I look down at the contents of the tray. Toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, orange juice and coffee—fancy coffee. It seems he made an effort. Not sure why, though. To sweeten me up, probably.
“I’m not hungry,” I state. “I need to go home. I’ve got no clothes, no anything.”
Slipping his hands into his trouser pockets, he watches me for a few moments. He’s trying to unnerve me, hoping I’ll soften.
It’s not going to happen.
“You need to eat.”
“I don’t need to do anything you tell me.”
Reaching for the tray, I’m about to shove it into his chest and demand he takes it away when he speaks.
“She’s alive.”
I blink a couple of times, thinking that I must have misheard him.
“I was intending on telling you when I got back, but that—” he says, gesturing out to the state of the living area, “happened, and I for—”
“You forgot? You forgot to tell me that my mother isn’t dead?” I ask, horrified.
“I didn’t mean—” His hand lifts to push his hair back, but it never gets there because my already frayed temper snaps once more.
“NO,” I shout, the tray in my hand flying toward him. He just about dodges it as coffee, orange juice and food fly at the wall. “You don’t get to fucking do this, Theo.”
For the first time since I’ve met him, he actually looks a little out of his depth for a second as he stares between me and the mess dripping down his nice, matte black wall.
My chest heaves as I stare at him, desperate for answers, for more information, but refusing to actually ask him for anything.
“She’s in intensive care,” he offers, probably sensing that I need more. “It was touch and go to start with, but we managed to get her there just in time.
“She spent a couple of hours in surgery to patch her up and pump her full of blood. Recovery won’t be overnight, but they think she’s going to be okay.”
I fall down on the end of the bed, twisting my fingers together anxiously.
“She wanted to die,” I whisper.
“Em, I don’t—”
“She wanted to die because you had her locked up in a cell in the basement. What were you thinking, Theo?”
“You need to know,” he says, stepping in front of me, his eyes pleading with me to believe him, “that I have nothing to do with that. I had no idea who she was, that she even existed until Dad had her.”
He drops down to his haunches and holds my eyes. His hands move, itching to reach for me, but thankfully, he holds himself back.
“Why?”
“She was working for him.”
“Jesus.”
“She was dealing for him. In Lovell.”
“Fuck. Fuck,” I spit, pushing back to my feet. “Didn’t she have any fucking clue how dangerous that was?” I ask, mostly to myself.
“No one made her, Em.”
“But the Wolves run shit in the estate. If they knew, if they caught her…” His eyes catch mine and I immediately stop. “They did, didn’t they?”