SNAPPED (The Slate Brothers 1)

19

It seems like each time I convince myself of something with Sebastian— to end the relationship, or continue it, or think he’s perfect, or think he’s his father’s son— I’m thrown off course by something I could never have predicted. Today, it’s Sebastian Slate’s mother.

“I just— I wish I’d had a little more warning,” I say to him, fiddling with the bow-sleeves of the only dressy-but-not-church-dressy shirt that was in my closet. I had to throw it on with leggings, but I’m hoping it reads as artistic and chic rather than “I have seriously not done laundry in so so long”.

“Eh, that’s just my mom. She does it on purpose. She thinks if she surprises us, she’ll catch us acting up,” Sebastian says. We’re at his house, in his bedroom putting clothing on, for once, rather than tearing it off. I’ve adjusted and readjusted my hair, my bra, my shoes— I’ve never met a boyfriend’s parents before, and even though Sebastian and I have never used the terms “boyfriend” or “girlfriend” exactly, it’s pretty clear that he won’t be introducing me as “the Papa Pig’s delivery girl.”

“Does it ever work? Has she caught you up to no good?” I ask, watching him shave in the bathroom. It’s almost mesmerizing, watching him drag the razor down his jaw, the smooth skin it leaves behind. I catch myself before thinking too long on how smooth his cheeks might feel between my legs later.

“Not really.” Sebastian’s voice is contorted as he slides the blade down his chin. “Though she did catch Tyson holding a cigarette once.”

“He was smoking?” I ask, surprised. Athletes, especially of the Slates’ caliber, surely knew better.

Sebastian finished with the razor, rinsed it, then turned to face me. “No, that’s the best part— he just wanted to look cool, so he was holding one and pretending to smoke it but never actually inhaling. She didn’t much care though. She and my dad disagreed on spanking the three of us when we were kids, but I’d have rather taken the spankings— at least those would have ended when we were in middle school, right? Instead, they had a hundred cinder blocks on one end of the yard. When we messed up, we had to move each one to the other side. It took hours. But it’s also why the three of us have always been the strongest guys on our teams.”

I laugh at the genius of the idea, leaning against the doorframe. “So your mom is against corporeal punishment. Noted. Anything else I should know about her?”

Sebastian lifts a wry eyebrow. “It was actually my dad who was against spankings, I’ll have you know. But no, don’t worry— she’s going to love you.”

We meet Mrs. Slate at a restaurant in town, a place that serves both sushi and Mexican food, but somehow manages to be upscale all the same. Sebastian teases me for my nerves one last time before he steps ahead of me to hold open the door—

And there she is.

I don’t know if she’ll recognize me. I look a little like my aunt, I guess, but perhaps no more so than any other brunette of my size and skin tone. But Sebastian’s mother has actually seen me before, at the first hearing. We made eye contact there, in fact. I remember, because I remember looking at her and wondering how she could possibly forgive a man for cheating on her, much less for potentially murdering his mistress. Dennis Slate and my aunt had been sleeping together for over a year when he killed her— and when that all came out, Mrs. Slate practically ran to the press to let them know that she intended to stand by her husband.

That was the last time I appeared in a courtroom; I let the lawyers fill me in on everything I needed to know, after that. I decided that day that if seeing the remaining victims of their patriarch’s crime had such little impact on the rest of the Slate family, that my energy was better spent healing, helping my mother heal, so that we could be strong for the real courtroom showdown. At the time, though, we’d expected that showdown to be in the near future. We hadn’t anticipated just how much the Slate lawyers would delay, appeal, and stall.

So, suffice it to say: My mind is cluttered and scared and nervous when I meet Mrs. Slate, but for none of the reasons Sebastian thinks. I hold my breath when her eyes fall on me until it’s clear she doesn’t remember me at all. I sigh in relief— and then regret it. She doesn’t remember me at all. I’m that forgettable, to her— the girl whose aunt her husband killed, and she doesn’t even remember my face.

“Sebastian has told me a little about you, but I get the impression he’s been keeping you a secret,” Mrs. Slate says warmly from just a few feet away. I blink, stunned to realize she’s been talking to me for a few moments now. I force a smile on my face, but surely it looks as false as it feels.