Page 77 of Drive Me Wild
“Blake,” she lightheartedly reprimands. “How many times am I going to have to tell you to call me Laura?”
He shrugs sheepishly. Blake’s known my mum forever, but he feels weird about calling her anything but Mrs. Walker. She should take it as a compliment. Not everyone earns the respectable miss, missus, or mister from Blake, who refers to most people by their last name or as “that fucker.” Hearing him call Ella pet names will forever sound foreign to me.
“Probably about a hundred more times.”
I place my motor oil coffee on the workbench behind me, needing to free my hands so I can crack my knuckles. “What’re you doing here, Mum? The race isn’t for a few more hours.”
Turning to me, she says, “I was hoping you had some free time to chat.”
“We have a press conference in five,” I admit with a frown. “Are you?—”
“I’ll get it pushed back,” Blake says, as if it’s no biggie. “Is an hour enough time?”
Before either of us can respond, Blake strolls off to work his magic. And by magic, I mean he’ll come up with some insane excuse as to why we have to postpone the conference. He’s a good friend, especially because we both know moving a press conference is going to piss off a lot of people with tight deadlines and strict schedules. He may not care what people think of him, but I do.
I lead my mum up the stairs to my suite on the second floor. It’s a tight space, only big enough to hold a desk, two-seater couch, and mini fridge, but it’s home away from home.
“This looks like your childhood bedroom.” My mum laughs to herself. “Minus the race car bed andPower Rangerposters.”
Looking around, I see what she means. Video game cases are stacked on every available surface, and McAllister memorabilia is tacked on the walls. The protein powder and weights are new, but besides that, it’s got the same vibes as eight-year-old Theo’s room.
She takes a seat on the couch, crossing her legs in a lady-like manner. “We should talk about last night. I never let your dad start a race if we were in a fight. Old habits die hard, I suppose.”
“Yeah. Probably.” I’m nervous that if I say anything else, I’ll end up shoving my foot in my mouth. Again.
“I didn’t realize you were so upset about Richard and me being together,” she reveals, shaking her head. “And I need you to know that my love for your father is irreplaceable, honey. Richard doesn’t change how I felt about him. How Ifeelabout him. I’m not effacing any of the memories we created; I’m simply making new memories with someone else.”
I stare at my hands like they’re a long-lost Picasso that’s just been rediscovered. “With Richard.”
“You used to like Richard,” my mum reminds me. “Quite a lot, if I remember correctly. He and Dad took you to your first rugby ga?—”
“But do you not see how weird that is?” I say, brasher than intended. “He was Dad’smanager, Mum. His best friend. They were together every day, and now you’re with him.”
“Theodore, you’re making it seem like we were having an affair.”
Shrugging, I avoid eye contact. “Well. Were you?”
“Theodore Chase Walker.” My mum’s voice is so stern that my back automatically straightens. “I didn’t go through twenty-two hours of natural labor with you to sit here and have you accuse me of nonsense.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, shame heating my cheeks. “I know.”
“I loved your father, and I loved our life together.” She reaches out and clasps my hands in hers. “There’s no rulebook on how to handle grief. And I miss your dad. Every single day.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. And do you want to know what’s so nice about being with Richard? I can talk to him about your father. We’re able to share memories and tell stories and help one another heal. It’s nice having someone I can relate to on that level.”
The tears come without warning. One second, I’m dry-eyed and the next, I’m sobbing so fiercely, I can’t catch my breath. I collapse into myself, my chest heaving as hot tears race down my cheeks. My throat becomes so thick, I can barely swallow.
“Oh, honey,” my mum murmurs. Wrapping her arms around me, she holds me as I tremble uncontrollably. We stay like that until the unmistakable sadness loosens its grasp around me. I’m winded by the time I can sit up and breathe without feeling like I’m choking.
“Feel better?”
“Yeah,” I admit, wiping my face with the back of my hands. “A little. And I’m sorry for what I said last night. I didn’t mean to yell at you like I did. It’s just weird for me to see you with someone Dad was so close with, I guess.”
“You’ve got to admit, he’s better than Jim, though.”
I snort loudly. Before Richard, my mum dated a bloke named Jim, who was… interesting. He moonlighted as a ventriloquist, and not a very good one, if that says anything. “The grocery store clerk was better than Jim, Mum.”
