Page 107 of Fight For Me

Something clicks into place in my brain at those words, like a puzzle I’ve been struggling with for years suddenly makes sense.

“But isn’t that what you did?” I ask slowly, as this new perspective takes shape. “When it comes down to it, didn’t you sacrifice everything to make me happy?”

She stares at me. “I don’t understand.”

I think about how terrible I always felt when my visits with my mom were over and it was time to go back home. Not because I didn’t want to be with my grandparents but because I knew she would be lonely. She would get this haunted, vacant look in her eyes before I left and even at eight years old I knew it was killing her to let me go.

“Letting me live with Grandma and Grandpa hurt you way more than it hurt me,” I say. “I missed you, and wanted to be with you all the time, but I was happy. I had a great home. I had everything I needed. You were the one who was alone. That was a sacrifice you made, Mom. Your own happiness for mine.”

Her face crumples and then her hands are covering her eyes, blocking her from me. “I thought we were supposed to be venting about how much I screwed up your life.”

I laugh, the sound watery. “You didn’t screw up my life. I’ve had agreatlife.”

And I really, truly have. My thoughts go to my dad—after Cash Ransome showed up, I had a lot of opportunities most kids don’t get. We traveled with the band, took amazing vacations. I had music lessons and instruments paid for. I never had to worry about money for college.

But the real blessings were so much more than that. I had a father who never hesitated to make sure his kids knew they were loved, who was never stingy with his time or affection. My uncles went out of their way to include me, to let me be one of the guys. My parents gave me siblings who I love beyond measure and a house that was always filled with noise and music and laughter.

And I had my mom. The person I spent my entire life idolizing and wanting to be with. In spite of the way things started, I got to live with her, be a real family.

“I’m so lucky,” I say hoarsely. “I know that. I don’t take it for granted. I just get…mad sometimes. Jealous. And sometimes I get scared.”

She wipes her eyes, nodding. “The next time you get mad or jealous or scared, will you tell me?”

I’ve spent most of my life trying to make my mother happy. To shield her from any bad thought or feeling. What she’s asking me won’t be easy. “I’ll try.”

She nods. “That’s good enough for me.”

She rises from her knees and returns to her spot on the couch. If I thought we were done with difficult communication for the afternoon, I was wrong.

“Did you get scared last night?” she asks. “When the show aired? Is that why you’re sitting here with me and not Alex?”

I let out a long, ragged breath. “It was never going to work, Mom.”

“Why?”

“I’m too old for, to start.”

She nods thoughtfully. “So she seemed too young to you?”

“What? No, that’s not what I said.”

“I don’t see the difference. If you’re too old, that must mean she’s too young, right?”

“She’s not—”

“Is she immature? Is that the problem?”

“What? No. Jesus, Mom, she’s one of the most mature people I know.”

She studies me. “What does she do to make you think she’s mature?”

“Have you watched the stupid show at all? She’s starting a business. A really successful, impressive business. And all the serious stuff, the business end stuff—that’s all her. She works her ass off.”

Mom nods. “What else?”

“I mean, she finished school early. Even with all the trouble her insomnia causes. She finished an entire year early.” Pride swells in my chest, though I know I don’t have a right to it. “She’s so organized and driven. So much smarter than me. And she’s confident, you know? She knows exactly who she is and doesn’t need anyone’s approval.” I think of her doing that terrible Backstreet Boys dance at the club and can’t help but smile. “And she takes shit from no one. If I whine about PT she puts me right in my place.” I close my eyes, picturing her fiery expression in the dark parking lot last night.I don’t just want all those things,she had told me.Ideservethem.“She knows what she’s worth,” I whisper. “And she won’t accept anything less.”

My mom gives a little sigh. “I always did love that girl. Such a badass.”