Page 98 of Devious Obsession
“What do you propose?” he asks.
Steele puts his hand on my shoulder, and I jump. “We have the extra room in the hockey house. She’ll move in so I can keep an eye on her.”
I frown.
Mom does, too. “You want my daughter to move into a house with a bunch of…”
“I know them all, Mom,” I blurt out. I knock Steele’s hand off my shoulder. “It’s not, um, the worst idea I’ve heard.”
Although Uncle will probably murder Steele when he finds out.
“Have you heard from Dad?”
Mom stops moving. Stops breathing, really. I wonder if Steele realizes that I just completely freaked her out in five simple words.
“No… I haven’t. Have you?”
I narrow my eyes. Do I mention the money? Or Uncle? “Nope.”
“How was Spain?” Steele asks suddenly. “Did you have a good trip?”
I’ve never been so glad to have a change of subject. I let out a slow breath when their attention diverts to Steele.
“It was beautiful,” Mom answers. “And congratulations on your hockey game. It was nice to get to watch you play after your father talked you up.”
“Where in Spain did you go?” I ask.
“Madrid first, and then we stayed in a small villa on the west coast. The girls got to practice a bit of their Spanish.” She smiles.
I almost feel bad for bringing up Dad.Almost.
“The game was good,” Stephen says. “Your fight was… interesting.”
“Scouts like some aggression.” Steele shrugs and leans back. His shoulder brushes mine. “Plus, the guy had it coming.”
“Well, if you say so.” His father picks off some invisible lint from his sleeve. “It’s late, and I think we’re going to retire to the room.”
They rise. We do some awkward version of a goodbye—Mom hugs me while I remain sitting. I don’t really hug her back, a sour taste on my tongue. Stephen and Steele shake hands again, and Mom ends up patting his shoulder on the way past.
We watch them go.
“Thanks for coming, asshole,” Steele says under his breath.
I sigh. “All that, and we didn’t even get a drink out of it.”
Steele leans forward and snags the two glasses left behind. They didn’t even bother finishing their drinks—there’s a finger’s worth of an amber liquid in a rocks glass and half a pour of red wine left in Mom’s. He hands me the wine, and I roll my eyes. We clink the glasses in a silent cheers and down the liquid.
The wine is dry, but I ignore the bitter taste. It seems to fit how I’m feeling toward Mom right now anyway. Why didn’t she say anything? Or stick up for me? The delayed hurt that comes from her silence is worse now than hearing Stephen suggest it for the first time.
“So, a mental institution.” Steele sets down the glass. “I didn’t see that one coming.”
“Oh, you didn’t predict that would be his reaction?” I scowl. “Probably didn’t think he’d pull my funding for school. So even if I move into your house—which I’mnot—it would only be for a month. No more CPU for me.”
He narrows his eyes. “It was more of an effort to stop him believing you if you tried to convince him of anythingIwas doing. He pulled the tuition money for next semester? Already?”
“Covering your own ass,” I mutter. I flag down a waiter. “Two glasses of your top-shelf whiskey, neat. Doubles.”
He eyes us, then the glasses in front of us. He nods once and disappears.
