She leans back again and draws her feet up.

“Now tell me how you feel,” she says. “Don’t hold back.”

I take a deep breath, and I open my mouth to tell her that I would never be so cruel. But what tumbles of my lips is something else entirely.

“I feel like I don’t even have parents,” I say. “You and Dad were never around, and when you were, you weren’t. My nannies took me to dance recitals, and the household staff taught me to drive. And every time I got close enough to one of them to think they might love me, you fired them. It was cruel and harsh punishment.” I lay a hand on my chest because it’s suddenly aching. “I never did anything to either of you, except exist. I was quiet when you had a headache, when you were so hungover that you couldn’t get out of bed. I was a perfect student. I was a drama-less teenager. I did everything just to make you like me. But you never did.”

I get up and start to pace. I expect her to point to the chair and tell me how unladylike my tantrum is, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me. And she’s really looking at me like I have never seen her do before. Her ears and eyes are open. Dare I hope her heart is open, too? I shouldn’t. But some little piece of me still reaches for that hopeful feeling.

“I went to college and studied law just like Dad. And I went to social events and joined committees just like you. I attended fundraisers and made a general spectacle of myself, just to make you happy. And all I ever asked in return was for someone to love me. But you were incapable of it.”

She lights another cigarette, and I see a tear roll down her cheek. She doesn’t reach up to rub it away, and she doesn’t hide it.

“Mother, I don’t even know what to say to you. I have been so nice to you my whole life that I can’t even be mean to you now, not with a good conscience.” I sit back down and cross my legs. “Why did you come to the funeral?” My foot starts to twitch and swing, and I half expect her to tell me to be still. But I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

“I wanted to see what I was up against,” she says quietly. “I’ve always wanted to see.” She heaves in a breath. “When Kendra was small, I used to sit outside their apartment and watch him with them. He never knew I was there, but he wouldn’t have cared anyway. I sent him back to her because I was so f**king miserable that I couldn’t let love in, even when it was staring me in the face.”

The wind blows her loose hair, and she tucks a strand behind her ear. “They’re innocent, just like you were. They deserve love, and for that reason, I’m glad they have you. No one is more capable of love than you, Sky. Don’t ever doubt that. You love and you forgive like no one else I have ever met.”

“I haven’t forgiven you,” I bite out.

She laughs. It startles me, and I grip the arms of the chair so tightly my knuckles turn white. “If you forgave me just after a conversation, I would think that you were weak and tired. And you are neither of those things, Sky. You are strong and brave, and you love without restraint. I wish I could be more like you.” She chuckles. “I’m planning to be more like you. I have some things I need to work through, but I’m getting there.”

“What’s it like being sober?” I blurt out. Yeah, I want to hurt her, but she deserves it.

“Hard,” she says. She takes a drag of her cigarette and stubs it out. “Really hard. Everything hurts. Every memory. Every thought in my head hurts because it’s all full of regret. I have regrets, Sky. I regret everything. I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t. I know you don’t trust me, and honestly, I don’t trust myself. So, if you want to walk out of here and not look back, I understand.”

She sits quietly, starting into the far recesses of the garden.

“I’d like to meet your kids,” she says.

I start to protest.

She holds up a hand. “Not right now. When I’ve earned the right. I’d like to meet them and get to know them. It’s sad what happened to their mother. She was a good woman.”

“How would you know?” I toss out.

“I met her a few times. We would get together for lunch. One time, I got drunk over a martini or ten at our lunch, and she took me home in her car. I didn’t use my driver because I didn’t want him to tell your father where I was going.”

“What happened?” I whisper.

“She was good and kind. She took me home and held my head over the toilet. Then she cleaned me up. She tucked me into bed, and she apologized for her mother ruining my marriage.” She chuckles. “But what she didn’t know was that her mother didn’t ruin anything. I did. I ruined all of it. I refused to let love in. And I refused to let it because I wasn’t worthy.”

I can’t even speak.

“When I found out she was dying, I went to her. She talked to me about the kids and her fears. She cried. I cried. I went home and told your father what happened, and I told him that he should ask you to help. That you had more love inside you than anyone I’d ever met, and that those kids would be lucky to have you. Then I went and got stinking drunk and almost killed myself on pain pills. Because giving you those kids meant I had to give up my hatred of them. I couldn’t stomach that. Your father helped me through the night. Then I did it again after the funeral. Your dad had to call 9-1-1.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” My foot starts to twitch again.

“Would you have cared?” She stares into my face. “You might have felt a moment of displeasure, but you would have gotten over it quickly. I wasn’t worth more than a passing thought to anyone, and I’d set it up that way myself.” She shrugs.

I sniff back my indignation. “I would have cared.”

She snorts again. “I would have been your mother that died. The woman who gave birth to you and then didn’t do anything else for you your whole life.”

Damn, that hurts to think about. But she’s right.

“Your dad says you have a boyfriend,” she says and smiles.

I nod. “Matthew,” I tell her. She doesn’t deserve the details.

“The one with the tattoos,” she says. “He’s very handsome.”

“He’s good and kind,” I correct. Then I smile, because thinking of him brings it out in me. “And handsome.”

“Do you love him?” she asks.

I nod my head. “As much as I know about love,” I say. “If I have to say yes or no, I say yes. But I’m not completely sure what that means.”

“I’m sorry we made you doubt yourself so much. You’re worth so much more.” She swipes a hand beneath her nose. “We were terrible examples.”

“I don’t trust him with my heart,” I admit. “I’m terrified to love him.”

“Afraid he’ll turn on you?” she asks. “Or that he’ll walk away?”

“Or that he’ll love me till the end of time,” I say. That’s just as scary because I don’t know what to do with it.

“You should look into some Al-Anon meetings,” she says. “They’re for families of addicts.”

“Okay,” I say.

She taps my leg. “For you,” she says. “Not for me.”

She lights a new cigarette. I raise my brow at her.

She laughs. “I’ve never felt quite so exposed. It’s a new and scary feeling. So, forgive me my vices. I’ll quit when I get through this.”

“Okay.” I understand. I think.

“Don’t be afraid to let him love you, Sky,” she says quietly. “I was afraid to let your dad love me. I didn’t think I deserved it after things I did when I was drinking. So I shut him out. Let Matthew in. Let him love you. Take it all in and let it seep into your bones. Don’t let it go. If he breaks your heart, at least you’ll know you still have one. Don’t die inside like me. Let love in. Let it surround you and keep you on your feet when you can’t go anymore. Let. Love. In.”

The doors to the patio open, and a nurse comes out. “It’s time for group,” she says, motioning toward my mother.

My mom gets up and turns to me. She hugs me tightly, holding me close. I don’t remember her ever doing that before, and I stiffen in her arms. “Let. Love. In,” she whispers close to my ear.

She leaves, and I fall back into my chair. My legs won’t support me, and I can’t leave yet. I’m shaking too badly. It’s like everything I never wanted has now fallen into my lap, and I don’t know what to do with it.

When I finally can, I get up and go to the only place where I know I can find peace. I go to Matt.

Matt

Paul is in a shitty mood. I don’t know what’s up with him, but he’s been particularly irritating today. Friday’s a little bit off, too, but I don’t what’s up with her any more than I know what’s up with Paul. Paul bangs his tattoo gun on a nearby table, hitting it hard enough that even Logan looks up.

WTF? Logan signs.

I shrug my shoulders. Logan is working on some particularly intricate designs for the catalogs we have pinned to the walls. When he’s not at school, Madison Avenue, or doing tats, he occupies himself by making designs for people to choose from. Some people come in with no idea what they want, and they look through the catalogs until they find something. Other people come in with designs in their heads, and then we have to translate them into real life. I’m glad Friday can draw, too. She’s almost as good as Logan. I’ve seen some of her art, and it’s breathtaking.

“Dude, you trying to bust it or fix it?” Pete asks, his brow raising as he stares at Paul. We all have our own equipment, so I don’t particularly care if Paul breaks his when he has a tantrum. But I’d rather avoid it if we can talk him through it.

“The damn thing isn’t working right,” Paul mumbles.

Logan walks over to him and holds out his hand. Paul glares at it and then he rolls his eyes and hands over the tattoo gun. Logan does something to it really quickly and gives it back. He doesn’t grin or gloat. He just goes back to the light table, a special table he uses for tracing, and continues his drawing.

“I f**king hate you,” Paul mumbles to his back.

I grin. I can’t help it.

“What?” Logan asks, looking from me to Paul and back.

“He said thank you,” I say.

“I’m sure he did.” He glares back at Paul. “What the f**k crawled up your ass?” he asks.

The rest of us go quiet. No one usually messes with Paul when he’s in a snit. We step around him and keep on moving until he gets over it.

“He’s pissy because he did something stupid last night,” Friday tosses out. She doesn’t look at him. She just talks about him. She has bigger balls than any of us do, I’ll say that for her. “Then he wanted to take it back, but it was too late. So now he feels guilty.” She blows out a breath and starts to pack up her backpack. She shoves her books into the bag one by one, using a lot more force than is necessary.

“Where are you going?” Paul barks. Storm clouds are brewing in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” she barks back. “Maybe I have a date. Maybe I want to get laid. Maybe I just want to have an earth-shaking orgasm and not have to feel guilty about it ten minutes later.”

“Oh fuck,” Pete says under his breath. I shoot him a look, and he covers his mouth.

“Wait a minute and I’ll walk you home,” Paul says as he puts his things away.

“No, thank you,” Friday chirps. She raises her arm and waves at us from behind her head, her fingers wiggling as she calls, “Good afternoon, all.”

“You’ll be back tomorrow, right?” Paul yells to her. He’s looking a little unsettled, even more than a minute ago.

She doesn’t say anything. She just slams the door hard enough that my feet shake under me. Shit. That was awkward.

Paul sinks heavily into a chair and drops his head into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. He looks up, and he looks so tired. I want to go to him and make him feel better, but I’m afraid I can’t.

“You should go after her,” Logan says.

Paul looks up. “That’s the last thing she needs,” he says quietly. He shakes his head. “Never mind.” He stands up. “Get back to work,” he says to all of us.

Pete opens his mouth to give him a hard time, but I cough into my fist, and he looks at me and throws up his hands. Pete’s gaze follows Friday, like he wants to go make sure she’s all right. I see him pull his phone from his pocket, and he texts really quickly. He’s probably asking Reagan to check on her. He looks up at me and nods. She’ll ensure Friday is all right.

There’s this crazy tension between Friday and Paul that no one understands, not even them. He can be such a man whore, particularly now that Kelly is seeing someone. He sleeps with just about everyone, but for the past couple of weeks or so, he hasn’t been quite as flirty with girls in the shop, and he hasn’t even been on many dates.

The bell over the door tinkles, and I look up. My heart stutters when the woman of my dreams walks through the door. Sky is outlined by the sun as she stands in front of the window, and I’ve never seen a more beautiful sight. She shifts from foot to foot and crosses her arms beneath her breasts.

“Hi,” she says quietly.

She’s wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, and she looks so damn pretty that I can’t keep from grabbing her. I walk across the room and draw her against me. Her arms stay stiffly at her sides, so I lift them and put them around my neck. “I’m so glad you’re here,” I say, and I mean every word. Honestly, she just made my belly flip. I bend my head and kiss her quickly, but her lips follow mine when I start to pull back. Her mouth is soft and warm and wet, and the kiss shoots straight to my center.