry to put you to any trouble.”
My shocked gaze connected with Mia’s. Did that mean she was staying?
“It’s no trouble,” Mia replied quickly, shrugging at my raised eyebrow.
At least one of us had manners.
“Trayherne? Do you agree?”
I bristled at my mother’s usage of my full name. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
“Ignore him.” Mia took the cup and set it on the coffee table beside my hip. “Let me show you to the bedroom so you can get settled. I’m sorry, I can only empty out one drawer for you.”
I could only imagine which lucky drawer that would be. Probably mine.
“Oh, I can find my own way there—” Catching my narrow-eyed expression, my mother quickly changed her tune. “On the other hand, maybe I should do it now. Thank you, Mia.”
“It’s no trouble,” Mia said again, casting a disapproving glance at me over her shoulder as she hustled my mother down the hall.
I locked my fingers behind my neck and tipped back my head. This was good news. She’d refused to stay the other day, but she was back now. She was here.
And if she’d only stayed the other day when I asked, Friday night at the club never would’ve happened. Mia decking Lorenzo never would’ve occurred. I wouldn’t have to watch the woman I loved walk into a ring, understanding that once that door opened again, it would never be fully closed. Knowing it down to the marrow of my bones.
So, no, I wasn’t ready to whip out the ticker tape parade. We were going to have to deal with my father tomorrow, and that was just the beginning of a difficult week. I couldn’t say with any certainty whether my mother would be around at the end of it.
The buzzer rang and I groaned. We couldn’t catch a break.
I went to the intercom. “There’s no more room at the inn. Keep walking.”
“Nice, bro.” Slater’s laughter made me do a doubletake. “Let me up?”
“Why are you here? We’re supposed to be on the way to your place.”
“Yeah, well, you aren’t, are you? Open the farking door.”
That was my best friend, the non-swearer. How we’d ever found an inch of common ground in between his motivational tapes and granola smoothies, I’d never understand.
I hit the release and held open the door, waiting for him to bound up the steps three at a time as was his usual way. He never walked when he could run.
“You lost, son?” I said when he emerged at the top of the stairs, a large wrinkled brown sack in his hand. “If you think you’re moving in, think again.”
“You wish. Your grumpy ass couldn’t handle my sunny personality twenty-four/seven.” He thumped my gut and stopped in the doorway to the apartment. “Damn, something smells good. Carly’s been baking again, hasn’t she? I love that girl.”
“She’d be better for you than the assortment of chicks you insist on shacking up with.”
As soon as I said it, I wanted to sew my mouth closed. My best friend and Mia’s sister together—no.
Though it was way better than some other potential pairings. Like, say, Carly and the mafia dude in training, or whatever the hell he was.
“Not shacked up now,” he said easily. “And hello, you can talk, Mr. Living in Sin.”
“A lot of sin.” I walked into the apartment and shut the door behind us. “So where is the new chick? And again, why are you here?”
“She’s got a stomach thing. And Liam and Abs bailed to paint her new apartment, so I figured I’d come to you guys instead of the other way around. I knew you’d be running late.”
“I was not running late. Mia was late.”
“Was not,” she called from down the hall. “Hey, Slater. Be right out. Have a cooki
e.”
“Oh, sure. He can have a cookie,” I mumbled, sprawling on the sofa.
Slater brought back two cookies and sat down beside me, biting in. “Oh, God. That girl. Can I marry her?”
“No.” I snatched the other cookie out of his hand. “I hope you’re ready to discuss strategy. We need to hammer out Mia’s training routine tonight. I’m going to ask her to take the week off from the bar—”
“I’m not taking the week off, Fox.”
I rolled my eyes. “Christ, stop eavesdropping and finish playing Miss Manners, will you?”
“I see domestic harmony reigns here as always.” Slater grinned and flicked crumbs off his fingers. The bastard had sucked down that cookie like a vacuum. “Who’s she playing Miss Manners for?”
“My mother,” I mouthed, and his eyes went wide.
“No shit.” Slater craned his neck to try to see down the hall into the mouth of hell—also known as where my mother would be bedding down for the next who knows how long. “She’s here?”
“Yeah. She’s sort of moving in temporarily.”
He glanced back at me and lowered his voice. “Does that mean…she and your dad…?”
“I don’t know what it means.” That was God’s truth. “All I know is that I’m sleeping in a bag tonight and I’m not in the mood for your cheerful shit. So let’s get down to it, okay?”
“Don’t worry, I came prepared.” He dumped out his sack on the cushion between us and grinned as if he’d laid a fortune at my feet. His fortune just happened to be old school cassette tapes, protein bars, bottled smoothies and fight DVDs. “We’ll eat, then figure out how to attack this.” He held up a DVD. “Found some footage of your Brit. She’s good.”
“She’s not me.”
I glanced over at Mia, who was standing between the living room and kitchen with her arms crossed. “No, she’s not, but she can still beat you unless we work you hard.”
“So work me then. Standing right here.”
“Hot,” Slater declared, and I kicked his leg, making him laugh.
“We’ll eat dinner first,” I said as my mother appeared behind Mia. “Then we’ll strategize for tomorrow.”
“Why wait for tomorrow? The Cage is twenty-four hours. Let’s go there tonight.”
