Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“Not right now, but I can get it out for you.”
“Mom, don’t—”
“I can handle it, Archer,” she tells me, pulling her silk scarf off and tossing it on the sofa. “I might be old, but that doesn’t mean I’m too over the hill for a little exercise. Come on, Colt, let’s go.”
She gives me a knowing look that tells me I’m free to talk to Rina privately.
And maybe, despite the fact that she invited Rina here today, she wants me to talk to her, too.
“Have fun,” Rina whispers. There’s clear disappointment on her face as he sprints outside behind my mother.
Guess she didn’t get the memo. Active, healthy teenage boys don’t want to sit around and gab all day with moms who barely acknowledge their existence.
As soon as the door shuts behind them, I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees.
“Okay, Rina, cut the crap. Why are you really here? I want answers.”
“Huh?” She looks at me, familiar antagonism written on her face. “Archer, don’t talk to me like that.”
“Is it money? Do you need some help again? You know I’m reasonable.” Or maybe it’s some inner angst, another relationship with some fuckboy gone to pieces, realizing her own mortality. Wouldn’t put it past her.
“Oh, please. I hate groveling for money, especially to you. I only ever asked when I had nowhere else to turn. Energy work and art don’t pay like real estate,” she spits. “It’s more like you pay me to get rid of me. I never got together with you for your money, Archer. You know that. I’m not here because of it now.”
“Yes, you’re a saint. You don’t give a fuck about the money.” I have to admit, it’s half-true.
She only comes calling when she’s in a bind, realizing she can’t support herself off erratic art gigs and astrology consultations alone.
I’ve always topped her off generously when she needs it, despite no obligation.
It’s for the family. I won’t have Colt worried sick about his mother, broke and living out on West Coast streets or wherever the hell she’s living now, dodging violent junkies and rusty nails or whatever.
“Can you give me a little credit?” She holds up two fingers with a sliver of space between them.
“Not with this. You haven’t given two shits about Colt since the divorce, and now you’re here fawning all over him. Why?”
She huffs loudly, rolling her eyes like a scorned teenage cheerleader.
“So this is how it’s gonna be?” Rina asks. “We can’t discuss this like adults? I see some things never change.”
Fuck her discussions.
I said I wanted answers.
I also hate that something about Rina’s presence brings back the hotheaded young man I used to be in my past life. Back before Colt, when her wildness attracted rather than repulsed me.
Back before I thought it would be anything serious. Back before I wanted anything serious and only gave in because we made a kid.
That’s not who I am anymore.
I’m better than Old Archer, who wanted to keep playing with fire after his dad died and he saw how short life could be.
I need to be better for my son.
That’s the whole-ass reason why I dragged myself away from an epic romp with Winnie Emberly, isn’t it?
“Fine. Talk,” I growl. Rina blinks sadly. Well, that makes two of us. “Should we rehash the facts? You moved to Portland with that art collective and you never came back for him. You never put in effort. Forgive me if I’m skeptical if I think a tigress never changes her stripes.”
Rina takes an angry breath. I think she’s going to bawl me out, but she just releases it then, long and slow.
“We were so young, Archer. We made so many mistakes,” she whispers, sounding genuinely sad. Like she isn’t just saying it for the sake of flapping her mouth.
Can’t disagree with her there.
One of the biggest mistakes was being together in the first place—and that’s a fuckup I would never change since it’s the reason Colt exists.
“We did,” I say. “Look, I won’t deny it. I’ll be the first to admit I made mistakes. We both did. But Colt, he’s my son. Our son. I had to figure out my shit and fast to look after him alone.”
And you didn’t.
I don’t say it, but the words hover over us like a sword.
Her fingers braid the knitted shawl she’s wearing over an oversized yellow shirt. “Yeah, you’re right. I know. I kept fucking up after he was born.”
Not just after—basically his entire life.
Thirteen years of mistakes.
The biggest was not being there to see how she’d perform as a real mom.
“I want what’s best for Colton. Simple as,” I tell her. “If he wants his mom, I won’t hold him back. But that also means you have to be his mom, Rina.”
“I know! I’m not stupid.” Agitated, she stands and paces across the floor, her shawl falling to the floor. For the first time, I get a good look at the sleeve of tattoos across her right arm.