A few guests stopped by to chat to Tate, and thankfully, none of them were as rude to me as Tate’s parents. One or two of them even asked me about my career, and seemed interested, too. Just as well I was a confident woman, otherwise this would have been a nightmare evening. Instead, I found the whole experience highly amusing.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I whispered to Tate during a lull in people coming over.
“Here, I’ll show you,” he said, taking my hand.
Before we reached the door, his mother materialized, again from nowhere.
Yep, definitely witch tendencies. Where’s your wand, Bellatrix?
“Where do you think you’re going?” she demanded.
“I’m showing Madison where the bathroom is,” Tate replied politely.
How he kept a civil tongue in his mouth with a mother like her was beyond me.
“Marcie can show her.” His mother accompanied her dismissive tone with a flick of her wrist. “You have guests to attend to.”
“No, you have guests to attend to. I have a date to take care of.”
I could have sworn his mother was incredibly close to bursting a blood vessel. A thick vein protruded from her forehead, and her lips virtually disappeared into a thin white slash of severe irritation. I calculated an exit route in the eventuality of her breathing fire, and briefly wondered if the patterned sofa was flame retardant.
Tate swept me past his mother and out into the hallway. Despite my sense of humor about the whole event, I admitted I let out a sigh of relief. The drawing room felt so oppressive.
“Phew,” I said to Tate, theatrically sweeping my forehead with the back of my hand. “How do you cope with this place?”
“I don’t,” he replied. “Which is why I only come here when I absolutely have to.”
“I think if I had your parents, I’d apply to the courts to divorce them.”
Tate chuckled. “Ahh, if only.”
He escorted me down the hallway, stopping outside a thick, cherrywood door. “I’ll wait here,” he said.
I grinned up at him. “I think I can manage. I’ve been going to the bathroom unaccompanied for a few years now.”
He snagged me around the waist, pulling me against his lean, firm body. His hand curved around the back of my neck, and he grabbed a fistful of my hair, tugging backward. His lips were inches from mine, and I held my breath, anticipating what might come, but instead of kissing me, he stared deeply into my eyes.
“I think you may be the best thing that’s happened to me in a very long time, Madison Brady.”
Oh. This guy… he knew how to flatter a girl. My knees wobbled. If Tate weren’t holding me, I’d have sunk to the floor.
“If I ask you to kiss me, do you think your mother will self-combust?”
“I’m sure one of the staff can easily locate a fire extinguisher.”
He lowered his head. His lips connected with mine, and in seconds he’d set my own embers burning. He pushed me up against the door, his thick erection hard against my abdomen. Things were just getting interesting when his mother called his name.
“Fuck’s sake,” Tate gritted out, stepping away to put some distance between us.
She appeared at the far end of the hallway. I wasn’t sure whether she’d seen us kissing or not. Considering her expression was permanently fixed in displeasure, confirming it could be a challenge.
“There you are,” she said. “I wondered why on earth it was taking you so long to show that girl where the bathroom is. Now you have, please do come along. Darren Spalding has been trying to get five minutes alone with you all night. He might want to sponsor you.”
A nerve beat in Tate’s cheek, and his hands made a fist. I didn’t know whether his annoyance was owing to our kiss being interrupted, or maybe because his mother had annoyed him by calling me “that girl”.
“Go on,” I said. “Like I told you, I’m perfectly capable of peeing by myself.”
My joke roused a faint smile. “Don’t be long.”
I watched as he walked toward his mother, and inside, my heart cracked. His posture bowed, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.
The weight of his overbearing parents more like. An equally burdensome pressure.
I quickly used the bathroom and headed back to the drawing room with the intention of suggesting we leave soon. I didn’t think Tate would put up a fight, although I would likely have to wrestle him from his mother’s clutches.
I couldn’t see him at first, and then I spotted him. He’d been cornered—actually boxed in was probably a better description—by Daphne and a man and a woman who I guessed were her parents because of the family resemblance. Head bowed, politely listening, Tate nodded and smiled, although behind the mask he donned, I detected an air of agitation. Time for me to rescue the poor bugger.
I’d barely taken a step in Tate’s direction when his mother blocked my path.
“Excuse me,” I said, moving to the side.
She gripped my arm, her bony fingers digging into my flesh. “Leave him.”
I widened my eyes. “I beg your pardon?”
“My son is not available.”
“I think he would disagree.”
She snorted. “Tate doesn’t know what’s best for him. I do.”
I laughed. It probably wasn’t the smartest move, but I couldn’t help it. “He’s almost thirty years old. You know that, right? Your son is a grown man who can make his own decisions, and that includes who he chooses to marry.”
“Well, that won’t be you,” she snapped.
“We’ll see,” I replied, not because I had any intentions of marrying Tate—I hardly knew him—but because his mother’s shitty attitude had pissed me off enough that I wanted to rile her.
It worked.
She was definitely riled.
How did I know?
Because she slapped me, hard, right across the face, in full view of the entire room.
The sound zinged off the walls, and all I could think was “Terrible acoustics”, while my face burned from the palm of her hand.
“What the fuck is going on?” Tate roared, arriving by my side in an instant. Gently cupping my chin, he tilted my head to one side so he could examine the damage. Furious, he turned on his mother. “What the hell have you done?”
I had to give Mrs. Flynn her due, she did look horrified by her actions. Her eyes were so wide, you could see the whites all the way around, and she clamped her hand over her mouth, the same hand she’d belted me with. The entire room had fallen silent, the guests absorbing the shocking turn the evening had taken.
“Tate, I’m sorry.” She clutched his arm. He immediately shook her off. “I shouldn’t have done that.” She turned her attention to me. “I’m so sorry, Madison. I don’t know what came over me.”
Before I could register surprise that she’d remembered my name, let alone used it, she paled, then fainted. Tate caught her before she hit the floor, his reflexes honed by years of racing cars coming in very handy. His father rushed over.
“Here, give her to me,” he said, sweeping her up into his arms. “Everyone, please do carry on with your evening. Marcie, make sure our guests have full glasses.”
Mr. Flynn disappeared with his wife, leaving behind his guests and his stunned son and heir. The room hummed with low, murmured voices as everyone gossiped under their breath.
I, on the other hand, burst out laughing.
“Bloody hell, Tate, you sure know how to show a girl a good time.”
Tate
I settled Madison in my father’s study and poured her a brandy. Clearly in shock, her body trembled now that the adrenaline had dissipated. I removed my jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, then sat beside her.
“Here, drink,” I said, holding the tumbler to her lips.
She sipped, then screwed up her face. “Urgh, that’s disgusting.”
“But good for shock.”
She shook her head. “I�
�m not in shock.”
I didn’t agree, but I refrained from arguing. “Humor me then.”
She leaned her head on my shoulder. “You should go check on your mum.”
I stiffened, anger clouding my vision. I didn’t know how I’d ever look at my mother with anything other than contempt again. We’d never had a good relationship, but this… she’d clearly lost her mind. “My father is with her.”
She sat up straight. “Tate,” she said, lightly pressing her fingertips against the side of my chin until I faced her. “She needs to know you don’t hate her.”
I clenched my jaw. “Except I do.”
“That’s not true. No one hates their mum. She carried you, gave birth to you, nurtured you until you were old enough to take care of yourself. She may not know how to show her love, but trust me, it’s there.”
I stared at her, dazed by her magnanimity. “How can you sit there, so calm? If your mother hit me, I’d be fucking pissed.”
She laughed. “My mother is very unlikely to do that.”
“She might, if she hates me as much as you did.”
Her eyes softened. “I never hated you, Tate. I just thought I did. Grief does weird things to people.” She rested her head on my shoulder again. “After Dean died, I returned home with Mum and Dad. They rushed back from the Far East where they’d been on holiday, but didn’t make it back in time before Dean passed away. Mum was inconsolable. I remember going up to Dean’s room. His walls were covered in posters of you, his desk overflowing with racing magazines and those one-sixteenth models of F1 cars. I hardened my heart, stoked the fire in my belly, and blamed you for it all. It was easier that way. But Mum, she saw things differently than me. She never laid any responsibility for Dean’s actions at your door. Nor has Dad. Neither of them understood my need to draw negative attention to the sport. Dad’s an F1 nut. Even Mum watches the odd race, usually while doing the ironing. She says it helps with the tedium.” She chuckled. “If you ever do meet them, brace yourself for Mum to fangirl all over you, and Dad to exhaust you with questions.”
I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “They raised an amazing girl, I know that much.”
She squeezed my arm. “Go and see your mum, Tate. You can’t leave things like this.”
I sighed deeply, knowing I had no choice. I’d let my mother get away with far too much for far too long, taken the easy way out by ignoring her increasingly controlling ways. Well, no longer. She needed to give up on this stupid idea about me and Daphne, not just for my sake but for Daphne’s, too. As long as Daphne thought there was a chance of us marrying, she wouldn’t look for anyone else. That wasn’t fair.
“Will you wait for me here?” I asked.
She placed her hand on my back, urging me to stand. “Of course.”
I took a deep breath and headed off to where I knew I would find my mother; in her own personal living room. Sure enough, I found her propped up on the sofa, a throw across her knees, and a closed book lying aimlessly in her lap.
Oh, the irony.
“Where’s Father?” I asked.
She lifted her chin, her eyes watery. Crocodile tears, I’d bet. The only time I’d ever seen my mother cry was when Cam had died, and even then it had been restrained. She’d dabbed at her eyes with a scrunched-up handkerchief and emitted the odd sniffle when the doctors had covered his face with a white sheet.
Me, on the other hand… I’d been inconsolable, my racking sobs audible over the entire ward. Mother had tolerated my grief for all of two minutes before she’d told me to grow up, to be a man. Who the fuck said that to a sixteen-year-old boy who’d just had his idol ripped from his life in the cruelest way?
“He’s gone to tell Marcie to make me a cup of tea,” she said weakly, patting the sofa. “Come, sit please, Tate.”
I did as she asked, but not where she wanted me, right next to her. No, I sat in the chair opposite. Crossing my ankle over my knee, I threaded my fingers together, laying them in my lap.
“You owe Madison an apology. You’d better hope she doesn’t decide to press charges for assault.”
“I have already offered my apologies,” Mother said, sitting up straighter, a hint of steel to her tone.
I might have known the weakling act was bullshit.
“You can say it again, this time with more feeling. That is, if you actually have it within you to show any feelings at all.”
She clasped a hand to her chest. “When did you become so cruel?”
I snorted a laugh. “Me? Jesus, Mother, you really are a piece of work.”
Her bottom lip trembled. “I’ve only ever wanted the best for you. That’s why I pushed you so hard. That’s why I know Daphne is the right woman to stand by your side when you become the most successful driver in British history.”
“Oh my God. You actually believe the shit coming out of your mouth, don’t you?”
“Lang—”
I snapped my hand in the air. “Don’t even…” I took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose, pausing for a few moments to allow my anger to recede. Eventually, I cut my gaze to my mother. “Let me make one thing very clear: I have no interest in putting a ring on Daphne’s finger. Not now. Not ever.”
“But she understands the circles we move in, Tate. She’s the ideal wife for you.”
“Why? Because she’s the perfect hostess who knows how to dress, to act, to speak? When to keep her mouth shut and smile because the men are talking, and that’s so much more important than hearing what a woman might have to say.” Frustrated by her dogged stance, I huffed. “The problem, Mother, is that I want more than Daphne is capable of giving. It’s not her fault her parents brought her up to believe that success equates to snagging a rich, successful guy and putting his wants and needs ahead of her own. Of pushing out a couple of kids and pretending to the outside world that you’re happy with the hand you’ve been dealt. I have zero interest in a woman like that. I want a woman who can challenge me. A woman with opinions and ideas of her own. A woman who’s fiery and tenacious and won’t let me walk all over her.”
“A woman like Madison, you mean?” She couldn’t help the sneer to her lips.
I wasn’t about to tell my mother we’d only been on one date before tonight, nor that only a week ago, Madison had professed to hate my guts. She definitely didn’t hate my guts now, and that was all that counted.
Time meant nothing. Cam had taught me that very valuable lesson.
I swiped a hand over my face. “No, not a woman like Madison. I want Madison,” I stated, and as the words came out of my mouth, I realized they were true.
“She’ll never make you happy.”
I shook my head sadly. I’d tried, but my efforts were pointless. I’d never understand my mother, and she sure as hell would never understand me.
“I’ll take my chances.”
“You’ll regret it, and when you do, don’t come crawling back here. You’ve made your bed, and now you can lie in it.”
I laughed at the age-old cliché. “As long as the aforementioned bed isn’t within these four walls, in this depressing house where I grew up alone and miserable, I’ll happily lie on a bed of nails until my dying day.”
I rose from the chair as my father returned, swiftly followed by Marcie who’d brought Mother’s tea—in a china cup, no less. Marcie set down the cup, bobbed her head at Mother, then scuttled out. Father glanced between the two of us, his gaze eventually settling on me.
“Your mother needs to rest, Tate,” he said. “I think it’s time you left.”
I offered up a wry smile. “You’re so right, Father. It’s definitely time I left.” And I won’t be coming back.
I found Madison exactly where I’d left her, still wearing my jacket. She stood when she saw me.
“Everything okay?”
I opened my mouth to say no, until I realized that would be a lie. Everything was okay, or at least it would be. For years I’d allowed my parents to have this hold ov
er me. I’d lived with crushing guilt because I hadn’t been the one who’d died. Cam had clearly been their favorite son, and the young, impressionable me took that to heart, spending the next fourteen years trying to make them love me for me rather than who they thought I should be, or wished I could be. Tonight, I’d finally accepted they were never going to love me for me.
And I was so very okay with it.
“Yeah,” I said, holding out my hand for Madison to take. “It’s all good.”
“Will you take me home now?”
I kissed her hair. “You got it.”
We were both quiet on the journey back to Madison’s apartment, but occasionally, she placed her hand over mine and squeezed. I drew comfort from her touch.
“Well, thanks for a fun evening,” she said as I stopped the car outside her building. “We must do it again sometime.”
Fortunately, I’d begun to understand Madison’s sense of humor. I held my hands out to the side, palms up. “Dream date, that’s me.”
“You are indeed.” She bit into her bottom lip. “Um, do you want to come up?”
I moved closer and gently caressed her cheek, the one my mother had slapped. I tamped down on the anger flaring up.
“For coffee?” I asked with a hint of mirth to my voice.
“No, for sex,” she deadpanned, although her eyes sparkled with warm laughter.
I curved my hand around the back of her neck, stroking the soft skin beneath her hair. Goose bumps broke out beneath my fingertips, and she shivered.
“You have to be sure, Madison. I’m not interested in a pity fuck.”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t pity you, Tate. I’m in awe of how dignified you were this evening despite the constant needling from your parents. I would never have managed the same restraint in your shoes. So to answer your question, yes, I am very sure.”
Gridlock: Full Velocity Series - Book 2 Page 10
