Doomsday Love: An MMA & Second Chance Romance (8 page)

I cared for Mom, I really did. I loved her, but she had a bad habit of pushing people’s buttons. She was self-centered and rude and so fucking annoying. She didn’t give a single shit who she offended as long as she came out on top.

But if someone dared to offend her, she’d pitch the biggest fit, making herself out to be so victimized when we all knew she was the cause for everything.

“Lower your voice, Jenny,” Dad pleaded.

“No, seriously, is this a joke?” I asked. Yes, my head was aching and my mouth was still dry and my body felt like total shit, but I wasn’t having it. “Is this supposed to be you trying to make me happy? All you’re doing is using stories from my personal life and twisting them up to make me look like the bad guy. You’re belittling me. I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised. It’s so typical of you.” I folded my arms, thinning my eyes just as she did.

“Hallway. Now,” she demanded, but I didn’t move. She stood up, looking rather foolish as everyone looked her way. I sat there, smirking in her direction. “Jennifer!” she hissed.

Dumb move.

“Um, Mrs. Roscoe,” Mrs. June said from the podium. “I’m sorry. Is there something else you needed to tell us? I was just getting to the best part.”

I laughed. Seriously, they were all pathetic—Mrs. June with her voice full of bullshit and sarcasm, and Mom, with her faux smile and stone-cold eyes. “No, Martha. Please,” Mom lowered in her seat. “Continue.”

Mrs. Martha June nodded, continuing the ongoing summary of her book. “I’ll deal with you at home,” Mom whispered, seething at her end of the table. She glanced at Dad, who simply shook his head and picked up his cup of tea, taking a drawn out sip.

I pressed my lips in defiance, hoping she didn’t really think she could intimidate me. Not after what she’d done. After what she’d allowed to happen to Mitchell, I lost all respect for her. She didn’t deserve my love, but unfortunately I loved hard and that was something I could never get rid of.

She was lucky—lucky I grew up with someone who showed me what unconditional love was about. Around Mitchell, a loving brother. A sweetheart. A great friend.

Tears welled in my eyes when I realized how much I’d missed him, and how great it would have been to have him there at the books and tea party with me.

We’d goof.

We’d pick on someone, like Mrs. June and her HUGE rack for example, and then snort about it.

We’d sneak to the buffet line for extra pastries and he’d steal candy for us and then give it to me once we got home.

Shoving back in my chair, I broke out of my seat, excusing myself for Dad’s benefit. Not for Mom.

“Where are you going, sweetie?” Dad asked, the brown skin on his forehead crumpling.

“I need some air. Please?”

He nodded, weary with the two of us. I knew he was fed up too, but I wasn’t sure if he was more fed up with Mom or me. “Okay. Sure. Go ahead.”

I thanked him with my eyes, pushing my chair in and leaving the banquet room, but not before grimacing at Mom, who simply returned the same expression.

I was out of the room, pressing my back against the door once I’d made it out safely. I felt suffocated in there, smothered by Mom’s arrogance and all of the heavy gazes and whisper-hissing.

She had no idea how terrible of a mother she was…and that’s what worried me. She thought she was doing great, but boy, was she wrong. Compared to some of the other mothers I’d met, I’d have to say my mom was the worst of them all.

She didn’t work. She considered herself a stay-at-home mom, which you would think would have given her ample time to sign up for PTA meetings, help during field trips at my school, or even host a party for me here and there.

She never did. She hated volunteering, demanding that Sue do it instead.

Dad and Sue got my parties going. They planned it all and always did an outstanding job. Of course Mom would rain on the parade, always mentioning how something could have been done better, like maybe a bigger cake or more streamers, or even more drinks.

One year, all of her complaining backfired on her. She said something about the balloons, and I said, “Well, why didn’t you just plan it yourself if you have so much to say?” I was thirteen and for a brand-new teenage girl, I was rather pleased with the party and its set up.

Things had changed since then. So much. I was sure from that moment on, Mom and Dad knew I was nothing like them. They knew I was a rebel at heart, fearless in all the wrong ways.

They knew I didn’t care about expensive rubbish, like clothes and jewelry. I did love buying shoes, preferably Nikes and sandals, but what girl didn’t have a shoe addiction? Truth be told, they were afraid of me, especially Mom, which was why she was always so hard on me.

She was afraid because she couldn’t handle me.

And I was glad things were that way. She wasn’t going to run me down like a ragged horse the way she did my brother. No. I refused.

Unlike Mitchell, I didn’t give a damn about hurting anyone’s feelings, if I had to—not when it came to my own sanity.

God, I couldn’t wait until I was in college. I needed to get out of this hellhole. Move forward and never look back.

I collected much-needed oxygen, walking in my wedges to get to one of the cushioned benches in the foyer. I took out my cellphone, and even though I was still upset with him, I silently wished that Drake had actually given me his number so I could have someone to chat with. I was certain Kylie was still asleep.

No one to rant to.

No one to sympathize with me in this given moment.

Sighing, I slipped my cellphone back into my clutch and pressed my back against the bench, swiping my hands across my face. The center of my head still ached, my temples creating a heavy pulsing feeling whenever I pressed my fingertips to them.

Footsteps sounded from a short distance away and when I brought my head up, I saw a tall boy walking in my direction. The white button-down shirt tucked messily beneath the black vest gave him away as a waiter. He was most likely working in the banquet room.

I didn’t pay much mind to him. I stopped at his attire, not even bothering to look at his face. I dropped my hands and ran them across my thighs. The boy stopped in the middle of the hallway, and because I knew he was watching me, I frowned and looked up.

I was surprised by whom I saw.

“Holy shit,” Otto said, as he placed the tray of sweet teas on the table beside him and strode my way. “If it isn’t the girl my cousin is so obsessed with.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “He is
not
obsessed with me.”

Otto sat beside me, completely ignoring my irritated tone. “Oh, is that what you think? Trust me, that motherfucker is obsessed. Never seen him follow through with plans for a girl before.”

“That doesn’t make him obsessed. He was just being nice.”

“But he likes you.”

I waved a hand, dismissing the subject. I wasn’t in the mood to talk about Drake, not after the way he just left me last night. “I’m sorry… I don’t know if you can tell, but I’m not feeling too great right now. Drake is the last person I want to talk about.”

“Let me guess.” Otto folded his arms across his chest. “Hung over like a motherfucker, huh?”

I huffed a laugh. “First one ever. I always wondered what they felt like… now I regret wondering.”

“Yeah, it’s a bitch,” he laughed. “What are you doing up so early?”

I looked up into his blue eyes. It was then that I realized he had a cut on the corner of his bottom lip. What was it with these boys? Did they fight each other just for the hell of it? I knew Drake fought for money, but did Otto and Oscar do the same thing?

“I’m supposed to be with the party in there.”

“Shit’s boring as hell. Fucking books. Get that shit out of here.”

“I didn’t want to come.” I rubbed my forehead with the back of my hand, suddenly feeling like I was sweating. Yeah, it was official. I was never drinking this much again—maybe a piña colada here and there, but no beer and no more cheap, headache-making tequila.

“Damn.”

“What?” I asked, perking up a bit.

“You look like trash. You drank that shitty Mexican shit last night, didn’t you?”

My shoulders hunched again. “Thanks,” I muttered sarcastically. “And yes. It was all that was left besides the beer.”

“Hey, I bet I know what’ll cheer you up.” Otto straightened his back, a gleam in his eyes. I wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or wary by it.

“I’m pretty sure nothing can cheer me up right now.”

“Wanna bet?”

I thinned my eyes at him. “Bet on
what?
”

“Your lover boy is in the kitchen as we speak. He’s about to come out in a minute to serve up some pastries and shit.”

“Wait—you two work here? Doesn’t he work at some place called the Dirty Dawg Pit? Never heard of it, but that’s it, right?”

Otto looked at me, brows drawn together, but his lips tilted in an upward curve. “Fuck, Doom was right,” he chuckled. “You ask a lot of fucking questions, Pretty Jenny.”

“Call her that again and I’ll snap your neck.” A deep voice rose behind Otto and he licked his lips, grinning like a fool. He already knew who was there. There was no need for him to turn and face him.

“That motherfucker’s all talk,” he cackled, pointing back with his thumb. “He’s never laid a hand on me.”

I couldn’t help my wandering eyes when that familiar voice filled the corridor. Otto’s comment went over my head as I spotted Drake coming in our direction. Kylie’s hero, Oscar, was right beside him with a basket of biscuits.

Oscar put on a half-smile and tossed a wave. Drake looked me right in the eye but then his head dipped, eyes moving south.

Was that shame? Yeah. He was ashamed of me seeing him like this, in a waiter’s uniform, serving people.

Drake didn’t come across as the type to serve, but I remembered him saying he had to get a job to provide after dropping out. Maybe he meant two jobs. Maybe even three.

But who was I to judge? I would never shame him.

I started to stand, but he spoke, causing me to stop. “Don’t even try it, Snoop. You might as well sit. Keep moving too much and you’ll make that headache of yours worse.”

I drew in a cloud of breath, sitting back against the bench. He was right, but for some reason I felt the need to stand, to face him after what went down last night. But I didn’t. I stayed down.

Drake cocked his head at Otto and Otto rolled his eyes with reluctance. “I hate this shit,” he muttered, hopping off the bench and going in their direction. He picked up the tray of teas as Oscar whispered something to him.

Drake watched the two of them walk into the room, shutting the door behind them, and then he looked at me. With one of his bushy brows cocked, he placed his tray of donuts and chocolate drizzled croissants down and asked, “You supposed to be in there?”

“Yep,” I sighed.

“So why aren’t you?”

“Not in the mood.”

He looked confused. “Free food. Books. Tea… isn’t that your thing?”

“Not when it involves my parents... or my mother, rather.” I waved a hand, hating that she even came up during the conversation.

“I thought that was her in there,” he said, pretty much to himself because he wasn’t looking at me anymore. He was facing the door. Then, in practically no time, he marched ahead, picking up his pastry tray. “Give me a minute.”

I nodded, and Drake pulled open the door to the banquet room, slipping inside without much notice. The door clicked shut behind him, and it took nearly ten of his said “minutes” before all three boys came back out.

Otto was fighting a laugh, Oscar was rolling his eyes at his brother, and Drake’s face was just… blank. Like always.

“How the fuck do you do it?!” Otto finally let out his outburst, hurrying in my direction. “They are so fucking uptight. I wouldn’t even be able finger those snazzy bitches in there.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that one. “You see why I’m not in there now?”

“Crazy.” Otto shook his head and then looked towards his twin.

Oscar was focused on me. “How’s your friend Kylie? Is she okay after last night?” he asked.

I shrugged. “She’ll probably be hung over when she wakes up, but she’ll survive.”

“Oh. Okay. Good.” Oscar’s line of vision darted down to his brother and he bobbed his head once, a gesture for Otto to follow him.

“Later, Pretty Jenny.” Otto smirked at Drake, forcing a scowl out of him.

“Later, Otto.”

Otto followed his brother back down the corridor and I watched them enter the kitchen. Oscar gave Drake a swift glance before finally disappearing.

“Oscar seems very protective of you,” I said when they were gone.

“Not that,” Drake sighed. “He’s just never seen me actually… interact like this.”

“Let me guess. With a female?” I folded my arms.

A smile played on his lips. “Something like that.” Taking a few steps ahead, he folded his arms and peered down at me. His head tilted, and his lips pinched tight. “Do me a favor,” he said.

“What?”

“Don’t drink so much. I can tell it’s not something you do on the regular. You were only hurting yourself.”

“I didn’t drink so much for no reason. I was trying to forget about your rudeness. Why did you leave like that last night, anyway? All I wanted was your number. Is that too much to ask for?”

“Actually, it is.”

I frowned, and it hurt my head a little. “Why?”

“Because you don’t need my number. You don’t need to get to know me, Jenny.” I liked how he said my name. It wasn’t a soft voice like the one he had in fifth grade. Now it held a deep timbre, one that hummed throughout my body.

“I think that’s my choice, not yours. I already told you I don’t mind getting to know you.”

He blew a breath, his jaw ticking. He focused on me for quite some time before finally easing up and sitting down beside me. His elbows rested on his thighs, and he folded his fingers, entwining each one until his hands were clasped tight.

His gaze was ahead, pointed at an abstract painting, as he asked, “Why are you trying so hard to get to know me?”

“Because I’m interested.”

He looked me in the eye. “In what?”