Blood of Zeus (Blood of Zeus #1) - Meredith Wild Page 0,29
share a lot about our pasts. I’m not proud of having to tell you that, but things sometimes…happen…in the heat of the moment, at the pace of mindless passion. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t thrilled when they told me you were on the way. Before I even felt you kick in my belly or held you in my arms, I was utterly in love with you.”
“I know, Mom.”
I finish it by clenching my jaw—not because I don’t believe her. Because I really do. The woman does love me. Would do anything for me. If burglars blew in through Recto Verso’s front door with guns, she’d take a bullet in my place. But I can’t understand the bizarre cosmic force that holds her back from giving me every detail of my identity. The gigantic missing chunk of my truth.
I right my stance and plant my feet, tucking my hands in my back pockets. “Things happen. You were a long way from home. Falling for a stranger in a strange place.”
“Alexandria,” she whispers with a note of wistfulness.
As soon as the word falls out of her mouth, the bottom falls out of my world. I go still. Very, very still.
“Cairo. The last time, you told me it was Cairo.”
A gulp moves down her throat. “It was so long ago.”
“Was it even Egypt?”
She stops and juts her chin. “You’re peppering me with questions, Max. You’re not being fair.”
“Sabah al-kheir,” I growl.
She searches my face. “What? What are you—”
“Sabah al-kheir,” I repeat. “It means ‘good morning’ in Egyptian Arabic. If you’d spent any amount of time there, you’d know that.”
Her eyes flare. “Why are you doing this? Why are you pushing me like this?”
“Why are you making it necessary to push?”
I’m back to a shout, and I don’t care. There’s no one else in the store or at the coffee bar—Sarah’s made herself conveniently scarce—so I let it fly with the same volume Mom’s gone to. We’ve never fought like this before, but nothing’s ever felt more important to me. Especially now. Especially seeing her escalate into an outright fume.
I’m getting ready to royally hate myself for the new sheen of tears in her eyes, but with a couple of her hard blinks, they’re gone. Her jaw falls. A strange huff escapes her.
“Who?” she demands.
“Who…what?”
“Who. Is. It?”
“Who is what?”
“Whoever’s putting these demands back in your head. Somebody’s got to be doing this to you. Making you reopen this wound. A wound I can assure you I share. In more ways than you can possibly imagine.”
I shake my head, wanting to tell her my imagination’s vaster than she thinks. Instead I say, “It’s never healed. Because I’ve never known the whole truth.” I can hear the sadness beneath my declaration, despite how my senses are oddly detached from it. If I let those synapses connect right now, I’ll lose my thin thread of control.
“Just tell me who it is,” she presses.
“Nobody.”
Shit. If Mom wants to continue keeping her truth locked away, I’m justified in doing the same. On top of that, everything about Kara—her status in my professional life, her dominance of my inner life—feels too much like my metaphorical thread right now. Fragile. Special. And strung too tight for comfort.
“Nobody, huh?” Mom tilts her head and folds her arms. “That’s a lot of floor gazing for ‘nobody,’ son.”
“Okay, tell you what. You give me all the truth I’m asking for, and I’ll show you the same courtesy.”
“This has nothing to do with courtesy!” Her punctuation is an angry sob. “And everything to do with keeping you—”
She cuts in on herself with another sigh. It stems from places even deeper inside her. It sounds almost…panicked.
“Keeping me what, Mom? Just tell me!”
She sways in place for a long beat. Her breaths are like hurricanes of emotion. As I force my stare to fully meet hers again, I fight to discern the meaning behind her frantic expression.
Holy crap. She’s really terrified.
“I—I have to go.”
“Where?” I blurt. “Why? Mom?”
“I’m sorry, Max,” she rasps. “I’m so sorry…if I’ve failed you.”
“Failed me?” The words sound preposterous, even now. I’m furious, to be sure, but no way do I consider her a failure.
But I don’t get the chance to say that. Not when she turns and sets a direct course for the front door. Part of me still yearns to run and stop her, but another part knows that won’t make a difference. We both need to cool off, yet that’s not happening when neither of us will surrender ground—or information.