Chapter One
“How
many years do you think I’d get for offing my mom? Because honest to God, if
we’re talking single digits, I’m willing to risk it,” Christy said while leaning
back on the lounge chair after getting a full-body massage that had left her
totally gooey.
They
were at the spa, wearing fluffy bathrobes and sipping tea, except for Christy,
who was nursing a diet soda.
“Just name
a time and place, and we’ll be there with a shovel. No questions asked,” Annie
said, and Holly and Tate assented.
“I could
claim temporary insanity.” Heck, emotional self-defense too.
“Don’t
worry, we’ll vouch for you. No jury in its right mind would convict you,” Holly
stated. “I thought you were exaggerating, but boy, were you understating. What
a…character.”
Ha. That
was one way of putting it.
Annie
nodded in commiseration. She’d met Martha a long time ago, when the girls were
in college. Christy had gone for an East Coast institution, hoping it would be
out of her mom’s range, but going away had been useless. There was no place far
enough.
Crazy
had its own methods of reaching her.
“Where’s
the Grand Diva now?” Tate, Christy’s future sister-in-law, asked.
“Checking
out wedding dresses. She arranged an appointment at a bridal shop. I stood her
up.”
Her
whole posse turned to her, looking stupefied.
“She’s
picking out a wedding dress without the bride?”
Yeah, typical
Martha stunt.
“I know
I should be there, but why, really? She won’t listen to anything I say. I might
as well save my breath.”
And a
whole lot of pain and abuse in the process.
The
girls pondered for a second and then nodded.
“Oh, and
remember,” Christy added, reaching for her diet soda. “I’m not here. I’m in the
middle of a massive twelve-car accident. Well and healthy but stuck inside the
vehicle and waiting for the firefighters to come and cut the roof open to
rescue me.”
That her
mom hadn’t rushed to her side when Christy called her—and that Christy had
known she wouldn’t—already said it all.
“And when
your mom realizes your car is intact? Then what?” Tate asked, to which Christy
couldn’t help snorting.
“That
would imply she remembered our talk. It won’t happen. A total impossibility.”
Christy
would bet anything, her first unborn child included—and her second and
third—that her mom wouldn’t even mention it. That was the advantage of being
disappointed one too many times; no way in hell to harbor false illusions.
Martha’s
number-one priority was…Martha. Followed by whatever man she was screwing with
at the moment. How she’d managed to marry a decent guy and keep him for several
years was beyond Christy. Then again, Fred was too kind for his own good. That
or he had a hell of a lot of bad karma from a previous life.
For a split
second, she’d considered going to the bridal shop, but then she’d discarded the
idea. Defaulting to her smile-accept-and-walk-away technique, she’d nodded and
kept quiet. And had run in the opposite direction at the first chance. Let her
mother get her kicks. Just let her do it far away from Christy. Besides, there
was no damage Martha could do; Christy had told the shop assistant not to
reserve anything without her consent.
Holly
poured herself more tea. “Doesn’t she know you don’t want a traditional dress
for your summer wedding?”
“She
knows. She just doesn’t care.” They were talking about a woman who had gotten
married four times, once with a beer-can tab as a ring. Appointments at
high-scale bridal shops were a dream come true for her. “I feel like a shitty
daughter, but I’m so ready for her to leave.”
Martha
had come for Christmas with her husband and stayed a couple of days. It had
gone rather well, probably because Cole was scary enough and Martha hadn’t
worked herself up to be…well, herself. This time around, she’d been in Alden
for three days, without Fred, and Christy was ready to face the gallows for a
chance to get rid of her.
Fate had
thrown Christy the mother of all curve balls when it chose Martha as her sole
parent.
Their
relationship had always been complicated, to say the least, with Christy
spending all her life putting out fires—Martha’s—and eating to cope. Eventually
she’d gotten her food addiction under control, but changing her mom and her nasty
ways was something out of her reach.
And
having Martha living with her without Fred as a buffer was bringing up all
sorts of feelings and automatic coping mechanisms that Christy had thought
she’d left behind.
Lora,
Christy’s former sponsor, had been right: nothing guaranteed recovery, and they
were always one upset away from relapse.
“What
about Cole?” Tate asked, taking Christy out of her reverie. “Isn’t he putting
her in her place?”
He would
if he knew. Apparently Martha was learning subtlety, at least in front of a
240-pound, uncompromising ex-marine. It also helped that Christy had asked him
not to interfere. Cole was a black-and-white kind of person. Intransigent and
not inclined to put up with moronities. Left to his own devices, he would have
kicked Martha out the first day.
“She’s…contained
around him. I think she’s scared of him.”
“She and
half the world, sister,” Holly mumbled.
Christy
rolled her eyes and, after reaching inside the pocket of her bathrobe, fished
out a sugar-free cherry lollipop. “Come on. Cole is a harmless sweetie.” Who
liked macho power tripping and playing with cuffs, but a sweetie nonetheless.
They’d
been together for six months, and although they’d clashed several times, he’d
kept his word and hadn’t shut her out. He’d leave to cool down—sometimes he
went to his brother James’s; sometimes she saw him pacing up and down the yard,
muttering under his breath—but he always came back and they always found middle
ground.
“To you
he’s harmless,” Holly corrected as Christy unwrapped the candy. “Wait until he
finds out about the pole-dancing classes. Mike already told Kyra to up her
insurance. And to make sure there are no guys lurking around during said
classes.”
Cole and
his men had started working on Kyra’s dance studio right before Christmas and
had gotten it ready in no time. Anything to get the exotic aerobics and the
horde of giggling women in tight thongs out of Haddican’s, the local gym, and
away from so much bubbling testosterone.
“It’s
all Annie’s fault,” Christy shot back, giving her friend the evil eye. “She
signed me up without asking.”
Christy
wasn’t much for showing herself off, and pole dancing was exactly that, but
Kyra had been so excited to have her and Tate on board that it had been
impossible to get out of it without hurting Kyra’s feelings.
On the
plus side, Martha hadn’t found out about her daughter’s new hobby. She would
have made fun of Christy or joined the classes. Either way, no number of
twelve-step meetings would have helped Christy get through that trauma. Her
mother was many things, but ugly and clumsy she wasn’t. That her ass and boobs
were still perkily pointing north and that she moved perfectly to capitalize on
that also helped. Working a pole under her reproving stare would have killed
Christy and her shaky, newly developed self-esteem. For all Martha’s dumb
decisions in her personal life—and boy, were there plenty—she had a witty
tongue and knew how to deliver killer putdowns.
“Duh,
you would have said no,” Annie replied, bringing her back to the present. “And
I owed you one after you got me into exotic aerobics.”
“You know
I can’t quit the exotic aerobics. I needed company.” Christy had gone there
just on a whim, but then Cole saw her and, in one of his my-way-or-the-highway
stunts, had tossed her over his shoulder and stomped out of the class. Now she
couldn’t quit, just on principle. She needed to stand her ground with Cole,
especially when he was being a control freak and attempting to fuck her into
submission, which was very often.
Besides,
she liked that class. And defying Cole.
Annie
pursed her lips. “A pregnant woman wiggling her ass around a chair and
pretending to be sexy is…definitely not.”
“I’m
pretty sure Max feels otherwise,” Holly said. “I’ve seen him watching you. No
way to disguise that look.”
“What
look?”
“That
tight expression. The she’s-mine-everyone-back-the-fuck-off glare, mixed with
wait-till-I-get-a-closed-door-between-us-and-the-rest-of-the-world.”
Tate
laughed. “That’s the standard Bowen look.”
Damn
right. Christy had seen it on Cole’s face many times. Before and after fucking
her senseless. Heck, while too. She loved that proprietary look. It said she
was beautiful and he needed her. For someone who’d battled self-esteem issues
all her life, it meant the world. Cole meant the world to her.
“As soon
as the baby pops out,” Christy said, pointing at Annie’s seven-months-pregnant
belly, “you’re marching into the pole-dancing classes with me. No frigging
excuses.”
Annie
shook her head. “I have shitty coordination. I’d kill myself.”
“Sure.
And the swing up in Max’s room?”
They
were all rosy from their facial massages, yet Annie visibly flushed. “Hmm,
that’s for yoga?”
Christy
couldn’t stifle the giggle. Neither could Holly or Tate.
Yeah,
because Max was such a yoga type.
Christy dipped
her sugar-free lollipop on her diet soda. “If I’m making an ass out of myself
and Kyra is risking the integrity of her new business, you’re joining us after
recovering from childbirth.”
Annie
grimaced, pointing at Christy’s glass. “That’s gross. I thought you were
cutting back on your weird stuff.”
Yeah,
she’d thought that too. Until her mom blew into town.
“Cola-flavored
cherry lollipop or cherry-flavored soda. Not weirder than scooping Nutella with
bacon.”
“True,
but I’m hormonal.”
Ha!
Pregnancy hormones had nothing on the spike of anxiety that Martha created.
“By the
way, Tate,” Holly chimed in, “did you get a pole installed in the bedroom?”
Now it
was Tate blushing. “Yes.”
“And?”
She
blushed even harder. She was six months pregnant, and although she had some
limitations where the movements were concerned, Christy had seen her dance.
Tate really knew how to make it work. She kicked ass. Pregnant and all.
“James
loved it. As in really loved it.”
“On a
scale of one to ten?” Holly asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
“Thirty.
And don’t worry,” Tate hurried to appease Christy. “I made him promise he won’t
say a word to Cole about the classes.”
Good,
because Mike was right. If Cole found out, Kyra was going to need
top-of-the-line insurance, especially with Amantis’s dancing crew and the
security detail snooping around.
“Although
I don’t see the big issue. It’s for Cole. Whenever you’re ready, he’ll be the
one enjoying the result of the classes, right?”
“Right,”
Christy mumbled. She’d started liking it, but considering how klutzy she felt
at pole dancing, it was going to take a couple of decades before Cole got to
see her.
Holly
turned her inquisitive gaze to Annie. “And your, uh, yoga swing? Scale of one
to ten?”
“Thirty,”
she answered after a long pause, red as a frigging tomato.
“Wow.
Swings, dancing poles. The pregnant ladies here like their toys,” Holly said
with a grin.
Christy glanced
at Annie and Tate, both fanning themselves. “We should change the subject.
Before the kinky pregnant ladies faint.”
“You’re
a fine one to talk. And the cuffs tucked in the drawer in your nightstand?”
“Annie!”
“What?
I’m being tactful. The cuffs were the only objects I recognized.”
Okay,
they were so banned from each other’s bedrooms.
“Really?”
Holly asked, looking intrigued as hell. “What kind of objects?”
“We are
deviating from the subject, people. We were talking about how to off my mom,
remember?”
Tate
waved around. “That’s easy. We bring her here, lock her in the sauna, and turn
it to high.”
“It
won’t work. She’s from LA. And she lived in Georgia for a while, chasing after some
crocodile hunter. The heat’s nothing for her.”
“Or now
that we have plenty of props,” Holly said with a wink, “we could plant Tate’s
dance pole somewhere in the forest and cuff Martha to it. Leave her for the
wolves.”
Poor
wolves. Her mother would have them committing suicide in no time. Christy
couldn’t do that to them.
“Must be
a simpler way. Can’t you just send her to hell?”
Christy
shrugged. It was easier said than done. Her mom had the nasty habit of doing
something nice whenever Christy was reaching critical mass. She couldn’t send
her to hell in good conscience.
The
girls couldn’t understand. Annie had a kick-ass mom. Tate too. Holly’s she didn’t
know, but the messages between mother and daughter were hilarious, so she
imagined their relationship was solid. People with great parents had no clue
how difficult it was to deal with bad ones.
“How
long until she leaves?”
“Still a
while. Thirteen days, nine hours”—Christy reached for her cell—“twenty-five
minutes and thirty-five seconds, to be exact.”
Annie
chuckled. “You keeping track?”
“I have
a countdown set.” Every twenty-four hours, an app sent her a yay-you-can-do-this
message. “She’s leaving four days before Valentine’s Day. She wants to be in LA
then, so that she can prepare for it.”
“Four
days in advance?” Holly asked. “What’s she planning on doing for her husband?”
“For
Fred? Nothing. She goes to make sure he gets her all that she wants.”
“Oh
boy.”
“You can
say that again. How he puts up with her, I don’t know.”
Her
smile-accept-and-walk-away technique was failing her big-time now that they
were both under the same roof. Or maybe it was that she had gotten a taste for
normal and supportive with Cole, and going back to mental was hard.
“We
should call Fred and get some pointers,” Holly suggested. “Thirteen days is a long
time. Spending your and Cole’s first Valentine’s Day in jail wouldn’t be too
much fun.”
“Run to
Vegas ahead of schedule. You’re going there anyway for your annual convention,
right?” Annie asked.
Tate
frowned. “What convention?”
“The geeky
version of Valentine’s,” Annie said. “I was there once with her. Memorable. Not
going ever again.”
Christy
rolled her eyes and turned to Holly and Tate. “There’s a Star Trek
convention held in Vegas the weekend before Valentine’s every year.” Plus this
year they had the premiere of a new Star Trek movie. “And no, I’m not
going. Cole wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like that. I’ve been dropping
hints about it for a couple of months already, but he isn’t biting.”
Holly
patted her on the arm. “So no hanging out with your nerdy friends and stuck
with your mom. That sucks.”
Yep.
Totally.
