Marks on My Skin (Love & Ink #1) (29 page)

Her head cocked to the side and she put her fork down on her plate. “I came back because I love you and I’m carrying your child.”

She touched her stomach for emphasis and I fought the urge to laugh.

“It just seems a little odd ta me, ya know? ‘Cause the day ya left me, ya told me ya didn’t love me. I begged ya ta stay because I loved ya…but then ya still left.”

“I was just confused.” She let out a small huff of frustration, cold blue eyes boring into mine.

“Oh, I understand, but what happened? I mean, something had ta have happened while ya were away that helped ya figure it out, no?”

“I…I just missed you…and then the baby.”

Kendall’s voice was small and uncertain. She avoided my gaze and shrunk down into her chair.

“So, let me get this straight. Ya thought ya didn’t love me anymore, so ya left, then ya missed me, realized I knocked ya up, and then ya decided ya wanted me back?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

I drummed my fingers against the table in a quiet staccato and tilted my head at her. “Ya sure that’s how it happened?”

“Kieran.” She held me with a severe look, growing increasingly more frustrated.

“What? Ya didn’t care if I was even alive for two feckin’ months. When ya were here ya barely came near me and somehow one of those few times, I managed ta knock ya up quite conveniently? Sorry, if I’m just a bit confused by your sudden interest in having a happy little family with me, Kendall.”

“You’re my husband.” She said, lips tight, anger edging near the surface.

“That’s just a fact, not a reason. The fact that I was yer husband before didn’t seem ta bother ya in the least.”

Her jaw clenched, and I knew she wanted to say something about Shayne, but she wouldn’t dare. After all, if she hadn’t left, I probably wouldn’t have met Shayne. In a way, I supposed I should be thanking her for that at least. I stood, expressionless, hands resting against the tabletop, waiting for her answer.

Kendall’s nostrils flared and a deep frown marred her perfect features. “What’s gotten into you? Why are you acting like this, Kier?”

“Because yer feckin’ lying ta my face. Just like before. Just like always.”

Kendall’s eyes widened and the chair scraped against the floor. She stood and slammed her hands against the table. The anger that had been beneath the surface boiled over as she glared at me.

“And just what the hell am I lying about?”

With no further need for pleasantries I pulled the envelope out of my pocket and slammed it on the table. “That! That is what yer feckin’ lying about.”

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open, speechless as it registered what I’d found.

“Kieran, that’s not…”

“Please enlighten me as ta what it is, love, because ta me it looks like ya’ve informed my agent that I’m ready and willin’ ta sign over my film rights ta my book for quite the handsome sum.”

“I had already come back for you before he contacted me!”

“BULL. SHIT. KENDALL.” I threw my chair across the kitchen floor and Kendall stumbled back, frightened. In the six years we’d been together I’d never yelled at her, never raised my voice. “Bullshit,” I repeated. “I spoke ta him this mornin’. He called ya a month ago, when he couldn’t get hold of me.”

Kendall stood there silent, bottom lip trembling.

“That’s not why, Kier. That’s not why I came back. I came back for you…and the baby.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, but they did nothing to dissuade me.

“Fer once, just tell me the truth, Kendall. Are ya even feckin’ pregnant?”

She stared down at the paper, saying nothing as her silent tears fell.

“Ya knew I wouldn’t come back otherwise, didn’t ya? Ya knew what ta say ta pull me back in. Ya feckin’ played me. Again.”

“That’s not true. I’m carrying your baby, I swear!” She sniffed and sunk back down onto her chair, cradling her stomach.

“Fine. Let’s go then.” I came around the table and grabbed her arm.

“What? Where?”

“Ta the doctors. I already made ya an appointment fer this mornin’.”

“No! I’m not going!” She tried to pull out of my grip but her petite frame was no match for me. I hauled her roughly onto her feet ignoring the yelp of pain. “Let go of me, Kieran! That hurts! I’m not going anywhere right now!”

“The hell yer not! I want ta get another one of those little pictures of the baby fer my desk!” She dug her feet into the hardwood, but I yanked her forward. Tears, pajamas, and all.

“Stop it! Let me go!”

She clawed at my arm with her free hand and I flung her forward, letting her fall flat on her arse.

“Tell me the feckin’ truth, Kendall! For once in your goddamned life!”

I towered over her, clenching my fists at my sides. She whimpered, and pulled her legs to her chest.

“Fine! I’m not pregnant, but I do want to have a baby with you.”

“That why ya’ve been trying ta make moves on me every night? Ya think I’m an idjit? I can feckin’ count nine months! Ya just wanted me back for the money, didn’t ya?”

She said nothing as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Tell me, Kendall. Tell me the feckin’ truth. It was never about me. It was about the money.”

After another minute of silence I moved past her, heading for the door.

“Where are you going?” Kendall tried to stop me and grabbed my arm but I jerked out of her grasp.

“I’m leaving. I’m done with the lies, I’m done followin’ after ya like yer little dog. I’m just feckin’ done.”

“Kier, please!”

I squared my jaw and turned away from her. My chest ached, but not because it hurt to leave her. It hurt to realize just how blind I’d been for so long, how much I’d let her play me. It hurt to realize just how much I’d fecked things up with someone that actually cared about me.

“Leave and you’ll be sorry.” Kendall’s voice took on a bold, cold-hearted tone and I stopped at the door, my car keys at my fingertips.

I turned my head, meeting her glare with my own sharp-edged look. “I’ll be sorry?”

“Leave me and I’ll drag you through the fucking grinder, you asshole!”

I laughed. Actually laughed. Was she joking?

“Ya seem ta forget, Kendall, ya already did that when ya fecked five guys in our feckin’ bed.” I snorted. I slid the house key off my keyring, and pulled the wedding band off my finger, letting them clank against the foyer floor. “Goodbye, Kendall. Do yer feckin’ worst.”

My mother was waiting for me out in the garden when I arrived at the treatment center. She was fidgety and agitated. Her fingers tugged at the long sleeves of her shirt and her eyes met mine as I approached.

“Finally. You took your sweet time, didn’t you?”

I frowned, handed her a bag of fast food, and sat down next to her. “I told you an hour. It’s only been forty five minutes.”

“Well, it felt longer.” My mother huffed, slouching.

She stabbed the straw into her drink and took a long sip, staring out across the empty garden. I may as well have not been there except to deliver her food.

“How have you been, mother?”

Her dull brown gaze darted to me for a moment, a hint of annoyance flashing through them. “Are you kidding? I’ve been here three months now. This place is a hell hole.”

“It’s not that bad.” I said, taking a sip of my own drink. I remembered places from when I was growing up that were much more deserving of the title of “hell hole.”

She let out a disdainful grunt next to me and took a huge bite of her burger. Despite my mother’s frail appearance, she could put away a burger and fries without issue. I brought her fast food almost every weekend and she inhaled it. The rest of the time she apparently starved herself, claiming either the food was shit, or that she suspected they were drugging her that way, trying to control her. Years of drug use had rattled my mom’s brain to the point that I knew any deep, meaningful relationship between us was out of the question, but there were times, brief as they were, that she had moments of clarity, days where she showed some capacity to give a shit about me. Today, was obviously not one of those days.

“Shayne,” she said, and I looked up at her lined, patchy face. She looked much older than her mid-forties. She used to be beautiful. I remembered seeing old pictures of her in high school. She’d been absolutely breathtaking. It was never the woman I knew though. Since I could remember, she’d looked like this. Pale, sallow skin, sunken in around her eyes and cheeks, with dark scars and pock marks left from sores and cuts. I never understood why she couldn’t see what all those drugs did to her. Sure, I still smoked a joint here and there to relax, but nothing else. I could still function in everyday life. My mother could barely manage to bathe herself some days.

“What is it?” I asked, watching her with concern. Something was bothering her. She looked away from me, refusing to hold my gaze and I reached a hand out to hers—which she quickly snatched away.

“I can’t stay here any longer. It isn’t helping. I just think it would be for the best.”

I turned, facing her on the bench, and grabbed her hand. “Mom, no. You need to finish the six months like you promised. We’ve been through this I don’t even know how many times.”

“Don’t you dare yell at me! I’m your fucking mother!”

“And I’m the one paying for this little fucking vacation for you. What exactly are you going to do if you leave here, huh?” Anger shot through me and it took every fiber of my being not to smack her.

“I’ve been clean three months! I already went through all that withdrawal bullshit. I can manage well enough on my own. This stupid kumbaya, ‘let’s talk about our feelings’ crap isn’t helping. If anything it makes me want a fucking bump just so I don’t have to listen to all the other patients drone on about their little sob stories.”

I sighed. “See, that just proves my point. You’re not ready to leave. You don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself and that’s been the problem all along.”

With a fierce look, she stood and stalked away from me. I ran after her, grabbing her discarded trash off the ground.

“I’m not sitting here listening to you act like a condescending little bitch. I raised you, I fed you. Don’t fucking say I never gave a shit about anyone else. I gave a shit about you at least!”

The trash dropped from my hands, and my soda spilled out across the grass as I stared at her. For a moment, nothing, not even breath passed my lips. My mother might as well have reached into my chest and ripped out my heart right there. It felt as if she did.

“You…you gave a shit about me? When?” I asked, my tone shocked and incredulous. She glanced back over her shoulder at me, but said nothing, still walking away from me. I gritted my teeth and strode toward her, flinging her around by her thin shoulders. “When, mother? When did you give a shit about me?”

Her eyes were wide, yellowed, and dim. They stared at me, startled at first, but defaulted back to the dull uncaring gaze I was used to as she quickly recovered. “Let go of me, Shayne. I don’t need to count out everything I did for you over the years. I’m your mother.”

“No.” I squeezed tighter and she winced under the pressure. “Tell me, mom. Tell me one time you gave a shit about me. While you were gone for three days getting high when I was seven? Did you know I survived on one packet of Ritz crackers that weekend? Or maybe the times you locked me in my closet because you didn’t want some asshole to know you had a kid?”

“I didn’t do that to you!” She shoved me off of her and started away from me again.

“Yes you did, mom. Maybe you were too fucked up to remember it at the time, but I remember. Just like I remember Paul.”

My mom spun around, holding me with a furious gaze. “That wasn’t my fault.”

I swallowed hard, fighting back the nausea that came anytime I thought of him.

“No, you’re right, it wasn’t. But maybe if you hadn’t been busy trying to get your next fix you might have noticed your boyfriend going into your thirteen year old daughter’s bedroom. You might have noticed your daughter screaming out for you as he raped her every fucking night for six months!”

Sobs tore through me uncontrolled but they didn’t faze her. I was just another sob story she wanted to drown out. “You know, I thought maybe you didn’t know what was going on. Maybe if I screamed you’d see what he was doing…but you never came to help. You never stopped him. I stopped screaming for you after the first month, because at thirteen years old I realized something. You didn’t give a shit about me. No, the only time you stepped in was to make sure that baby was aborted so Paul didn’t go to jail, and thanks to you finding the cheapest doctor for it, I can’t even have a child if I wanted to.”

I gasped in a deep breath, refusing to let the thoughts of Kieran, Kendall, and that stupid ultrasound come back to me. Another painful reminder of the permanent scars my mother had left me with. My mother tried to pull free from my grip, but I refused to let go.

“You know mother, maybe it’s better that way. Maybe it’s better I can’t have a child. That way I can’t fuck up their life the way you fucked up mine. Do you realize, you’re probably one of the worst mothers someone could ever have?”

Without warning my mother let loose an angry cry and her nails came down, swiping my face. I cupped my cheek to calm the sting and blinked at her. Had she really just hit me?