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When I push through the door, I find my mom, Loretta, packing her suitcase. The utter relief on her face when she sees me is a bullet to the chest. I’ve been sneaking in late all week, but the all-nighter is new. Being the type of mom that she is, she doesn’t scold me.
She’s never been that way—especially in adulthood. She’s always supported Theo and me in everything we’ve ever done. She’s always been the type of mom who’s encouraged us to spread our wings and to make mistakes. To learn and grow and change and stand on our own two feet while always knowing that she’ll be there for us when we need her.
But where Theo has always seemed to share details about his escapades in dating with reckless abandon, I have a more reserved approach. One where my private life stays private.
His book is open. Mine is closed.
Which is why when she grins and says, “Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” all I do is offer her a secretive smile and an eye roll before heading to the bathroom to pull myself together.
With the door locked behind me, I prop my palms on the counter and stare back at my reflection. Smudged makeup. Fucked-up hair. Bloodshot eyes.
To the outside observer, I might look like I had a fun and rowdy night. But the reality is I narrowly escaped what could have been the worst night of my life.
And it’s all thanks to Emmett fucking Bush.