Hooked #4 (The Hooked Romance Series - Book 4) by Adams Claire

Author:Adams, Claire [Adams, Claire]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-02-11T08:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

I made it back home, finally, after a long night of walking toward the L in my heels and finding the right stop, even in my haze of anger and alcohol. I sat on the train feeling so silly in my beautiful dress. I felt something stick, collected from the seat, on my leg, and I allowed my head to fall back in exasperation. It seemed nothing was going right.

I collapsed into the chair at my kitchen table when I arrived home, throwing my heels into the corner and pouting toward my cat. He sauntered toward me, meowing. He leaped up on my lap and tapped his nose onto mine. “I know, I know, cat. I liked him, too.”

I removed the dress and walked naked through my apartment, feeling the dead weight of disappointment on my shoulders. I hadn’t fallen in love with anyone maybe ever, but this had been the closest time. I had felt like I could actually know him, maybe. I had felt like maybe I could change him, make him into a boyfriend—rather than a player. But I had been wrong, just as I’d been wrong so many, many times over the years.

I poured myself a glass of wine, feeling sad for myself. I sipped it, wondering what had happened after I’d left the nice restaurant. I wondered if Drew had allowed the food to rot on the table, if he’d run home as well. Back to his empty hotel. I wondered if he’d found another woman, a nobody to sleep with that night, even as I slept alone in my apartment.

As I sat there, feeling sorry for myself, I dove into many, countless other things—other things to feel sad about. I felt so many things at once, so certain I was that I was about to lose my home in Chicago. No matter what, there would be another bill. No matter what, there would be another asshole to walk all over me.

I had another glass of wine and felt my head spin around, over and over, as I listened to the beeping and traffic from the street. I dialed the number almost without thinking, and placed the phone against my temple.

Her voice on the other end of the line was strained, perhaps drunk, as well.

“Hello?”

I paused before I answered. I heard so many things in her hello. I heard panic; I heard sadness. I heard the image of the woman I would ultimately be unless I worked hard for a different life.

“Hello?” she tried again. She sounded like she’d been crying.

“Mom?” I whispered back. I hadn’t heard her voice in months.

“Molly,” my mother said. Her voice felt comfortable then. Like something I’d known my entire life. Like the way you know what pop tarts taste like before you taste them; like the way you know what your home smells like before you enter.

“How are you?” I tried. I wasn’t going to tell her I was going to fail in Chicago. I wasn’t ready to hear her disdain.

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