Page 105 of Fight For Me

“You also have no idea what it’s like when your family leaves you,” I snap, barely noticing when my brother goes still. All of a sudden it feels like something inside me has snapped, the barrier that usually keeps these words at bay, and I can’t seem to stop them from spilling out. “My last name isn’t Ransome. I don’t share blood with Dad or his brothers or all your cousins. They aren’t tied to me, Will. There’s nothing that says they have to stick around. You think there’s been a minute if my life where I haven’t been aware of that?”

He stares at me, shock rolling off him. “Wyatt—”

“I didn’t grow up in a mansion with siblings and a crowd of cousins right down the street, okay? I didn’t have parents who tucked me in every night and gave me everything I could ever want. You know what I had? I had my grandparents, a dead father, and a mom who couldn’t take care of me.” I pound a fist against my sternum, desperate to unleash some of whatever this feeling is that’s clawing at my chest. “And now I’ve lost my grandparents, too. The people who took me in when I hadnothing. So maybe don’t lecture me on whether or not I should feel okay risking my family’s approval.”

Will’s face has gone pale behind his scruffy beard and he’s staring at me with wide, shocked eyes. I’m realizing too late that I went too far, that I dragged up way more shit than my little brother needed to hear. I have no idea how to take it back or make it better but I open my mouth to try.

And then we’re interrupted by a familiar voice from the kitchen doorway. “Will.”

Fuck. My stomach drops to my knees as my mom steps into the room. I know that she heard everything I just said—I can see it in her eyes. She keeps her gaze locked on me as she addresses my brother. “CeCe went up to her room to get her beach bag. Will you walk her down to Daisy’s house for me? The Littles are going swimming.”

But my brother just stands there, staring at me with an expression that can only be described as horrified. I close my eyes, shame barreling through me at the idea that CeCe might have heard what I just said.

“Will,” she says again, voice sharp. It’s her mom voice, the one she uses to get her kids under control, and we’ve all been trained to respond to it.

“Yeah,” Will says, seeming to shake himself out of it. “I’ll, uh, go up and get her.”

He leaves the room and my mom and I stand there, silently watching each other. The guilt is rising up in my chest, choking me. I shouldn’t have said that. Not to Will and not where my mom could hear me.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out.

“Don’t,” she says, still in her take-no-shit voice. “Let’s go to my office.”

“Mom, I—”

“I’ve let this go far too long. We’re going to talk, Wyatt.”

I follow her down the hall, still battling that panicky feeling. Why do I keep screwing everything up?

I haven’t been in my mom’s office in ages, which is weird, since I used to spend so much time in here. My dad had it designed for her after Silas was born and she found herself living in a house with four boys. It’s the most feminine room in the house, soft colors and fancy furnishings. I used to come in here all the time when she was working. I’d lounge my long, gangly teenage body on the dainty sofa, limbs hanging off at all angles, while she sat behind the desk. We’d tell each other about our days or talk about books we’d read or video games we wanted to check out. Sometimes, when she was really busy, I would just come in and sit quietly, reading or doing homework while she worked. I always felt better when I was close to my mom.

But that all feels like a long time ago now.

She doesn’t sit behind her desk today. Instead she takes a seat on the sofa, leaving me with no option but to sit in the velvet arm chair directly across from her. I can’t seem to meet her eyes, so I look around the room instead. There’s a large canvas print over her desk. Mom, Dad, and me, on their wedding day. She’s pregnant with Will, her belly huge under her pretty gauzy white dress, and we all look so damn happy.

I can remember that day so clearly. I’d walked my mom down the aisle then she and Cash had kept me at the alter to make vows to me, too. I’d felt so important and grown up. Later, I’d asked Cash if I could start calling him Dad. I can still remember the relief that I felt when they were finally married. I had a family—a real one, with two parents and a sibling on the way, and we all lived together in the same house. It was everything I had always wanted, and I remember thinking that nothing bad would ever happen now.

Mom sees what I’m staring at and turns to look at it too. “That was a good day,” she murmurs.

“Yeah, it was.”

“It took me a long time to decide if I wanted to change my name after we got married.”

I tear my eyes away from the picture to look at her, surprised. “It did?”

She nods. “It meant a lot to Cash, but I was torn. I didn’t think you would ever want to change your name, and I couldn’t imagine us not sharing that.”

“That’s why you kept Warner as your middle name?”

“Partly. The other reason was your grandparents.” She swallows and I can tell she’s fighting tears. “They were my family, Wyatt. They took me in when I had nothing and gave me a home. Warner isn’t my maiden name, technically, but that’s how I always see it. A woman’s maiden name comes from her first family—and that’s what Alice and Bruce were to me.”

I think about how my siblings and cousins sometimes refer to each other’s families by their mom’s maiden names. There are so many branches of Ransome that it’s easier to say you’re going to hang out with the Brennens or you’re having dinner at the Harris house. Our branch has always been the Warners. I’d never really given it much thought before now, but it makes sense. No one ever referred to my mom by the last name her birth parents had given her.

“Alice and Bruce were my family,” she continues. “Not because of blood or any legal tie. They were my family because they loved me, and took care of me, and would have done anything to help me.” She pins her eyes on me. “Just like your dad loves you. Just like all your uncles love you, and your aunts and cousins—”

“Mom,” I say, voice thick. I don’t want to have this conversation. I don’t think I can handle it.

“No, Wyatt,” she says. “We’re discussing this. We should have a long time ago. I didn’t realize—” her voice breaks and she has to take a deep breath before continuing. “I didn’t realize you still had those kinds of doubts about us.”