Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 43681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43681 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 218(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
“Isn’t that what all cheating scumbags say? It’s not what you think. I know I’m young, but I’m not a complete moron,” I spit at him. I shake off his hold and push him aside, blinking back tears.
“Hey…” Gunner grabs my arm again. “It’s my mother.”
My feet freeze to the ground at his words. The room spins, yet I’m firmly in place. Loretta Shaw, the woman who ignited my love of music, is on the other side of that door.
I tidy my hair and try to smooth the wrinkles on my shirt.
“Are you prepping?”
“It’s Loretta Shaw. She’s about to find me in her only child’s apartment. I don’t want her to think I look like garbage. I need to set a good first impression.”
Gunner stares at me with a panicked smile. He grabs my hands in his. “My mother is difficult.”
“It’s Loretta Shaw!” I yell.
Her slurred voice reaches us from the other side as she jiggles the door handle. “Who the hell is in there, Gunner? Open the damn door.”
Gunner gives me an apologetic look and rushes to open the door. I’m rendered speechless as I finally see my musical hero.
This isn’t the same woman I’ve seen in magazines, full of life, wearing beautiful ball gowns. She was a feminist in denim-washed jeans, her fiery red curls tied back in a loose ponytail, wailing on a guitar as if she were born to play.
The woman staring back at me now looks like a ghost. Unkempt hair. Eyes sunken and ragged. Her once glowing skin now pale and withered.
This isn’t the Loretta Shaw I grew up watching. This is a mean drunk on her way to rock bottom.
This is Gunner’s mother.
Chapter 17
Gunner
“Who the hell is this, Gunner?” Mom walks into my room, the smell of her morning shot still on her breath.
I certainly didn’t intend for Cash and my mom to meet this way, but there’s no turning back now.
“Mama, meet Cash. She’s”—I turn to my sparrow, twining our fingers—“my girlfriend.”
Cash’s fingers twitch in mine, and her eyes catch and hold my gaze. I smile at her, more sure of this thing between us than ever. I would have called her my life, my future, my forever, but my mom is already volatile, and tipping her over the edge isn’t wise.
“Girlfriend? Since when? Not every girl you mess around with is girlfriend material, son.” My mom’s eyes have trouble focusing on me.
Cash tenses beside me. Her hand grips mine like a vise. I hate seeing her upset. I hate that it’s my mother upsetting her. I can sure as fuck guarantee that if my mother becomes too much and I have to choose, it’s going to be Cash by my side.
My mother has been a mess for most of my life. I have pockets of memories to remind me that she can be a loving mother, but those are few and far between after the age of eight. My mother’s first love isn’t me, my father, or her many lovers. Mom’s first love is the burn of whiskey that numbs the world around her. Maybe that’s the reason I opened a bar. Fucked up, I know.
I grit my teeth, glaring at my mother. “This is a helluva lot more than messing around.”
“That’s what you said when you fucked Celia after you fucked all my other backup singers.” My mother turns to Cash. “He’s good at makin’ you feel like a star, baby girl, just like his daddy. I promise you, sweetheart, you’re only the new flavor. Once that pussy loses its sparkle, my boy will stop being interested.”
Dropping Cash’s hand, I approach my mother, getting in her face. “That’s enough, Loretta. You don’t get to come into my house and talk to my girl like that. I love you, Mom. I always will. But don’t test me. There’s been no one for me but Cash. The first night we met, she sealed the deal. I love her.”
Mom arches one drunken eyebrow before spinning on her booted heel and clacking down the hallway.
I groan, turning toward Cash. “I’m sorry about this. She’s not usually so…” I trail off, unable to think of the right word.
The fact is, these last few decades have been hard on Mom. The music industry is brutal, and it eventually consumed her, along with the whiskey. That’s probably why I ran off with all those older women. They gave me something Loretta couldn’t. It took years of therapy to find out how fucked up it was to use sex to deal with a lack of love. It’s not like my mother didn’t love me. She did, she does. But she loves booze more. Much more.
“You love me,” Cash whispers so low that I almost don’t hear her.
I frame her face, bending and bringing her forehead to mine. “With every fiber of my being, Cash. I love you so much that the thought of being without you makes me feel like the world is about to end. You’re it for me, Cash, and I’d rather be buried six feet under than lose you.”