Book 1 - Page 43 (1/2)

But even after Mom screwed her over, tried to talk Seth who was just a teenager into taking the rap for her—even then Gram stood by her side.

My grandmother, with all of her kindness and humility, deserves so much better than my mom. Seth and I deserve so much better than our mother, and though I hate to admit it, more than our dad, too.

Because a phone call every other week and the occasional awkward visit on holidays was about the equivalent of a h.e.l.lo from the homeless man who trolls the coffee shop I go to for Tomas in Los Angeles each morning.

“I know,” Gram says, her voice catching on a sob. “It’s hard—what with the house and Rebecca. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going anymore.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be home soon and we’ll take care of everything. I swear it.”

“It’s hard,” she says once more. “I-I’ve got to get to bed, sweetheart. I’m going to go back to the hospital for your mom tomorrow morning and I’ve got a doctor’s appointment of my own. But baby, I love you so much.”

“Love you too, Gram.”

But when I hang up, my teeth are gritted together. Lucas finds me like this with my head buried in my hands, grinding my teeth furiously. “Don’t gri—” Then he sucks in a mouthful of air, striding his way across the marble foyer and into the living room in a matter of seconds. “What the h.e.l.l is going on?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sienna,” he says in a cautioning voice, and I glance up at him, revealing my tear-streaked face. He rolls his body down the side of the couch until he’s right beside of me. It’s almost comical, how absolutely helpless he looks when confronted with my tears, but he pulls me into his arms. Lucas Wolfe, the most commanding man I’ve ever met, lets me sob into the front of his white s.h.i.+rt, allows me to drip mascara all over him.

I sniffle. “My mom got beat up in prison.”

Holding me by my shoulders, he pulls away from me slightly, placing just enough s.p.a.ce between the two of us so that he can look into my eyes and feel me out. He frowns, rubbing his lips together. “I’m taking it you’re not exactly sad about your mom getting an a.s.s-whipping.”

I laugh, in spite of the tears, and drag the backs of my hands across my face. “G.o.d, no. She’s had it coming for years. It’s”—I let out a small, strangled sound and he buries his head in my hair again, stroking the back of my neck, making me feel safe—“my grandma, you know. My mom’s been so awful to her, and yet Gram keeps taking the kicks over and over again. It just hurts. It hurts so f**king bad.”

Lucas murmurs that he understands, but I can’t miss how his voice hitches. How it feels as if there is something left unsaid between the two of us.