Page 39 of Ruthless King (Mount Trilogy 1)
As I release a long breath, I reach into the pocket of the pencil skirt and pull it out, half expecting to see Mount’s name on the screen. But it’s not, thankfully, and seeing a picture of my mom’s smiling face on my phone helps bring me back to center and remind me why I’m doing this.
I answer with the first genuine smile I’ve had in days, and duck into a corner alcove of the hall that leads to the guest restrooms. “Hey, Mom, how are you? How’s Dad?”
“We’re good! Great, really. My golf game has improved immeasurably, but that’s not important. I’m calling to see how you’re holding up.”
Her mention of golf reminds me of the picture I was given as a warning.
“I’m fine. Everything’s great.” I hope my tone is convincing, but when she replies, I know it’s not.
“Sweetie . . . have you reached out to that counselor yet? I really think you need to talk to someone about all of this. Burying those conflicting feelings about Brett’s death isn’t coping. You need to talk it out. Express your anger.”
I think of all the rage I’ve felt since Mount appeared in my office.
My mom continues. “And your grief too. Even though you were going to divorce him, that’s like a death in itself.”
“I’m fine, Mom. Really. I am. If it makes you feel better, I’ll join a kickboxing class to express my anger.”
As soon as the words come out, I remember that I no longer have control of those kinds of decisions in my life. I’ll be picked up and returned to my cell at the end of the day.
“Sweetheart, it’s not the same. It doesn’t make you weak to ask for help.”
If she only knew how much help I need right now . . . But she can never know.
“Look, we both know that this conversation is going to end with me telling you that the best therapy for me is burying myself in work and fixing all the things Brett screwed up before he . . . passed.” I fumble on the last word because it’s still hard to talk about. I was so angry, but at one time, I thought I loved him, and thinking of the horrific way he died . . . I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
The long-suffering sigh that I swear all mothers have perfected comes through my phone. “Lord knows I want to argue with you, but your father would say the same thing.”
“How is Dad?”
Part of the reason my dad finally relinquished control of the company to me was because his doctor warned him that he was a perfect case of someone waiting until sixty-five to retire, only to die at sixty-six because he overworked himself for years. My mother wouldn’t allow such a thing, so she forced him to retire. I want to think he would have gotten there eventually on his own, but knowing my father, it’s highly doubtful.
“He’s doing great. The most stressful thing in his life is his golf handicap, and his last physical came back with better numbers than we’ve seen in years.” The relief is clear in my mom’s tone.
“And probably whether or not he gets his payment from me every month,” I can’t help but add.
“Keira, stop. He knows you’re more passionate about that old distillery than either of your sisters, and would die before you’d let it fail. He believes in you, even if he doesn’t say it often enough. We’re both so proud of you.”
She doesn’t realize how badly I need to hear those words right now. Then again, how proud would my parents be if they knew I’ve whored myself out to keep the legacy alive?
Shame slithers through my soul for what I’m doing.
I have no choice.
But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.
“Thank you, Mom. I love you both. I’m glad Dad’s finally learning to chill out.”
“Oh, honey. I didn’t say that. He’s already president of the condo association and trying to institute some kind of rules about the golf carts. The man is incapable of being anything but exactly what he is—a CEO. But that’s why I love him. His drive. His fire. He had me from day one. No doubt about it.”
Knowing that she’s about to launch into the story of their first date for quite possibly the six hundredth time in my life, I interject. “I know, and someday I hope I find out what that’s like.”
I don’t really mean it, though. Brett’s death and betrayal are still too fresh for me to even consider wanting to get married again. Maybe ever. But my parents are proof that sometimes it truly can last.
My mom makes a sound of approval. “You have no idea how happy that makes me. I want nothing more than for you to move forward with your life and find someone who will love you like you were always meant to be loved. That’s what I want for all my girls. Someone to treat you all like queens.”
Lachlan Mount may be the king of New Orleans’ underworld, but he sure as hell will never treat me like a queen. And that’s not even an option, so why the hell would I even think such a thing? It’s my mother. Her pep talks cause temporary insanity on occasion.
“I have a meeting coming up, so I have to let you go. But I love you, and it’s so good to hear your voice. I miss you both,” I tell her.
