Malice

12

“Momma,” I say on shuddering breath.

It’s been over a year since we’ve seen each other, and she looks different. Worse, would be the only way to put it. She’s thi

She’s a far cry from the pretty, vibrant teenager perched between Saint’s dad and Jacoby in that photo. Growing up, I always wondered what drove her to this. To the drugs, and the dealing. What happened to her to make her life end up in such a miserable place?

Whatever it was, it’s never-ending.

We don’t hug, because we never really have before, but she invites me to sit back in the booth I just left. I slide back into my seat, and she occupies the bench across the table from me, smacking a crumbled packet of menthol cigarettes and a dirty lighter down on her side. We stare at each other a few moments longer, and I don’t know if we’re soaking each other in, or really just have no idea where to start with each other.

When the silence starts growing awkward, I decide to kick things off.

“How long have you been in California?” I ask, not bothering with preamble or small talk.

She scratches at her cheek and her eyes dart away from me to gaze out into the crowd. It seems like she’s looking for someone, but she might also just be in need of a fix.

Which of course makes me question what her poison is these days.

“I’m glad you decided to go back to Angelview,” she says, ignoring my question. “Education is important and all that shit.”

Is she high? Because if she is, this conversation will go nowhere real fast.

I slap my hand on the table to get her attention.

“Momma, listen to me. How long have you been here?”

She turns back to me but still doesn’t answer.

I grit my teeth and try another question. “Why haven’t you been in contact with Carley? She’s worried.”

Je

“With what?” I snap.

She looks away from me again. “None of your damn business.”

I tighten my hands into fists so that I’m not tempted to strangle her.

“Don’t be a bitch.” I reel in the urge to remind her of all the drama we’ve both put Carley through—Je

“Are you worried about me?” she husks out, and I open my eyes to catch her carefully examining my features. Her gaze seems sharper than it does when she’s high. Wait, could she actually be sober right now?

If that’s the case, then why’s she still acting like this?

“What do you mean am I worried? You know I am.”

“Liar.” She gives me that lip curl she used to do whenever she accused me of stealing money that she forgot she blew on drugs. I just hope her disbelief doesn’t affect whatever it is she brought me here to tell me.

Or her reaction to the photo burning a hole in my back pocket.

Releasing a heavy sigh, I move my head from side to side. “Believe what you want, Je

“You think you’d be a little more concerned about me, since I gave everything up to protect you.” Her voice is a low hiss. An all too familiar tone that I grew used to over the years.

I knew she’d try to play the guilt card. She always does. No deed is too good for her to exploit, especially when the deed was her idea. A small part of me thinks I should’ve just taken the fall that day if for no other reason than to shut Je

I ignore her baiting, though, and forge ahead.

“Why’d you bring me here?” If she’s not going to give me an explanation as to why she’s here, I might as well cut straight to the point. “And how the hell do you know someone like Ghost?”

I mean, while he easily fits in Je

She places her hands flat on the table, leans forward until her back makes a noise that leaves me wincing, then sits upright. “H-he’s helping me out with some things.”

My shoulders go stiff with tension. “What you mean is that he’s supplying you drugs?”

“No,” she bites out, but I don’t believe her. I also know there’s no point continuing to probe her about whether she’s using. She’ll deny it, I’ll get pissed and say something that’ll make her fly off the handle, and then she won’t cooperate.

And I need her to cooperate with me.

Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I reach into the back pocket of my jeans then slap the photo on the table between us. Je

“What’s this?”

“You,” I say, but it comes out sounding more like a question, and Je

“Yeah, I heard about that,” she mutters. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“I want you to explain this and—” The words catch in my throat when she starts to shove the picture back in my direction. Anger spirals from the pit of my stomach as I stop her, my fingertips bumping into her dirty nails.

“Did you even look at it? At her?” I demand, drumming my fingertip against Nora’s smiling face. “Someone left this for me with a goddamn note telling me to ask you about my real parents, Benjamin and Nora. What does that even mean?”

Momma plucks at the stretched neckline of her t-shirt then digs at her collarbone with her nails. “I don’t know.”

“What is it you’re not telling me? Why does a girl who looks exactly like you in a photo at my school and how do you know Benjamin Jacoby?”

When she blinks again, I swear I’m about five seconds from strangling her. “Who?”

“This guy.” I point to his face, my stomach hardening because she doesn’t even look down to see what I’m talking about. “Mom … how do you know these people? Is he my father?”

That word has always been a taboo subject for us, and sure enough, Je

“I don’t know these people because that’s not me.”

“Then why did you have to look at it for so damn long?” I fire back, and her blue eyes narrow to slits.

“Damn it, Mal, you never stop,” she snaps. “I looked at it because it seemed important to you, but that ain’t me. I swear on my life and yours it’s not me.”

“It has to be. She looks—”

“Well, it’s not. I don’t know these people, and I’ve never been on your snobby fucking campus, you got me?” Her hands are shaking so violently, I’m not surprised when she tucks them under the table, but I can still hear her foot pumping up and down, tapping out a random, nervous beat. “You ever consider…”

I hate when she trails off like that.

“What?”

She pulls in a breath then lifts one of her bony shoulders in a half-shrug. “You said someone left it for you, right?” I nod, and she continues. “And those little motherfuckers that go to your school—they don’t like you, right?”