Page 65 of Misconduct Zone

“Mom, I’m done with you pretending you made sacrifices for me. Dad lost his job, that’s why we moved. I paid you back by paying off your debt and buying you a new house and cars. I gave your brother money to update his bar. If you can’t support my decisions to better my life, you need to leave.” His voice is calm and firm.

“You were more fun beforehim.” She points at me.

“Don’t ever speak to him like that. He’s supported my decisions and helped me stay on the team. If your definition of fun is getting drunk, then I’ll never be fun. I’m done drinking. Forever.” His jaw ticks in annoyance.

I’m surprised by his words. He intends to stay sober while playing hockey but has admitted he misses having a beer with friends and is looking forward to social drinking once he retires.

His mom doesn’t move. “Mom, you are not welcome unless you’re sober and can be nice to Lars.” His hand curls into a fist at his side while our apartment door remains wide open.

“Fine. You can get me a hotel room.” She blows out a breath. “For a month.”

A string of Swedish curses leaves my mouth as Dylon says, “Hell no.”

Chapter 33

Dylon

My mother is lying about why she’s here. The size of her suitcase is a noticeable clue.

Seriously, if she’s in my everyday life for a month, I won’t have to worry about my sobriety because I’ll be in jail for murdering her.

Her behavior is typical, self-absorbed and constantly playing the victim. We moved to Detroit when I was twelve, and I didn’t argue over why we had to move. But my dad got caught drinking on the job and couldn’t find work. A tabloid dug into my past and claimed my parents skipped out on their rent when we left Grand Rapids. It’s the one time I believed the trash they print.

She stalks into the living room, clutching the wine as if I’ll change my mind if she gives me a minute to think about it. I’m sure she needs a drink. Rehab opened my eyes to functioning addicts. My family is full of them.

I scroll my hotel apps and find a reasonable one with a free breakfast. She can’t stay at a hotel with too many amenities, or she’ll charge services to her room—like a four hundred dollar facial.

“All set. I’ll wait with you in the lobby.” I wheel her suitcase into the hall, expecting her to follow.

She huffs, shooting Lars a murderous look.

“Your son deserves better than you. One day, you will regret treating him so poorly,” Lars says quietly, stringing together more words than the last couple ofdays combined. Even as sick as he is, Lars is my ultimate ride-or-die. Hopefully forever.

My mother ignores him and storms past me.

I wonder if my dad kicked her out or what happened, but I don’t care. Spending the better part of my life trying to please her with zero success cured me.

By the time I get back upstairs, Lars is watching hockey highlights. His sympathetic eyes find mine, but I feel the wall between us as a physical thing.

“You didn’t have to ask her to leave because of me, but I am proud of you for standing up to your mother.”

“I didn’t do it for you. It’s for me. I’m not letting her ruin over a year of sobriety.” My hair falls in my eyes, and I scan the room for my hat to keep it out of my face.

“I need to hear you say it again… How long have you been sober?” His entire body’s strung tight, muscles tensed and veins popping in his neck.

Holding my head high, I lock eyes with him. “I’ve been sober for one year and sixteen days.”

Lars collapses his forehead on the island, and his arms wrap around his head. “I thought…” He can’t finish his sentence.

“I made a lot of mistakes, but I swear to you, I didn’t relapse.” My heart contracts with the hell I put him through. “I’ve been selfish and unintentionally cruel to you. I’m afraid of becoming my mother.”

“Do not do that.” The fierceness in his eyes startles me when he lifts his head to meet my gaze. “I assume she has been using guilt to bully you for your entire life. At least as long as I have known you. It is difficult to stand up to a parent and break that cycle. It’s admirable.”

His words and the sentiment behind them hit my chest, freezing the air in my lungs. There’s a huge part of me that wants to argue with him but also melt because he sees the struggle and validates my actions. I’m sure my family will take her side and harass me. My sister knows my parents lie but pretends it’s normal and thinks we should stand by them.

“Shoulda kicked her out years ago,” I admit, and my voice cracks.

Standing by my mother will compromise my sobriety and subsequently my career. I can’t give her that kind of control.

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