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What the fuck is wrong with me lately?

“You don’t need to explain. I know you’re expecting an argument, but you’re wrong. It’s fine. I’m not pissed. I don’t necessarily agree with dealing drugs, but I know it brings money in for the club, and I know it helps you keep in control. If you’re not doing it, someone else will. I get it. I also get it means we have to take my mother home. It is what it is, and I’m not mad.”

And with that, she turned around and made her way to the door to break the news to Bee and my mother.

“What the fuck was that?” I asked Monster without taking my eyes off Rachel’s retreating figure.

“Fucked if I know, boss.”

“Is she pissed? I feel like she might be pissed.”

“She said she wasn’t. She didn’t look pissed,” he frowned, looking back and forth between me and Rachel.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I scowled at her, even though she wasn’t looking at me. I couldn’t figure her the fuck out.

“She threw a bottle at me last week when I told her the bar had no peanuts left,” Monster said, looking equally as confused as I felt.

“I know. And she threw an ashtray at Vienna when he won at darts.”

“So she’s pissed then,” Monster said firmly, nodding his head.

“But she doesn’tlookpissed.”

“Mate…” he whistled. “Actually, do you know what? You’re on your own. Good fucking luck. I don’t have an old lady. I don’t need to deal with this shit.” He slapped my shoulder and twisted his lips apologetically before he walked away. I noticed, however, that he gave Rachel a wide berth on his way out, just in case.

Chapter 21

Rachel

The drive back to my mother's house – or should I say Iris’s house – was frosty, to say the least.

First of all, she had demanded the front seat. Which I was going to give to her anyway, as I wanted to sit in the back with Bee. But the fact that she demanded it made some childish instinct within me rear its ugly head.

It had only got worse when she forbid Dante from putting his music on. He hated driving in cars at the best of times, and I had seen him throwing sad, forlorn little looks at his bike as we made our way over to the “goddamn shit of a cage”, as he so politely put it.

I had ignored my mother’s demands and hooked my phone up via the car’s Bluetooth. There wasn’t a chance she knew how to work that, so she would just have to deal with it. I placed my phone on Dante’s knee, and ignored his shocked glance when he saw that I had created an entire “Dante’s Songs” playlist, full of his favourites.

“Don’t say a word,” I muttered.

“I… Thank you,” he said softly, catching my eye in the rearview mirror. I gave him a small, embarrassed smile in return.

From then on, the drive went smoothly… until it didn’t.

We were making polite, awkward small talk back and forth, which might have been as painful as nails on a chalkboard, but it was at least civil.

Things finally came to a head when I snapped at her and called her a controlling “see you next Tuesday”, because she wouldn’t let me poke my head between the seats as I tried to ask Dante who Gabriella was. No sooner had I opened my mouth to say “Hey Dante, have you heard of a girl—” before my mother sighed heavily, demanding to knowwhy I was so interested in other girls, and would I please act like a responsible adult in front of Bee and put my seatbelt on.

It had taken everything in me not to grab a fistful of her hair and slam her stupid face into the dashboard. I flopped back into my seat and kept silent. I really was trying to keep this day as pleasant as possible, but my fuck, people were trying my patience.

If it wasn’t for Bee, I would have given in to my intrusive thoughts and shoved my mother out of the moving car. But I promised to be on my best behaviour, and that’s exactly what I was doing. Even if I would need to schedule a trip to the dentist with the amount of times I had been grinding my teeth to stop from snapping.

I did feel sorry for her, though, the poor thing. This was supposed to be her day, and already we were having to do a detour because the club came first. She tried her best to keep the chat going, but even she got fed up with the clipped, overly polite replies of my mother. She was used to rough and brash, not the formality that was Mrs Rebecca Brooks. She soon went to looking at her tablet instead.

I noticed she was watching Miss Rachel, and I had a small chuckle to myself at the difference between that Rachel and myself.

She was warm and sunshine. I was cold, mixed with thunder and lightning. We couldn’t have been more different. And yet Bee had no problem snuggling up as close as possible to me, and offered to share the screen, placing it on my knee so she could grab a fistful of the bottom of my shirt. It had become a habit of hers to hold my clothes whenever she was relaxing. I guess it was a comfort for her, a reminder that she had someone near and close to her.

“She shouldn’t be watching that, you know,” my mother said, pure disdain in her voice.

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