The Right One - Felice Stevens Page 0,42

do you care? You never gave a shit about me—you or Robert. Only Joey did, and what good was he, dying and leaving me to care for a kid I only had because he wouldn’t marry me if I didn’t. And I thought he’d love me then, but he loved you more. Goddamn it, he loved you more, and I gave him everything.” She found the last knickknack within reach she hadn’t broken and hurled it across the room.

It should’ve hurt him to hear her say that, but it was the truth he’d always known. She never gave a damn about him.

But his father did.

At her screeching, Morgan stopped picking up the shattered china and shot him a worried glance, but Leo ignored it.

“Your everything was a whole lot of nothing.” Tense to the breaking point, Leo stood over her small form, wondering why he’d continued to let her terrorize him. In her youth, she’d been beautiful; she’d go on and on about how she was high-school prom queen, and he’d seen the pictures. She used her big blue eyes, saucy smile, and generous curves to get everything and every man she wanted. Sitting before him now, small and frail, her mean-spiritedness and selfishness were etched in every line on her face and twist of her lips. Every breath she took was to complain about perceived injustices against her.

“It’s enough now. You need to take your medicine.”

“What for? I’m still going to die. I might be dying now.”

“You might be.” Natalia gasped, but Leo locked eyes with his mother. “But whose fault is that? You’re doing nothing to take care of yourself, and episodes like this aren’t helping your heart any.” He was giving her platitudes, and they both knew it.

“I’m going to die here in this fucking house all by myself while Robert is out living his life. And you don’t give a shit about me. You don’t do shit for me. I don’t even know why you bother to come every week.”

Neither did he. Perhaps it was some warped sense of honor that he couldn’t leave her to die alone, even if he knew she wouldn’t do the same for him if the situation were reversed.

Her chaotic gaze swung from him to Morgan, and her lip curled. “Who is this? Your boyfriend?”

Morgan brushed off his hands and rose to his feet. “I’m Morgan Cantrell, a friend of Leo’s.”

“You mean ‘special friend,’ don’t you,” she sneered, then crumpled, sobbing. “That’s why you told me you’re gay. You wanted to prepare me for him.”

“I’m not Leo’s boyfriend. We’re just friends.”

Sweat broke out all over Leo. Morgan didn’t belong here, involved in his ugliness. Not when he had the perfect mother who brought him cookies and made four-hour train rides simply to see him and say hello. Because she missed him and loved him.

“Friends. Sure. They all say that.” Along with making sure her lustrous mane of black hair remained colored and set, she insisted Natalia apply her makeup every day as if she were going to a dinner party. Copious tears streaked down her thin cheeks. “Robert said Emily was just a friend until I found out he’d been fucking his ‘friend’ for a year while I was lying in the hospital. No one loves me. As soon as I got sick, everyone left me. No one cares. I’m going to die by myself.”

The dramatic flips from one subject to another were mind-boggling, but his mother never could stand talking about anyone other than herself. There was only so much self-pity Leo could put up with.

“I think you should take your medicine and sit outside. Stop giving poor Natalia so much trouble, or else you’ll lose her, and then what? You’ll be all alone, because I sure as hell won’t take care of you. I have a full-time job.”

Morgan huffed out a breath. Leo knew it was because Morgan thought he should be more sympathetic, but that wasn’t in him. Not yet, at least.

One thing about Theresa, as sick as she was, she never ceased putting him down. “Job? Unclogging toilets and taking out the garbage? That’s really something to be proud of. Robert was right; you’re no good. Wasted potential. No help to me or anyone.” Her hand fluttered in front of her, and Natalia, saint that she was, jumped to help her.

“I’ll take you out on the deck, Mrs. O’Toole, and we’ll have lunch. That sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

Leo pulled open the sliding glass door, and his mother