Page 159 of A Dirty Business
Bear moved forward, seeing us, but going and putting the bags down by the stairs. His gaze sharpened on me but fell to where Trace’s hand was, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “See you got my text.” He gave the house a scan. “Assuming you did this? Must’ve worked all day at it.”
“Trace helped.”
“Oh.” From my mom, but sounding just surprised. No judgment.
Bear’s gaze hardened. He didn’t comment.
“Pat.” My mom touched his biceps. “I think I need some time with my daughter. Is that okay?”
“You want me to stay but give you space?” The words were directed to my mom, but his gaze hadn’t moved from Trace.
“No. I’m okay. I think Trace would be willing to take my bags to my room?”
“Of course.”
Bear glared at him as he went over, picked the bags up, and took them upstairs.
“Chelsea—” Bear started.
“No.” Her hand was still on his arm, but she was focused on me.
I swallowed over a knot in my throat. I’d not seen that look from her in years, not since I was little. It was my mom, and I had no idea how to process that. Anger surged up, but that was weird. I pushed that down. She frowned a little. “I’m good, Patrick. You’ve been kind to come and get me. Bring me back all the way here, but I need some time with my daughter.”
“Chelsea.”
“Bear.” She was firm this time. “I’m good.”
He opened his mouth, but she flashed him a look, and he closed it. He glanced my way. “Time off seems to suit you, Jessie girl. You look good. You and your mama both look good.” He came over, hugged me, and said to my ear, “He does anything, you let me know. Okay? I don’t care who he controls. No one messes with my family.”
I hugged him back. “Thank you, Bear.” I wasn’t going to focus on the rest because there were some bad feelings between me and him, specifically from me at him as he’d pushed me out, then given my mom an ultimatum. Then again, maybe it had worked? She wasn’t cursing atme, looking for some booze, and kicking me out. Or she wasn’t doing any of those yet.
Time would tell if anything had actually changed.
He left, and then it was my momma and me. My mom. Mother. What the fuck did I call her now? I had no idea.
I settled with “Chelsea.”
Sadness flashed in her gaze before she lowered her head. Sighing. “I deserve that, I guess. No. I do. I know I do.”
Panic seized me. “What?”
She lifted her head up, that “mom” look back in effect.
I didn’t like that look. Felt wrong. Like she was seeing me with the wrong clothes. Made my skin feel like it hadn’t settled right on my body.
“You cleaned the house?”
I nodded. “With Trace’s help, like I said.”
Her eyes grew distant, and she nodded. “I’m getting that.” She began to look around before barking out a laugh. “God. Look at us. You’re acting like you got caught stealing money for school lunch, and here I am, nervous like I’m going on my first date. I’d offer you something to drink, but I don’t know what’s in my own kitchen.”
I jerked forward again. “We cleaned everything out.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You just got out of rehab, Mom.”
Another sad smile from her. “I was thinking tea or water. It’s good you cleaned everything out.”
