19. Izzy

Chapter 19

Izzy

T his was a two-shower kind of day. Waking up with the soreness between my legs, my hair still damp, and stuffed between Maddox and Oliver had been mildly shocking.

But not nearly as surprising as the night had been. I knew it was Oliver by his voice, his touch, his hands.

Except.

My hands reached back, turning the water to a cool spray across my skin. It was helping to wake me up.

Yara’s warnings came to mind, how Oliver had always been too close, too much. Too everything. How the way he acted wasn’t normal.

Thinking back with a fresh set of eyes, I could finally see it.

Every coincidence, every happenstance, every time I felt eyes on the back of my head.

Oliver had already admitted as much, they all had. That they had been watching me, protecting me .

Is it bad that it makes me want them even more?

What did that say about me exactly?

I could joke that I really needed therapy, but I had a strong sense to realize that no amount of spewing my deepest pains to a stranger would help this.

I was obsessed with these men. Hyper-fixated.

I wanted their attention, it brought me to life, it sucked away every mean word a stranger had placed into my mind before .

Emilio’s confidence—it built up my own.

Maddox’s calm—it soothed my soul.

Oliver’s control—it kept me in check.

They were re-writing my brain chemistry in a way that most certainly wasn’t healthy, but I fucking needed it.

I wanted it. I wanted their attention.

The good, the bad, the stalkerish .

After all, if it weren’t for their obsessive manner I would have fallen victim to Sebastian, not once but twice.

The name brought me out of my thoughts entirely.

Enough of that .

Shutting off the shower, I wrapped myself in a towel before going into the bedroom.

All three men were off on errands.

Emilio for his family .

Maddox for me.

Oliver for my company.

We had employees that had been calling Oliver incessantly, concerned by his sudden lack of appearance.

I was able to run most of what was needed from afar, but sooner or later, we would have to return home.

And then what?

My phone vibrated against the wooden nightstand just as I pulled my clothes on, I went to put back on my wedding band but paused mid reach.

“Yara?” I asked hesitantly. It was another unsaved number but not the same one from before. I wouldn’t normally answer it except I hadn’t heard from her in a week, and I was beginning to worry.

“No, it’s your mother. Or have you forgotten entirely about the woman that broke her body to give birth to you? ”

Mother.

Her voice was a siren in my ear, painful and loud. The last time we spoke was when she was admonishing me of my role in Harry’s unfaithfulness.

“Laura,” I acknowledged said mother.

“Back on that I see. I really wish you would make more of an effort after all the time I spent on you.” She heaved a sigh as if this entire conversation was a tedious box she needed to check off.

She wasn’t alone in that feeling.

“Well, I am calling with bad news.” Her tone turned oddly passionate. “Your step-father and I are getting a divorce, and I need to see you today to discuss some matters in person.”

Red flags and loud sirens started going off in my mind. My step-father. One of the “families” in this town. Had my mother known that she slept next to a killer, a human trafficker? It hadn’t been hard to read between the lines when Emilio explained it.

“He left a year ago on business, and I was happy to just keep it casual, you know how it is, right? The house was a bit lonely, but I had my girlfriends at least. Now, here he is, back in town and demanding I leave. Threatening me. Telling me I need to vacate. The scandal. ”

At this point I really couldn’t discern what she was upset about, nor did I particularly care.

“Look, Laura, I need to go.” I practiced my inner bitch using as much firmness behind my words as I could muster.

“Isobella Wright.”

I stiffened as my mother called me by the name I hadn’t gone by in over a decade. When I met Yara and I found out her last name had also been changed from what she was born with, I thought maybe it was normal to just change your name when you moved .

By the time I realized that wasn’t the case, it was too late. I was buried so deep into my new life that I didn’t want to look back.

“When you find a good man, don’t let money get in the way. Maybe one day he’ll do better,” my mother sobbed the words out.

It was the first time I had heard her cry for as long as I could remember, but what she was saying didn’t make any sense.

At this point the conversation had turned my emotions into a washing machine and everything she said was smashing the cycle button.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your father, James.”

I sank back onto the bed; she hadn’t spoken his name since she told me he died. Since we crossed state lines. Since she changed my name and made me promise to never talk about him. Never look for his family.

“What about him?”

“There’s more to his death than I told you, but I need to see you in person. Show you the truth, or you won’t believe me.”

It was the only subject I would willingly meet my mother for. I rubbed my chest as the grief hammered its way into my heart.

I had never truly processed my father’s death, she hadn’t allowed nor helped me to.

Maybe this could be my goodbye.

To my mother and my father.

Because after this? My mother deserved no space in my life.