Cards of Love_Three of Swords by Willow Winters

Author:Willow Winters [Winters, Willow]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-02T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Madox

The Nine of Swords is another card that pierces through your heart. But the swords you envision above you will shortly fall, and you can only crane your head to watch and wait.

Give her time. Trish’s advice is the same as Brett’s. It’s the same as Ryan’s. Everyone keeps telling me to give her time. Don’t they know time doesn’t heal pain? She needs someone to take it away.

I can be that someone.

I’ve waited three years. I can wait another day, another week. However long it takes.

But if she doesn’t want me because she wants to be okay being alone—I don’t know that she’ll ever come back to me.

I fucked up, and I don’t know how to make things right. For the first time in a long time, I don’t know what to do.

Lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling fan, I think back on every moment I could have changed between us.

It’s my fault she doesn’t love me enough to stay. That’s what it comes down to. I don’t know how to make her love me any more than she does.

She does love me. But it’s not enough.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and keeps going.

Someone’s calling, probably Brett. Or Ryan. As much as I’m grateful they give a damn, they can all fuck off.

They told me to wait for her before, and it didn’t fucking work.

Without looking at the ID I answer it to say, “I’m not going out; I don’t give a shit if you tell me I’m being a bitch or not. It’s not happening.”

There’s hesitation on the end of the line until I hear my mother’s voice coolly reply, “I would never call you a bitch, for starters.”

Fuck, I think and my eyes roll back into my head with irritation.

“Mother,” I talk over her. “I wasn’t expecting you. It’s late.”

“I wanted to see if you’d gotten the message about the dinner?” she asks me, her voice returning to the normal proper state. The kind of proper that requires a stick up your ass.

“I received your message, yes.” I don’t bother telling her I’m not going. She should already know that. Considering she didn’t bring it up at lunch, I’m sure she already knows I have no intention of going.

My mother starts to speak and then stops herself. I can hear that she’s still there, although it’s silent for a moment. “I heard that something happened at The Cherie tonight, and so I was also calling because I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Whoever spoke a word to her is going to be fired. There’s no fucking way any of my friends would go to my mother. Maybe it was the waiter, or maybe the fucking chef. I don’t know who, but I’m going to find out and make their life a living hell. I pay good fucking money for privacy.

“Tell me something, please.” My mother’s voice actually carries a maternal note to it when she adds, “I’m your mother.”

She wants to know? As if she couldn’t put two and two together.

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