Used (Unlovable, #1) (Unlovable Series) (15 page)

His hands come up to frame my face. “God, Denver, I love you so much,” he rasps.

And I respond as I always do. “My Golden Boy,” I whisper.

I wrap my arms around his waist and lay my head on his shoulder as I try to gather some strength to see my mother and Blake. Greer folds me in his arms and runs his hand over my hair. I’ve done everything within my power to avoid the both of them. I can’t avoid my mother near as much as I’d like, as we do have to discuss the ranch from time to time. Any time I can get by with leaving a note on her computer, texting her or emailing her, I do. Blake’s pretty easy to avoid, though. If he isn’t stuck up my mother’s ass, he’s out with his friends or passed out in their bedroom. Any time I do see him, he still has that perverted glint in his eye, like he’s imagining what I look like without my clothes or what it’s like to be inside me, although I don’t know that he’ll do anything to me now. He’s caught me alone a few times over the last year and hasn’t tried anything. The looks, the stalking, the creepiness are all meant to terrorize me … and they do. I’m jumpy. I’m paranoid. I’m a fucked-up mess.

“You ready?” Greer finally asks.

“I guess,” I mumble, freeing myself from his arms.

“Denver, did you key your mom’s car?” he asks me again.

I chuckle and run my tongue along the inside of my cheek. “What do you think?” I flash my eyebrows at him.

He whistles through his teeth. “I can’t believe you did that,” he whispers in awe.

“Why not? I told you I’ve been doing all kinds of vindictive shit to her. She’s too stupid to figure out it’s me.”

The truth of the matter is I want to get caught. I want to hurt her. I want her to
know
that I want to hurt her. And then I want her to rant and rave and throw shit and cuss me out. Well, you know what they say … people in hell want ice water, but that don’t mean they’re gonna get it. And I’m in hell.

“What do you think she’s going to do when she figures out that you’re the one behind all her flat tires, her many lost sets of keys, the scrapes down her car, the nest of rats in her linen closet …” He fades out, probably trying to recall the rest of my pranks.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You have to give a shit about someone to let the things they do rattle you. Whether its love or hate … doesn’t matter … they both show you’re affected. But nothing kills a soul more than indifference,” I toss over my shoulder as we enter the house.

M
Y BUZZ HAS
worn off a little by the time we enter, so I go into the kitchen and make us another drink. My mother enters while I’m pouring a generous amount of Jim Beam in our glasses since we plowed through the tequila. She just cocks her at head at me. I slide my chin up and give her a shit-eating grin, daring her to chastise me. She doesn’t.

“Denver,” she says patronizingly, “I’m so glad we’re gonna sit down and clear the air, honey.” And her tone drips, saccharine sweet.

I clench my teeth and nod before grabbing our drinks and heading to the dining room. When I hit the room, my stomach twists free and drops. Blake is sitting at the head of the table, pointedly ignoring a vicious stare-down from Greer, who is standing next to the wall.

I steel myself and move toward Greer. I give him a fake smile and say in a haughty tone, “Dear, here’s your cocktail.” That earns me a laugh. A stilted laugh, but a laugh, nonetheless. I smile warmly at him and reach up to kiss his cheek.

He looks surprised, but I need him to know how much I appreciate him.

“Let’s get this over with,” I whisper. He inclines his head once.

I didn’t think about how hard this would be on Greer, having to sit down with Blake and play nice. But I’ve already decided I’m not playing nice, so maybe that will take his mind off things.

My mom strides in wearing her low-cut black sweater dress with the wide rhinestone belt. When I hear her heels clicking, my eye is drawn to her feet. I gasp. She’s wearing brand new shiny, red boots that look exactly like mine. I didn’t notice them in the kitchen, but seeing them now makes my blood boil.

“Did you help yourself to my boots?” I bark.

Her head snaps back at my tone, and not a single Clairol #9A curl moves from its strategically placed position. She envies me my naturally, dirty-blonde hair. Her brown eyes narrow at me. “Do not speak to me that way, young lady. And for your information, these are
my
new boots.”

That actually pisses me off even more. “You went out and bought the same boots that I have?” I shriek. “Boots that are meant for a
young
girl?” I mentally pat myself on the back. My mother hates anyone insinuating that she’s aged past twenty-five.

“I saw these months ago at the Boot Depot, Denver. I just went back and bought them recently.”

“You saw them when you met up with me and paid for my pair, is more like it. You just can’t let anyone else have anything for themselves, can you?” I huff.

She slides into her chair next to Blake and places her hand on his, effectively ending our conversation, because I don’t speak to her once she’s attached herself to him.

“Greer,” my mother finally acknowledges. I down some of my drink.

“Mrs. Brown, uh, Mrs. Tipple.” My cheeks bulge with liquid since I can’t swallow over my laugh and risk choking. “No, wait. Hold on. I got it. Mrs. Smallwood. No, that’s not right either.” He shakes his head, feigning confusion. “Damn, I can’t for the life of me recall your
latest
married name.”

“It’s Mrs. Turner,” she seethes, shooting daggers at Greer. “Your mother put up with that kind of sass, Greer?”

“My mother would applaud me for any insults I throw your way,” Greer boasts.

My eyes widen, and I finally gulp down my drink. “Greer,” I whisper, feigning outrage. “Is that any way to speak to your elders?”

He turns his focus back to me and shakes his head in disbelief. I lean in and whisper even lower, “Well played, sir.”

“I’ve learned from the best,” he says with a laugh.

Ms. Louise makes her way around the table serving up my favorite—Southwestern Enchiladas. Her eyes meet mine as she serves Greer, and she grins big. I love that woman! She made my favorite because she knew my mother was making me have dinner with her and Blake. She’s not privy to all the details, but being as she’s a live-in housekeeper and not blind, deaf, or dumb, she picked up on his nefarious demeanor and our issues. I want to kiss her, so when she gets to me, I do just that.

“Denver,” my mother snaps.

“Yes?” I ask innocently.

She shakes her head at me. Giving her a dumbfounded look, I turn my attention to Ms. Louise, “Ms. Louise, how’s your grandkid doing since his surgery?” I ask as I cut into my food, not waiting for anyone, knowing it irritates the shit out of my mother.

She gives me a knowing grin before she beams, “Oh, Ms. Denver, he’s doing just fine. And he told me to tell you thank you for that generous gift basket too.” She puts her hand on her hip and tsks. “You shouldn’t have gone and sent that boy all that junk to get him through his recovery.” Ms. Louise is definitely in on some of the ways I try to get under my mother’s skin. She mostly just knows about the ridiculous shit I charge on her credit cards. My long-suffering mother was constantly having to cancel subscriptions to all sorts of crazy ass magazines—
Girls and Corpses
,
Bacon Busters
, and my personal favorite,
Miniature Donkey Talk
. But when Blake got his subscription to
Beefcakes a Go-Go
, I decided that nothing would top the shitstorm that ensued after the magazine catering to a hairy, gay men fetish arrived with his name all over it, so that was my final hurrah in unwanted magazine subscriptions. I promptly upped my game to renting seedy pay-per-view movies.

“Tell him he’s welcome.” I giggle when I imagine the sugar high he’s been on. And strapped to a bed to boot. I bet his parents were ready to kill me. I look at Greer and confess, “I went online and ordered the biggest basket of candy I could find, and had it delivered to his house to aid in his recovery from his broken hip and leg.” I grimace as I recall Ms. Louise telling me how he was dragged across her son’s property while trying to break his new colt. I couldn’t imagine being cooped up like that. I’ve been lucky as far as injuries go. The most I’ve ever had were sprained ankles, a couple of black eyes from getting head butted, and a sore rear end from having been thrown more than a few times.

My mother cuts through my memory in her annoyed tone, “And how, pray tell, did you pay for this extra-generous gift, Denver?”

“Your black Am Ex, of course,” I mumble around a mouthful of food.

“Young lady, I told you no more charges on that. I’m still paying off the arcade pinball machines you ordered that were nonrefundable,” she bites out.

“And I just can’t thank you enough for those. They are the most fun.” I crack on the word fun as I make eye contact with Greer. Boy, had we made that machine go
Ding
!
Ding
!
Ding
!

My mother cuts off our laughter as she snaps, “Money’s getting tighter, Denver. And besides, we have some news.” Suddenly, I’m thrilled with our dinner.
Please be divorcing
,
please be divorcing
. She takes Blake’s hand in hers again, and her face softens.
Yes
! How many times had I watched this scenario play out? “Blake and I are trying to get pregnant.”

Have you ever been so instantly furious that your ears ring and your vision blurs? Yeah … that. And it’s not the tequila that I shot or the Jim Beam that I’ve been nursing that makes the room feel like it’s closing in on me. Claustrophobia claws at me, and I want nothing more than to rip my clothes off and dart outside to be able to absorb oxygen through my pores ‘cause there’s no way I’d be able to breathe around this knot that’s formed in my throat.

“A baby?” I hear someone whisper, and when all eyes fall on me, I realize it must’ve been me. I swallow hard. “How can you? Why would you?”

“Well, that’s why money’s tight, honey. We’re having to use a reproductive specialist,” she purrs. I glance to Blake and see the gleam in his eyes directed at her.
The worship
.

“He was gonna leave you, huh?” They both stiffen. “He’s gotten bored with you.” She sucks in a breath, and I know I’m on to something. “He’s just gonna leave you with
another
little brat to pawn off on the help and soak up your booze and whore herself out,” I predict, knowing she’d have to survive like I had.

“Watch your mouth, young lady,” she says.

I level my gaze on Blake. “You do realize that if you use all her ill-gained money on producing a kid, that you’ll lavish your attention on instead of her, your marriage will be over? Your gravy train will derail. If she needs money, she’ll move on to the next payday. If you’re not worshiping her, she’ll be on to the next sucker. This is lose/lose for you. You may as well start packing your bags.” The extreme satisfaction I get from watching Blake squirm with what he knows is truth doesn’t quite offset the hurt that consumes me, but it does help.

“You have no idea, do you?” My mother calmly asks.

I fix my stare on her. Not answering, knowing she will explain herself.

“This ranch was going under, Denver, when my momma and daddy died. The things I did, I did for you and your ungrateful self. All that money you spend on your horses, the traveling, the equipment, the clothes … you think that just falls out of the clouds?”

Bullshit. “I give you every penny of my winnings to cover my expenses. And I work this ranch like a dog. You may be the one paying the bills, but it thrives because of me—my blood, my sweat, my desire to see it succeed.”

“Pfft … and that’s not enough. You have no idea what it takes. You have no idea what I’ve had to endure … and all for you. This,” she covers Blake’s hand again, “is my shot at happiness. I want to give Blake a child. You could try being happy for me for once.”

Greer’s hand squeezes mine, and I wonder how long he’s been holding onto me. My eyes meet his to see tears shimmering in their blue depths. The skin around his eyes tightens, and he turns to my mother and says, “You don’t even love the kid you’ve got. Why would you go and have another one? Just to save your sham of a marriage to the piece of filth who tried to rape your daughter?”

“He explained that. She—”

“She did nothing! She was innocent!” he roars.

The look my mother gives Greer can only be described as sorrowful—but not real sorrow, mocking sorrow. “Greer, you can’t honestly believe that, can you? You’ve known Denver more than long enough to understand what she’s made of. Ah,” she whispers and smiles knowingly, “you’re completely blinded by her.”

Squeezing his hand, I pull his attention to me. “Greer, if my mother and Blake want to spawn a child, who are we to criticize?” My voice sounds detached, dead. I turn back to them. “I can only hope that you two have a boy. I wouldn’t wish this kind of existence on what could be a fragile little girl because she wouldn’t survive it.” My eyes don’t leave hers. “Greer, it’s rare that I get to sit down and enjoy a meal. Let’s finish eating.”