Page 78 of A Dirty Business

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Stifling another laugh, I heaved a deep breath because this was going from a bad idea to an even worse idea.

Me:That’s not what I meant, but I’m going to sleep. Good night. I’m sorry your day was shitty.

Trace:You made my night better.

Trace:Can I text tomorrow night?

I responded the next morning.

Me:Yes.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

JESS

It was three nights later when my phone lit up. I grabbed it, not looking at the screen, because let’s be honest—I was hoping it was Trace.

“Hello?” I was in bed, trying to fall asleep, or that’s another lie I was telling myself. I was in bed, but I was hoping for another night of texts.

“Why are you alive? Why didn’t I abort you when I could?”

I heard the slurring, the hissing, and knew I’d messed up.

My body went cold. I didn’t move, not at first.

My heart began pounding, thumping hard in my chest and eardrums.

This was it. The healthy phase had stopped earlier than I’d anticipated.

“When you sober up, give me a call to apologize.”

I ended the call, and I hovered over hitting the block button.

I couldn’t. God, but I wanted to. I really wanted to. It’d be so easy. Life would be easier.

But she was my mother.

Mom calling.

I declined. I sat up, drawing my knees up to my chest, and I just held the phone.

I knew I shouldn’t. This was so dumb of me. Literal self-punishment, but it came alive again. The screen lit up; the phone started shaking.

Mom calling.

I declined again.

And again.

And again.

Then the texts started.

Mom:I wish Isaac was out here with me not you. I HATE YOU.

Mom:If I could’ve killed you, I would’ve. You SHOULDA DIED instead of your father.

Mom:Y not one of my miscarriages.

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