Page 61 of Dirty Secret Love

Once her mom leaves, I slowly pull out and fix our clothes before I take her into my arms.

“She saw us,” she mumbles.

I kiss the top of her head. “Sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Not sure what I’m sorry about though. That I said I love you, and she doesn’t feel the same way, that her mother caught us or . . . fuck, this is a mess and I’m not sure how to fix it.

ChapterTwenty-Eight

Sutton

My motherjust caught me having sex. Not only having sex but having sex in the bathroom of the library. I feel like my life is over.

“Over,” I groan, dropping my head into my hands.

I might as well pack my things and leave this town. Knowing her she’s going to make this all about her and by tomorrow morning the entire town will know not only that I fucked River in the library, but that I’m not a virgin.

Honestly, I don’t care if they know about the latter, but I’ll probably lose my job because I was having sex during work hours. My stomach twists with anxiety at the thought.

“It’s going to be okay,” River says, hugging me tightly and feathering kisses on top of my head reassuringly.

A part of me wants to tell him that he’s wrong, the other wants to discuss what he said before my mother abruptly interrupted us. Those three words he said before my mother barged into the bathroom and looked at me like I was dirt under her shoe. And maybe I shouldn’t address either one of them and just move out of here.

Goodbye Heartwood Lake, hello . . . well new identity, maybe?

“So, this private WITSEC program, how do you apply for it?” I say, trying to force a lighthearted tone to calm my spiraling nerves. I avoid River’s gaze, too embarrassed by the situation to meet his eyes.

He scoffs. “You don’t want to be a part of it. For starters, they make you feel like you can’t own shit. Then you have to work weird hours with cows, chickens, and horses,” he says, a playful grin spreading across his face as he tries to make light of the situation. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

I touch his cheek and stare into his blue eyes. There’s something about the way he says things that sound foolish, but deep down it’s his way to try to distract others from their anxiety, pain, or frustration. He has this knack for giving others what they need even when they never ask for it.

Instead of worrying for what’s to come, I push myself up on my tiptoes and kiss him, savoring the familiar taste of his lips. Touching him feels just as natural as breathing. And loving him . . . could I be in love with him? The thought makes my stomach flutter even in the middle of the anxiety attack and everything I’m about to face.

“Sutton Fatima Asher come outside right this moment.” my mother’s shrill voice interrupts the kiss and my thoughts, sending a cold spike of dread through my chest.

I take a shaky breath, trying to steel my nerves as my mother’s demand yanks me back into the harsh reality of the situation.

“We’ll go out together,” River says, releasing me from his hold and intertwining our fingers. His warm, steady grip makes me feel secure despite the panic swirling inside.

“My mother saw us having sex,” I say between gritted teeth, my face burning with embarrassment. “It’s horrifying and mortifying. I want to sink into the floor and disappear.”

Humiliation and dread churn in my stomach at the thought of facing my mother after she witnessed such an intimate, private moment. I feel exposed and incredibly self-conscious, my skin prickling with unease.

“You know, during my time in this town I’ve been learning a lot about the people around me and myself,” River says thoughtfully. “I regret not leaving my father’s side and not living my life. I don’t even know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t felt obligated to look after him.” He pauses, his eyes searching mine. “The thing about life is that you have to embrace it for yourself. I understand that she’s your mother but at some point you have to learn to say no to others and liveyourlife. Don’t wait for a tragedy like I did.”

He’s right. I have to face my mother, but maybe it’s too late because this is a tragedy. I just don’t feel like there’s much that can happen once I tell her that she has to accept me the way I am. I can’t keep making up a life that barely satisfies her.

“It’s something I’ve done for years, you know . . . ever since I was young,” I mumble, dropping my gaze as old wounds ache. “My father said ‘Just do what she says. Pretend you like what she’s giving you so she’s happy.’ It wasn’t just about food, but sports, activities . . . everything had to be done according to what she thought was perfect. And I followed it so she would accept me—and love me.”

“But . . .” He trails off, his voice gentle but firm. I glance up, not understanding where he’s going with this.

“But what?” I ask.

“Has any of that worked?”

I stare at him, trying to figure out the answer. The response is pretty simple. No matter what I say or do, nothing will change her. And maybe the problem is that my mother isn’t happy with herself. Perhaps she’s the one who has to change and accept others. I feel a swell of frustration as I realize I’ve spent years trying to earn her approval and love by pretending to be someone I’m not when I’m around her.

It was never going to be enough though.

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