Rule Breakers (Off Limits #2) - Nicky James Page 0,36
corked the bottle, and tossed back whatever was in her hand as she swigged a generous mouthful. Probably some random assortment of her favorite pills.
I sighed. Was it too much to ask for her to avoid them for one night while I visited? They were her go-to drug of choice. Mr. Beer Gut on the couch obviously gravitated to marijuana if the paraphernalia on the coffee table was anything to go by.
One hour in this house was going to be more than enough. I’d been there less than a minute, and I was ready to back out the door.
I ignored the man slumped on the couch and headed to the kitchen. Mom wore leggings and a faded, well-worn sweater, her rail-thin frame and hollow cheekbones a testament to her addictions. The high was more important than ensuring she was eating properly and taking care of herself. In the five years since she and Dad had split, she’d gone downhill.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and a few wisps framed her face. She colored it, announcing one day that she was too young for gray hair. I was pretty sure there had only been a random few, but it was horrifying in her opinion. She wore a little eye makeup, but it only heightened the homely look she had about her. She was the same age as Dad but looked older, worn-out—even without the horrifying few strands of gray.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Eddy.” Her grin was fierce and exaggerated, her eyes glassy as she drew me into a sideways hug. She kissed my cheek, her other hand clutching her wine. God forbid she put it down for five minutes. “We’re having pizza. Do you mind grabbing the boxes out of the freezer?”
“Sure.”
Frozen pizza. The oven wasn’t preheating. The pans weren’t out. She’d made no effort regardless of our standing dinner arrangement. Like always, it landed on me to get stuff organized.
“There’s a salad in the fridge, I think. We can have that too.”
I didn’t comment. Once I had the two frozen pizzas on pans, I dug through the spoiled leftovers and junk in the refrigerator, unearthing a bagged salad, a week expired. The lettuce inside was brown and liquifying. I tossed it in the garbage.
Mom frowned, so I explained. “It’s gone bad.”
She shrugged, uncaring. She topped off her disappearing wine. “How’s Harley?”
I considered my response, keeping my face void of emotions. The last time I’d seen my dad, he was balls deep in Uncle Denver’s ass. “He’s fine.”
“Still working at that vile place?”
For all I hated my father’s choice of employment, when it came to listening to Mom’s insults, I couldn’t help defending him. “It’s a job. It pays the bills.” So far as I understood, the girls who danced often tipped him for taking care of them, and all in all, he made decent enough money. He wasn’t going to break the bank or make millions, but he maintained a good position at the club, regardless of how it made him look.
Mom had no retort, considering she’d been unable to hold a job for more than a few months at a time due to her habits. No, bouncing at a strip club may not be the most respectable of positions, but Dad had been there for as long as I could remember. He’d worked his way up the ladder and was in charge of all their security. Was it glamorous? Not really. Had my friends teased me growing up? Relentlessly.
A sudden sense of responsibility hit me out of nowhere, rattling me to my core. For the first time in my life, while standing in the middle of my mother’s kitchen, the TV blaring from the next room, I realized all my Dad had done and sacrificed because he’d had a kid too young.
Did he love his job? I didn’t think so. Had he dreamed of something better? Maybe. But I’d put a wedge in his life. I stared at my pill-addicted mother.
At least Dad had tried.
It was no wonder he rode my ass about getting a degree or joining the military. Looking at Mom, her dazed out expression and sallow complexion, the washout taking up space on the couch, the food rotting away in her refrigerator, I understood for the first time where I could wind up if I wasn’t careful.
The lump in the living room called out, “Hey, someone grab me another beer.”
Mom didn’t miss a beat and grabbed one from the fridge. “Do you want one, sweetie?”