Here Lies a Saint (Here Lies #2) - C.L. Matthews Page 0,70
emotions, and too much for me.
“W-who’s that?” Colt tries correcting her tremble with the question, but like the fucking snake Ashton is, she hones in on it.
“I’m his stepmom,” she snarks, “but you wouldn’t know that, sweet pea, since you’re inconsequential.”
“What the fuck is your problem?” Colt’s slightly timid voice breaks away. Her angry and protective nature comes full force, and the pride I feel welling up inside me has me almost hard with admiration.
Ashton makes a disgusted noise, ambling her way over to us. “Don’t act stuck up to me, emo barbie.”
“Please have some originality, cunt.”
My eyes widen, and I can’t help but laugh. Ashton’s heels clack louder as she stands beside us. Her hand reaches for me, and I’ve never recoiled faster. Looking at Colt, I can tell she noticed the change in the air, and she steps in between me and Ashton.
“Look, bimbo, Lux has shit to do, and whether you’re his side bitch or his mom, you don’t fuck with him.” She places her hands on her hips, never looking hotter than glaring at the monster mom I never asked for. “As for me? I’m a Hudson, and you mind yourself when disrespecting me. I may be new to this founding family bullshit, but I’m well aware of where my family name ranks.”
Ashton scrunches her face, the look of death and intent clear in her eyes.
“Before you say what’s on your mind, stepmom,” Colton says snidely, “remember that there’s always a badder bitch.”
Ashton folds her hands across her fake boobs, acting as if she’s the victim here and not me or Corpse.
My stomach churns, but I don’t sidestep Corpse. I can’t.
“Get lost, Ashton. My father isn’t here, and he specifically told me to dance with Colton.”
She rolls her eyes, placing her hands on her hips, her long nails digging into her dress. Not batting a lash, she grunts noisily and rushes away.
“Going to tell me what that’s about?” Colt questions, her hand on my jaw in an oddly tender moment that isn’t usual for us.
“Just another whore seeking money.”
She shakes her head, not calling me out for the misogynistic comment like she should. “Not that, Lux. There’s something more there. I could tell by the way you froze. I know that look well.”
Brushing her off, I stand straighter somehow, wanting nothing more than to pretend this didn’t just happen.
“We need to dance, Corpse. We only have a few hours to train you, or my father is going to flip his shit.”
She grimaces, and that’s another thing I can tell she gets but shouldn’t.
As if understanding, she grabs my hands, placing one on her waist and the other in my palm. “I might be a goth, Lennox DeLeon, but my mother forced me to dance young.”
Chuckling, I bring us closer than a waltz allows and enjoy the press of her against me. “Then these hours will fly by.”
“I needed this,” she mentions as we start stepping and moving around. The somber tone to her words isn’t lost on me. Her light, even while not the brightest, has dimmed. Exhaustion mars her features, and hope has lost its color. She may think no one notices her or her little traits that show who she is, but I miss nothing.
“I miss you,” I admit, hating the way she makes me feel weak and insecure but knowing she doesn’t give a single shit about my status or the fact that we’ll never truly be together while the Vestige still stands.
She doesn’t understand the twins are the chink in her armor, that Ten is desperate for her to see him and stop hating him for his choices, that Ross is lonelier than he’s ever been and he stopped confiding in me when he found out about Jordan, that Bridger has doubled down with Elijah, forcing us all apart, making it incredibly hard to trust him but also I want him to make a fucking choice too. She knows nothing of the struggles which have happened since she’s left, and we still have two weeks of this middle ground of fog. She doesn’t know, and it’s unfair for me to feel this animosity when it’s not her fault.
For the first time since Cassidy died, I see her heart break. There’s a pinch to her nose that she does when she’s feeling hurt or upset. It’s one of her tells, and the fact that she’s feeling that means she’s hurting too.
She pushes into my chest, her head on my shoulder. If not for