“Her?” She grins back at me and I roll my eyes. “So you like her.”
It wasn’t a question but a statement, and I laugh. “Kinda.”
“Kinda?”
“Okay, yeah, I like her. A lot, but she’s so stubborn and obsessed with winning that I worry she doesn’t see me. She’s so strong and beautiful and fights for what she wants, which sucks ’cause she isn’t fighting to be with me.”
“Then she’s an idiot,” she decides before wrapping her arms around my middle. I’m so much taller than she is, it’s really the only part of me she can hug. It’s always been like this too, since I hit puberty. “She obviously doesn’t know what she’s missing.”
“Yeah, but she’s been hurt and all—”
“I don’t care, Jayden. If she wanted you, she’d be with you. Don’t be a doormat,” she says sternly before turning me to face her. Going on her tiptoes, she grabs my face and brings me down to her. Her eyes bore into mine and chills run down my spine. My mom is scary when she needs to be. “I was a doormat for so long, Jayden Mitchell. I sat there and waited and prayed that your dad would love me, and he never did. I will not have that for my baby. You deserve more than that.”
Whoa. No way am I touching this subject with my mom right now. I know things were never good between her and my dad, but I really don’t want my relationship to be compared to theirs. It’s nothing like that. I’m not a dick, and there is no way Baylor is a pushover. “Mom—”
“No, Jayden, you promise me right now, you won’t be a doormat. You won’t sit there and pine and stew over her. Because I know you, you want to fix everyone. But that’s not your job. You need to live, you need to play, and you need to live your dreams. If she wants to be a part of that, then good, but if not, do not chase her. I know that all girls love that stuff. To be chased, but why should you? You’re a catch, honey. Make her chase you.”
Making a face, I say, “Isn’t that contradictory, because she shouldn’t have to chase after me.”
She glares at me then, and I smile a goofy grin at her because this got too serious, too quick. Rolling her eyes, she smacks my face, not hard, before turning to start packing again. Grinning at her back, I wrap my arms around her neck and kiss the top of her head. “Mom, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Of course I do, you’re the one who could get your heart broken and not recover from it.”
Rolling my eyes, I lean against her head. “I’ve had my heart broken, Mom, plenty of times. Girls ain’t loyal, you know,” I say with a grin, and she shakes her head.
“There is a difference between puppy love and real love. You don’t realize how much your eyes tell, but you care for her already.”
Hmm. Touché.
Leaning my head to hers again, I whisper, “I promise I won’t be a doormat.”
“It’s just, you’re so damn sensitive and you stress on things that aren’t your problem, and it worries me,” she says, wrapping her fingers around my wrist. “Girls should be begging to be with you.”
“They do,” I say lightly, and she exhales a frustrated breath as I grin. “But this one, Mom, this one is a bring home to momma kind of girl. One who I know makes me a better person. She’s worth the fight.”
She doesn’t say anything before turning in my arms to look up at me. “I understand that, honey, but please know when to give up.”
I wink at her, a grin pulling at my lips. “I don’t give up, Mom. I win.”
“But sometimes you lose, and with love, there is no guarantee.”
“True, but Mom, I can’t give up on her because the situation isn’t ideal. Great relationships aren’t great because they have no problems, they are great because both people care enough about each other to fight for it.”
Looking up at me, her head falls to the side. “So I didn’t fight?” she asks, and when her eyes start to cloud with tears, my gut turns. Why didn’t I just promise and let it go?
Damn it.
“No, Mom, you fought. He didn’t, and he doesn’t deserve you. But this girl, she deserves the world and I can give it to her.”
“But you can’t give someone something they don’t want.”
I nod. “But I can show her that I’m worth fighting for.”
“Yes, as long as you don’t become a doormat.”
Grinning, I cup her shoulders as I nod. “You say I’m sensitive and overprotective. Wonder where I get that from?”
Beaming up at me, she says, “Me, of course, that’s why you’re my favorite.”