Her head dropped, but I said nothing more. We both knew why he was doing that. He’d threatened it in the past but had never followed through, probably too afraid there would be proof that he hit my mom.
“He found me on a date last night,” she whispered.
I walked farther into their expansive bathroom, propping myself on the edge of the tub. “I know. I was home.”
She nodded. “I thought so.”
Silence rushed in, both of us unable to say what we wanted to say, too afraid he was outside listening. That was how he was: sneaky and unrelenting in his ability to gain control. So, instead of saying anything, I stood up and walked over to her. I wrapped my arms around her from behind and rested my head along her back. Her Chanel perfume hit me head-on. “Leave him, Mom. I know how well I can play the good-daughter-who-adores-her-father role, but I would never ever choose him over you. He may be my own flesh and blood, but he is incapable of love.”
Her shaky hand sat on top of mine as she breathed heavily through her nose. “There’s a lot that goes into it, Madeline. I’d have nothing if I left.”
I hugged her tighter. That’s not true. “You’d have me.” I wasn’t sure that was enough for her, but I said it anyway.
Her chest shuddered, but I quickly left her before the conversation turned into anything else. I didn’t want him to suspect anything weird. I didn’t want to set him off. Before I left their bathroom, I whispered, “Just…stay safe tonight. We both know how he can get.” In other words, love him like your life depends on it.
One slight nod was all I got before I left and went to my room. I sat on my bed and stared at Eric’s house, not even needing to reread our texts from this morning.
I wasn’t sure if he was playing games with me, but I didn’t care. I’d likely do anything to get out of my house for the night. When my father was home, it felt like my house was a battlefield with live mines all over. One wrong look, one wrong move, and the beautiful illusion that everything was rightful would be destroyed in a second.
Chapter Thirty
Eric
“Those aren’t pjs.” My mom pouted as she came into the kitchen.
I glanced down at my gray sweatpants and t-shirt. “This is what I sleep in.”
“You do not.” She pushed me out of the way, taking over the popcorn. “You sleep in boxers.”
I raised my eyebrows as I pulled out my phone to check to see if Madeline had texted. She hadn’t. Though there were a few missed texts from my father that I hastily deleted.
“Well, it’d be a little weird if Madeline showed up and I was watching a movie with my mommy in my underwear, wouldn’t it?”
My mom swung her gaze to me and laughed. “Yes, you’re right.” She turned away. “I need to tell you something.”
My heart slowed, and my hand dropped to the counter as I placed my phone down. “Let me guess, you’re divorcing Dad?”
I knew this talk was coming. I’d been waiting. And God, I fucking hoped that was what she was about to say. It’d been a couple weeks since I’d heard her crying in her room, and it was so relieving, except for the fact that I’d replaced my worry for my mom with worry for Madeline. But at least one female I cared about was smiling again.
I paused. When had I started caring about Madeline—or at least admitting it?
“Did your dad say that?”
“Huh?” I shook myself internally. “Oh. No. I don’t talk to him, remember?”
Her eyes softened around the edges before pouring popcorn into three bowls. The smell of butter had my hand reaching out to snag some. “You can’t hate him forever.”
“But you can?” I questioned before throwing the popped kernels into my mouth.
“I don’t hate your father, Eric. I’m angry. A little mortified. But I don’t hate him. I can’t hate the man I created a life with. That’s not fair to you.”
I scoffed, grabbing my phone. “What’s not fair to me is hearing you cry in your bedroom when you think I’m asleep.” Her almond eyes widened. “I hate him for hurting you, and I think you deserve better. If you’re hesitating with the divorce for any reason at all other than your true happiness, then that’s what won’t be fair to me.”
“Sweetie—” There was a soft knock on the door, and I silently thanked God that Madeline didn’t make things difficult and act as if I really wouldn’t come get her. Because I would have.
“Dad is a selfish asshole, but if staying with him makes you happy, then whatever. Fine. But I don’t know that I can ever look him in the eye and not get the urge to spit right in his face. Not after what I saw.”
Her eyes welled up, but she nodded, understanding my anger. Before I got all the way to the door, she said, “I’m sorry you saw it. And I’m sorry you heard me crying.”