Chapter 46 Cold water
Melissa’s POV
I practically floated through the front door, my body still humming with residual pleasure and anticipation.
Tonight. He’d said tonight.
Every inch of you.
Heat pooled low in my belly at the memory of his text. After everything that had happened today…the accusation, the humiliation, the devastating orgasm in front of everyone…I should have been exhausted. Traumatized, even. But I liked it. Gavin was bringing out a side of me I didn’t even know existed.
Instead, all I could think about was what Gavin would do to me when we were finally alone.
I kicked off my heels and headed toward the stairs, already mentally planning what to wear. Something that would drive him crazy. Something he could rip off me.
I paused when I saw my mom on the bottom step, her shoulders slumped, her perfectly styled hair falling loose around her face. She looked small. Fragile. Nothing like the confident woman who’d left for work this morning.
It was like someone had poured ice water over my head.
All the heat, all the anticipation, all the excitement…gone. Replaced by something cold and heavy in my chest.
“Mom?” I dropped my bag. “Are you okay?”
She looked up, and the exhaustion in her eyes made my stomach twist. They were dark circles under her eyes. Her skin was pale. A tremor in her hands she tried to hide by clasping them together.
“Yes, honey. I’m fine.” Her voice was steady, but I heard the strain underneath. “Just a long day.”
But she wasn’t fine. I could see it in every line of her body, in the way she held herself like she might shatter if she moved too quickly.
I moved closer, kneeling beside her on the step. “What happened?”
“Nothing, really. Just work stress. You know how it is.” She attempted a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “How was your day, sweetheart?”
She was deflecting. She always deflected.
“Mom…”
“I’m fine, Melissa. Really.” She started to stand, and that was when I saw the blood, dark red stains on her hands. Smeared across her knuckles. Dried under her nails.
My heart stopped.
“Mom!” I grabbed her hands, turning them over frantically, searching for cuts, wounds, anything. “Are you injured? What happened?”
“No, no, honey, it’s not mine.” She tried to pull her hands back, but I held on. “On my way from work, I saw someone who’d been in an accident. A car crash near the intersection by Fifth Street. I stopped to help until the ambulance arrived. This isn’t my blood.”
She said it so calmly. So matter-of-factly. Like it was perfectly normal to come home covered in someone else’s blood.
“You…” I stared at her. “You stopped to help someone?”
“Of course. They were hurt. I couldn’t just drive past.” She gently extracted her hands from mine. “The paramedics said I probably saved their life by keeping pressure on the wound until they arrived.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” My voice came out smaller than intended. “That must have been traumatic…”
“I’m fine.” She stood, steadying herself on the banister. “Really, sweetheart. I’ve seen worse in my time. I just need to wash up and rest for a bit.”
She headed toward the kitchen, her movements slow and careful.
I watched her go, that cold, heavy feeling in my chest growing heavier.
When had she gotten so thin? When had those circles under her eyes gotten so dark? When had she started moving like every step required effort?
How long had I been too wrapped up in my own drama to notice?
The question sat in my stomach like a stone.
I grabbed my bag and climbed the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. The excitement from earlier felt grotesque now. Selfish. Like I’d been dancing while my mother bled.
Inside my room, I closed the door and leaned against it.
My phone buzzed immediately.
Gavin: Where are you? I want to take you somewhere.
Another buzz.
Gavin: Melissa.
I stared at the screen. At the demands that would have made my stomach flutter just thirty minutes ago.
Now they just made me feel terrible.
The phone rang.
Gavin’s name lit up the screen.
I watched it ring. Once. Then I declined and turned the phone face down on my dresser.
The silence that followed felt oppressive.
What was I doing? What the hell was I doing?
I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor, my knees pulled to my chest.
I crawled across the floor to my dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer. Beneath old sweaters and forgotten scarves, I found what I was looking for.
The photo frame of my dad.
His face smiled up at me…kind eyes, warm smile, laugh lines at the corners. The same smile Mom used to have before everything fell apart. I clutched the frame to my chest and felt the wetness on my cheeks.
I cried for the life we used to have. For Sunday morning pancakes and family movie nights and a whole complete family.
I cried for the father I’d lost. For the hole his death had left that we’d never been able to fill.
I cried for the girl I used to be. When did I become this person?
The photo frame pressed against my chest, the glass cool through my shirt. I curled around it, making myself as small as possible, and let the tears fall.
A knock on the door made me freeze.
“Hey, Warrior Girl.” Jason’s voice, muffled through the wood. “Would you mind toning your voice down? Some of us are trying to sleep.”
I pressed my hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the sob that wanted to escape.
Had I been crying that loud?
God, I was pathetic.
“Melissa?” His tone changed. The teasing edge disappeared. “Are you okay in there?”
I couldn’t answer. My throat was too tight. My chest felt too constricted.
The door handle turned.
“I’m coming in,” he said.
“No…” The word came out broken, barely audible.
But he was already pushing the door open, and I had to scramble backward to avoid being hit.
He stood in the doorway, shirtless as always, wearing grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His expression shifted from annoyed to alarmed in the span of a heartbeat when he saw me.
On the floor. Tear-stained. Clutching a photo frame to my chest like it was the only thing keeping me tethered to earth.
“Shit.” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “What happened?”
I shook my head, unable to form words.
His jaw tightened.
Then he sat down on the floor beside me. “Want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.
“No.” The word scraped out of my raw throat.
“Okay.” He leaned back against the bed. “Want me to leave?”
I shook my head.
“Alright.” He was quiet for a moment. “Should I beat someone up for you?“