Sinful Ever After (Sinful Serenade Book 5) (28 page)

Fuck, I hate feeling like this guy.

"Yeah," I mutter.

"You were wanted, Tom. Even after your father left me. I knew my options, but I wanted a child. I wanted you." Her eyes go to the table. "Do you remember when you were little? My mom would watch you sometimes."

I remember an older woman with grey hair and kind eyes. "She have a smoker's cough?"

"Yes, that's her. Chastity." Liberty shakes her head. "You would think she'd end the tradition of naming women after virtues with a name like Chastity, but she didn't."

Can't say I'm too invested in this story, but I do remember Chastity. Bits and pieces of her. A wrinkled smile, that deep smoker's cough, the low roar of the TV. She always watched soaps as background noise.

"You were small. You might not remember. But she took care of you when I was at work. I was a secretary. It was long hours sometimes, but I didn't have much choice. We didn't have much money." Liberty looks up at me. "She loved you. We both loved you. I was always happy to get home to you."

Don't remember this. "Then why do I remember you high constantly?"

"She died when you were five. From there..." Her voice drops. "From there, everything turned. I was in and out of work. I dated a lot of guys who didn't treat me too well. But I didn't have any money. I didn't have a choice but to use the only card I had."

What the fuck is she talking about?

Willow breaks the silence. "Tom, she's saying she was out of money and she had to move in with a guy. She had to use her sexuality to keep a roof over your head."

Guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Maybe I should thank her for teaching me that particular lesson. I owe half my success to how hard I sold myself as
Tom Steele, sex god, the ultimate one-night stand.

Liberty nods. "The drugs were David's thing. They made it easier. And they made it easier to take how poorly he treated me. If I'd realized he was so violent with you..." Her eyes go to the table. "I don't deserve forgiveness. Back then, the drugs mattered to me more than anything else. Have you ever known an addict?"

"Yeah." Not admitting any more than that.

"Drugs warp your priorities. When I was high, I didn't even realize I had a son. The state was right to take you away. I had no plans of stopping. Things were only getting worse with David. If he hadn't been arrested, if we hadn't been arrested—"

"What for?" I ask.

"Possession with intent to distribute. Child endangerment. I testified against him, but part of my plea agreement meant I had to give up custody." She wipes a tear from her eye. "It wasn't because I didn't love you, Tom. I knew you were better off away from me. In another home."

Yeah, in a bunch of homes where other people looked at me like a piece of shit or a punching bag.

Willow squeezes my hand. The warmth of her skin calms me but not enough.

This is too much to process.

It's easier hating Liberty. It's easier pretending like she doesn't exist. I'm not sure I'm ready to forgive her, to see her as anything but the woman who abandoned me.

"Your wife tells me your adopted mother is a sweet woman," Liberty says. "Are you happy you're part of her family?"

"Yeah. But don't think that excuses anything."

"I don't," she says. "I know nothing will excuse what happened. I wish I had a better explanation than drugs, but that's the truth. It took me years to get sober then years to clean up. I have a job now, a home, a life. But I still fall asleep regretting what happened every night."

I force myself to meet her gaze. Force myself to think of Liberty as my mother. To try to remember her before the drugs.

There's a hint of something. I can see a smile, hear a laugh. Can see us on the faded carpet in some tiny apartment in the desert, watching reruns on a shitty TV with worse reception.

I can see us at the park.

Can see a trip to the beach, running around in the sand.

But that's dwarfed by the memory of fucking David and his fucking fists and that hazy look in Liberty's eyes.

God dammit, I hate drugs. Picked the wrong career to avoid them, but I've fucking made it work.

"You were a good kid," she says. "You deserved a good home."

What? "I was?"

"Yeah." Liberty's smile is sad. "You got into some fights and occasionally got a bad grade, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. I always considered myself lucky to have such a great son."

"What?"

She nods. "You were wanted, Tom. You were loved."

I look to Willow. This sounds too much like something she would say. Sure enough, there's a hint of guilt in my wife's eyes. No doubt about it, she fed Liberty lines.

But Liberty's voice is sincere.

My mother's voice is sincere.

"You sometimes got into trouble for being bossy." Liberty laughs. "From what Willow says, it doesn't sound like much has changed."

"You were talking about me?" I ask.

"Only bits and pieces." Willow's eyes turn down. "I should have asked first."

"Guess it's all on
TMZ
and shit." I tap my fingers against the table. It's a fucking weird feeling, hearing my mother tell me I was wanted and loved.

She practically threw me away.

But then I've seen drugs make a person do far, far worse.

Willow clears her throat. "Liberty had no idea who you were."

"Really?" I ask.

"Sweetie, you sound a little conceited. You're not
that
famous." She smiles and presses her lips to mine. Then she's close enough to whisper. "Are you okay?"

"Close enough." I press my palm against her back and hold her body against mine. Usually, I don't give a fuck who's around—now that we're not hiding this from Drew, I take every bit of affection I can with Willow—but it's fucking weird holding her in front of my mother.

"I love you," she whispers.

"I love you too."

Once we're back in our proper positions, Liberty offers a weak smile. "I have to admit that I'm still not sure who you are beyond what Willow has told me. I only listen to country music and I don't follow any celebrity gossip."

"He's only c-list," Willow teases. "If that." She squeezes my hand.

I squeeze back.

"You do well?" she asks.

Not like me to stay quiet when I have the chance to brag. But I don't want to mention specifics. "Really well."

Liberty smiles. "You seem like you've become a nice young man. A lot of tattoos, but they look good."

Willow laughs. "She likes your tattoos."

Damn, she's enjoying this. But that's better than it weighing on her.

Liberty smiles. "I'd like to hear about your life. If you don't mind."

"What about it?" I ask.

"Everything," she says.

"Starting now or from the beginning?"

"Everything."

I start at the beginning. From my very first foster home to landing with Ophelia, getting in fights, sleeping around. I talk about Pete, about the band, about Ophelia's cancer scare. Don't hold much back, even the parts about how much I've hated Liberty, about how I never felt like anyone gave a fuck about me until Ophelia.

When I'm done, Willow is still squeezing my hand and Liberty is still listening with rapt attention.

Then it's her turn. She tells me about her life, about getting clean, about finding an administrative job out in Riverside then eventually taking a position in Las Vegas at one of the casino chains.

She even asks Willow about her life, about her photography. We must spend an hour or two talking when Liberty says her goodbye.

"Thank you, Tom. It's been great talking to you, but I should go. I'm incredibly late for a meeting." Liberty smiles. "I've got something for you." She pulls a small, wrapped present out of her bag. "It's a photo album of when you were little. I understand if you don't want to keep it, but take a look for your grandmother's sake. She would have hated me for losing you."

Liberty stands. Willow and I stand too. How do you say goodbye to the woman who sorta feels like your mother?

I'm not the type to analyze this shit. It's better to do what feels right.

I offer her my hand.

She shakes.

Willow follows my lead. "Maybe we can see you again before we leave. If you're in town."

Liberty nods. "I'm always in town. I
can
get you a discount if you'd like. Not that you need one. I'd love to talk more. I can tell you more about what happened if you'd like to hear that." She looks to me. "Thank you for coming, Tom. And you too, Willow. You're a lovely couple. I can't remember ever seeing two people who looked at each other with as much love as you two do."

I guess my mother isn't the fool I thought she was. Not if she can see that.

Willow smiles and squeezes me tighter. We watch Liberty walk out of the cafe.

My stomach settles as she walks out the door. Not sure how I feel at the moment. Too much is swirling around my head.

Willow looks up at me. "You want to look at the pictures?"

"Later."

"Your heart is beating really fast."

I nod.

Her voice gets low, sensual. "I can help you calm down."

"That's not gonna make my heart beat any slower, kid."

She laughs. "Are you saying you don't want to?"

"Fuck no." I run my fingers through her hair. "Here?"

"We can drive out to the mountains, find an empty road, and lower the convertible roof."

Fuck yeah. "Marrying you was the smartest thing I ever did."

"You're just now figuring that out?"

"I realized it the moment I said
I do
."

She smiles. "Me too."

––––––––

T
om

Willow drives. It only takes a few minutes for us to find a road that leads out into the desert.

We roll the top down. The rushing air is cold, but the bite feels good. It wakes me up. It drowns out every other sound, forcing me to sort through my thoughts.

It's going to take a while for all this to feel normal.

It's going to take a while to reconcile the two versions of my mother—the drug addict who abandoned me and the one who came before and after that, who really did love me.

I keep my eyes on the bright blue sky as memories wash over me. There was a lot of time before the drugs when things were better. I was young. It's hard remembering much, but it
is
there.

I break open the photo book and flip through the pages. I recognize Chastity and I recognize the five-year-old kid in Liberty's arms. That's me. And we're fucking happy.

She's happy.

She loves me.

It's gonna take a long time for that to feel normal. Gonna take a long time for me to forgive her enough we can have a relationship, but looking at the big yellow sun and the beige expanse of desert, I believe I'll get there.

Willow squeezes my hand. It brings me back into the moment. I watch the wind blow her short hair all over her face. She looked good with longer hair. She looked like my friend's little sister.

But the short, pink hair—it's all pink now—does something for her. Between that and the chest tattoo, she
should
look like an edgy punk rock chick. But she doesn't. She still looks sweet, like a kid dressing up as a rock star for Halloween.

I'm not sure anything could change how sweet she looks, even full sleeves of ink and eyebrow piercings.

She rubs my index finger with her thumb. Another finger brushes against my wedding band. I fucking love the way she's always tracing it, like she's reminding herself we're married.

Us being married makes everything else look small. Even this thing with Liberty.

It's hard thinking about my mother. It hurts.

But no hurt could ever compare to how good it feels knowing Willow is mine.

She looks at me for a moment. Her lips curl into a smile then her eyes are back on the road.

It's too loud for conversation.

She tries anyway. "What are you thinking?"

I nod to the road that leads off the freeway. It's half a mile away.

She nods back. "You get such good ideas, sweetie." She pulls onto the road. The car slows enough the racing air is a murmur instead of a scream. "I hope this leads somewhere private."

I cock a brow. "So we can talk?"

"Of course. What else could I mean?" The delight in her eyes gives that away. She drops her voice to something more serious. "What are you thinking now?"

"I believe her. That she's sorry. That she loved me. That it was the drugs that fucked things up."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

She's fucking beaming.

"Don't have to brag about it."

Willow shakes her head. "I'm not. I wouldn't." She takes a curve around a hill, then she pulls onto a side street.

There are no structures on the horizon. We're out of view of the main road.

It's private enough for us to communicate properly.

My eyes go to the sky. It's bright now, but it's winter. The sun sets early. "We're going to have to do this fast if we want to get out of here before it gets dark."

Her voice is confident. "Then you'll have to get me off fast."

I unbuckle my seatbelt and turn to her. "When did you start talking dirty?"

"You don't like it?"

"Fuck no. I love it." I undo her seatbelt and pull her into my lap. Her knees plant outside my hips. "Just worry you were getting tips from Pete."

Her lips curl into a smile. "I might have."

"Should kick his ass for saying dirty things in front of my wife."

"You'll have to kick his ass frequently."

"Now I'm going to have to think about my brother when we're having sex."

She laughs. "You offered to have a threesome with him." Willow runs her hand through my hair. "It can't bother you
that
much."

She's enjoying this.

I can't exactly object to her on my lap, her hands on my skin. I let my eyes close for a moment, and I soak in everything—the sun, the cold air, the warmth of her body.

Her lips on mine.

My mouth parts to make way for her tongue. She's leading. It's not often she leads. Right now, I want her leading. I want to feel her desire.