Page 92 of Wanted

“I’m her man.” Jude’s voice fills with pride. If I weren’t in the middle of this midday reality show drama, I’d kiss the shit out of him for the public declaration.

“This fuck is your boyfriend?”

“No, Dilbert. That would imply that I’m anything like you. I'm not. You're the last boyfriend she'll ever have. Now she only dates men, and right now, that man is me.”

Dillon turns to me, rage painting his face a bright shade of red. “You’re going to let him talk to me like that?”

I shrug. “Why not? It’s not like you’ve done anything to deserve any respect.”

“I did everything for you!” he shouts. I don’t need to look around to know he’s drawing attention.

“Back the fuck up. I’m not going to tell you again,” Jude snarls.

“Cut the shit,” I snap. “Why are you both really here?”

My mother steps closer, tears glistening in her eyes. The watery look sends shock pulsing through me. I can’t remember a time I ever saw her cry. “We really do need the money. It’s been hard since you left. We can’t pay the bills, and now your father is sick. You promised to send us something when you started your new job, but you haven’t.”

I lick my lips at the accusation. “I don’t remember making that promise.”

I truly don’t. It would have been before I left town, so I should remember. Unless that’s what Dillon and I fought about. Maybe he didn’t like the idea of me sending money back home, and he refused to let me help them. I can’t see that being the reason I’d throw myself out of a car.

Her eyes flash. “But you did. We’re really struggling without you.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have anything to give you.”

“Honey.” My mother trails her eyes over Jude. “Things were much better when you were home. I-I don’t know how we’re going to make it without your help.”

I cringe at the awkward term of endearment. A dry tickle irritates my throat. I wish I had a drink right about now to soothe the discomfort.

“This is ridiculous. Frankie, it’s time to come home,” Dillon argues.

“That’s enough!” Jude growls, moving in front of me again. “The two of you have pled your case. You’ve heard her answer and now it’s time for you to go.”

“I don’t even know who you are,” Mom says, leaning into Jude’s space without an ounce of fear.

“I could say the same to you,” Jude bites out. His hand wraps around mine, an iron band shackling me to him.

“Her father is dying!”

“You said you didn’t know if he was dying,” I point out.

“Well he is! It’s only a matter of time because I can’t afford to take care of him. Imagine losing the love of your life because someone couldn’t show you a little kindness.”

“Imagine”—I shove my way around Jude, pulling free from his grip—“losing your parents because they were too selfish to ever put your needs above theirs.”

“How dare you.”

“Do you want to know the hardest part about having you as my mother?” Tears burn my eyes, threatening to spill down my cheeks at the smallest provocation. When she doesn’t answer, I continue.

“You gave me all your features, so I had to spend my life learning how to love them on my face while I hated them on yours. Every twisted insult on your lips, every drugged-out expression, for the longest time, that’s all I’d see when I’d look in the mirror. It took a long time to look past it and love myself.”

“For God’s sake, Frankie—”

“And I’m not about to let you come here and take away all my progress.”

“I’m not asking for that much.”

“You are! By just coming here with him”—I point a finger at Dillon—“you are asking for way too much.”

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