I swallow hard. “John Adams?”
“Speaking.”
I get up, limp a few steps away from the bench. “This is Seth Tucker. We talked a while back. About my mother.”
Silence. Then, “Ah Mr. Tucker. Good to hear from you.”
“You called me. A few days ago.”
“Yes, I did. Your mother would like to speak with you.”
A buzzing starts in my ears. “Yeah? What about?”
“She didn’t say. I think it’s a good idea, since you apparently haven’t met in years.”
“Ask her whose fault that is.”
“You were in prison, Mr. Tucker.”
“Ask her whose fault that is, too.”
“What are you saying?”
“Fuck.” I pull the cell from my ear, resist the urge to throw it against the wall. “Why do you care, anyway, if she wants to talk to me or not?”
There’s a long pause at the other end of the line.
“She’s in jail, waiting for her trial, isn’t she?” Sweat trickles down my back. “Nobody bailed her out.”
“She’s in jail, yes. Mr. Tucker… Seth. She has talked to me about you. How she misses you. She’s depressed. I thought it might be good if you talked to her. This isn’t my job. I’m only doing it because I want to help.”
“Good for who?” I whisper, choking on my anger and sadness. “Is she… is she there? I mean, are you with her right now?”
“No, but I’m heading there. I could call you when I see her.” Cautious. “Would you like that?”
Yes.
No.
r /> Fuck.
“Don’t take too long,” I growl, “or I might change my goddamn mind.”
I hang up before he has a chance to reply.
***
The call comes as I climb off the bus, heading to Damage for my training. I debate ignoring it and never returning this guy’s calls again—but as I said: it’s pathetic how much I want to believe she didn’t mean to hurt me—or Shane. That she’s capable of love. Or loving me.
Because—my brain tells me—if my own mom can’t love me, then what chance do I stand with anyone else? With Manon.
Yeah, I’m seriously fucked-up. Knowing it doesn’t help.
And fuck, then I hear her voice.
“Seth? That you?” she asks.
For the first time in years, the first time since that fateful evening.