Page 6 of Redemption
Throwing me a look that could freeze beer, she says, “Stop calling me that.”
I let a lazy smile slip onto my lips, even though inside, it’s like she’s taken a knife to my chest.
“Not going to happen, Sweetheart,” I say, chucking my knuckle under her chin. The zap of electricity that shoots down my hand is pure torture.
She jerks her chin so my fingers are suspended in front of her.
“Just make the call,” she snaps.
She’s right. It’s time to end this—to stop extending this brand of torture. Pulling out the chair from behind my desk, I sit and pick up the phone. It rings once, and then there’s a voice on the other side.
“Abigail? This is Hayes down at the station. I have MJ here—”
Chapter 3
Mallorie Jade
I’ve been sitting in a jail cell for three hours.
THREE HOURS.
Okay, maybe I’m being dramatic. I’m not exactly in the cell, but I’m sitting in a hard plastic chair in front of Hayes’s deskbesidethe cell, which is bad enough. My butt is going numb, and on top of that, I can’t stop thinking about the phone call to my mom.
Hayes called her Abigail. While that may not seem substantial to anyone else, it’s a big flipping deal to me. I’ve never, and I do mean not once in my life, ever heard someone younger than my mom call her anything but ma’am. The woman I know would skin someone’s hide for discretions less than that.
Yet—Hayes did, and I couldn’t hear her screeching from the other end of the phone. The way he talked to her made it sound like they were old friends—which was not the case when I left. My mom couldn’t stand Hayes back then. She thought he was a bad influence because his last name didn’t reflect the status of our social circles.
What’s happened since I’ve been gone?
The swoosh of the automatic door catches my attention, and like a queen, my mother enters the room.
One look at her face, and suddenly, this chair doesn’t seem so bad. I’ll sit here all day if it means I can avoid that look.
Numb butt? What butt?
My mother is beautiful in the most regal way—with blown-out blonde hair, not even a strand out of place, and designer clothes down to her toes. We couldn’t be more different—her heels to my tattered tennis shoes, my red hair to her blonde—there isn’t one place we match.
My brother, though—he’s their darling—the one that met all their expectations. My whole life, it’s always been,“Why can’t you be more like Langston?or“Langston has straight A’s. Why can’t you?”
And yet, I became his keeper—the Cain to his Abel.
I never told my brother, but living under his shadow was hard.
But, I can’t think about that now because, with down-turned eyebrows—something I didn’t know they could do anymore considering the Botox—Abigail Harrison descends upon my plastic throne, towering over me in her stilettos.
I offer her a sheepish smile, but her face doesn’t soften. I’m starting to think she asked her plastic surgeon to make it stick like that.
“Mallorie Jade Harrison, what in the world were you thinking?”
The woman doesn’t scream. It’s unbecoming, but the truth is, she doesn’t have to. She sends shivers down your spine at a normal voice level.
I start to answer her, to explain my side, but she cuts me off.
“My own daughter arrested. What will people say? Oh, my nerves can hardly take it.”
At that, she eloquently, albeit dramatically, sinks into the chair beside me, releasing a heavy sigh that comes from her soul. I take back what I said earlier—we have one thing in common. People wonder why I’m so dramatic, but it can easily be attributed to this woman sitting beside me.
“Hello, Mother. It’s good to see you. I’ve missed you too.”
