Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“Mom,” I say, reaching out to take her hand. It feels cold and lifeless against my palm. “What happened?”
“What do you mean?” she whispers, her eyes darting away.
There’s no time to beat around the bush. “Did Preston hit you? Push you down?”
“No,” she replies, her gaze coming back to me because she hears the promise of retribution in my voice. “I must have tripped on the steps and fallen.”
I think she’s lying, but I didn’t expect her to fess up after all these years of protecting him.
I cover our clasped hands with my other one and lean forward in my chair. “Mom… you don’t have to tell me anything. But if you want to leave Preston when you’re better, I’ll get you out of there. You can come live with me in Pittsburgh, or I’ll buy you a place here. But you do not have to stay with him.”
I’ve made that offer before and she’s never accepted.
But hell, she’s never had brain surgery before either.
My mom clears her throat and her eyes become a little steely. “I love you, Callum, and I appreciate your concern. But please understand this… no matter what you think, I love Preston. I’ve had a good life with him and while we’ve had our fights like any couple might—”
“—fights between a husband and wife don’t involve fists,” I interject.
She ignores me. “Even though we have fights, they are few and far between. I like my life and I’m content. I won’t leave him.”
“Even if he almost killed you?” I ask, astounded, because although she hasn’t said it outright, her little admission about fights being few and far between tells me all I need to know.
“That’s you who thinks that, not me,” she chides, and I briefly have a complete lack of respect for my mom. She did her best for me when she and my dad divorced. I know that. Just as I know she had room to do so much better because while her standing might have improved when she married Preston, mine did not.
But right now, her unwillingness to care about herself enough to want better disarms me.
“I’m tired,” she says, tugging her hand from mine. “Do you think you could call Preston and find out when he’s going to come visit? It might be that he doesn’t want to come up here because you’re visiting. So maybe give him some space to come see me?”
The same sense of despondency I would have for my mom when I was younger hits me hard in the center of my chest. This is her life and she’s not willing to change it.
My parents separated and divorced when I was twelve. It took my mom less than three months to marry Preston Willard, a local mogul who made his fortune off a third-generation line of hardware stores throughout Nevada, California, Washington and Oregon. For three years, I split time fifty-fifty between my mom’s new home and the childhood home I grew up in with my dad, Richard.
Those three years were tough—dealing with divorced parents—but at least I got to spend half of it with my dad. We had a close bond and he was pure respite from the very unsettling life I had in the Willard ancestral home with a domineering stepfather I didn’t like and an entitled stepbrother, Joshua, two years my junior.
My dad died when I was fifteen and I became a permanent resident in Preston’s home, but being Lila’s son afforded me no advantages. I was never treated equally as a son. When I turned sixteen, I had to earn a car by working in the local Willard Hardware while Joshua was given a Porsche when he became old enough to drive. Of note, the kid never worked a day in his life until after he graduated college and went to work in the corporate offices with his father.
I rise from the chair and lean over the rail to kiss my mom’s cheek. “Okay… I’ll leave for a bit. I’ll also call Preston to let him know it’s all clear to visit. Maybe I’ll swing by the house. Is the security code the same?”
“Still the same,” she murmurs with a faint smile. “Thanks, sweetheart. Maybe you and Joshua can get together for lunch.”
I restrain myself from snorting. My mom is fully aware that Joshua and I hate each other. She knows we have no relationship and never will. But in her mind, if I put forth the effort with him, it will make Preston happy, which will make her happy. I love Lila Willard beyond measure but there are some hard limits I’ll never budge on.
I don’t say any of that out loud, though. “Get some rest. I’ll come back up later.”
As I walk out of the hospital, I call Cannon West. His greeting is direct and to the point. “How’s your mom?”