This whole conversation just puts a sour taste in my mouth. Still too pissed with Arrick to do the whole
cozy heart-to-heart with my mom, and too many raw topics I’ve never gone through with her trying to
be forced out. Even though I know I should be groveling, making amends for acting like a spoiled
psycho brat months ago and running out on her, I just need some cooling off time to simmer, and some
space to get a handle on my brain and heart if she really wants me to do this with her.
It’s too much, building in epic proportions, like I’m going to explode. For my own sanity, and for my
mother’s sake, I need to get out of here and calm down. I can’t let my defensive, snooty, catty,
explosive side loose and make this a thousand times worse on the woman who only ever means well.
She is the perfect example of a mom, of what a mother should be and how one should love her child,
and I never deserved her in any way, shape, or form. She means everything to me in so many ways,
yet I can’t seem to ever just let her in all the way.
I move fast, grabbing a cardigan and my cell from the side unit, leaving my mess strewn across the bed
as I slide off for a fast exit.
Heading for the door, my mom quickly follows me. My heart beating rapidly, blood pulsing and my skin
itching with the need to get out from within these closing walls, to just breathe. I always need space
when this kind of shit hits me, always need quiet and headroom.
“Sophie, wait, please. You only just got here. Don’t run … please, don’t run again.” The tears in her
voice bring me to a halt, breaking as the woman behind me begs so heart-wrenchingly. I crumble
inside, twisting agony crashing through at a hundred miles an hour as her obvious anguish rips my soul
in two. The tears hit my eyes hard and the lump in my throat almost chokes me, with the crash in which
it hits. I hold myself steady, outwardly cool and breathe slowly to calm my reaction.
“I’m not going to run, Mom. I just need air, some time to breathe. I’ll come home; I swear. I just need a
little adjustment space.” I force it out with a trembling voice, unable to look her way and show her that I
am genuinely torn to shreds by the way I am hurting her. I can’t ever let anyone see my weakness. Well
anyone except him, that deserting traitor, but not anymore.
Little Sophie is still in here somewhere, trying to soothe this woman she does actually love beyond all
others. Adult Sophie on the other hand just needs timeout to get a grip on herself and walk this off. Put
it all back inside.
“Promise?” My mom catches my hand from behind, her warm fingers curling around my closed fist and
I let it unfurl to feel her fingers out, and it almost breaks me. That soft gentle warm skin that brings back
a thousand happy memories of a life that healed so much. Squeezing my eyes shut to block out the
tears and pain, I swallow hard to steady my voice and gently squeeze the fingers I’ve managed to
trace, to somehow assure her.
Why am I this way?
“I promise.” I let her hand go and head out fast before I cave and change my mind, or collapse under
this weight and cry in front of her. I need air and a walk. I need quiet and freedom away from familiar
surroundings to figure out what the hell is going on inside me. I have everything in life I could possibly
need to be happy. I have a wealthy family, a loving home and genuine love and care from parents and
siblings and extended family. I never wanted for anything since I came here, and they have never made
me feel anything but truly one of their own, any of them. I can’t understand where or why this dark ache
inside of me came from as it wasn’t there before. It just seems to have slowly grown over the last
couple of years and messes with my head. If I only knew why, then maybe I would have a chance of
combating it.
***
I’ve been walking for what feels like hours, out of the town and into the scenery, before turning back
when I realized I could just walk right on forever and get nowhere. My feet ache from the heels I
stupidly put on and my stomach is now churning with hunger because I didn’t bring any money with me
to stop and eat.
My hangover is killing me, like my head is being gnawed off by some internal brain worms. I’m worn
out, exhausted and feeling sick, realizing that hiking miles in four-inch heels on zero sustenance and a
body still ridding itself of a three-day booze binge is maybe not the best thing to be doing today. I walk
mindlessly back towards the familiar street in which my life had once begun, with no real sense of
improvement, if anything I’m wiped out instead of angry.
“Sophie?” The familiar male voice, smooth, deep, and alarmingly like Arry’s, halts me mid-step and I
spin around impulsively to find the owner. There is no mistaking that husky deep tone, or the confident
vibes he can give off with just one word.
Jake Carrero stands beaming at me from the side of his black sports car, casually dumped at the curb
as though he’s about to get in it, bent slightly as he tries to catch my face under the veil of long blonde
hair that’s slid over one eye.
He looks exactly like he always does, tall muscular and handsome in that dark bad boy way of his,
ready for the catwalk of an urban designer, rather than dad and doting husband and my infernal,
annoying as hell, godfather.
He’s dressed in his trademark jeans and black shirt and effortlessly groomed, annoyingly like Arrick
always is. The Carrero DNA is a force to be reckoned with; not one in the family is bad looking in any
way, and even his extended cousins and other relations have the hot Italian smoldering sexiness that
Arrick and Jake give off in droves.
“Hey.” I smile at him genuinely, a little shy from months of no contact, when he strides forward two
steps and gives me his usual all-encompassing Jake hug. He has never had any inhibitions about
manhandling his family and has told me for years I’m the eldest daughter he never knew he needed. I
stiffen a little, but accept it knowing if I don’t let him hug me, he will more than likely do an Arrick and
torture me instead. It seems both have this ingrained urge to manhandle me into submission as if I am
still a naughty kid who needs a Carrero to tame her. Quite sure Jake still thinks I belong in diapers,
even though I was long past them when he came into my life and whirled me into a new one.
“Jeez, you have grown a lot in a short time, teeny. I barely recognized you, Mimmo.” Jake grins with
that familiar Hollywood smile, dazzling the pants off the female population endlessly and knowing he
does, with relish. I eye roll at his use of Arrick’s infuriating term for me, something they have all used at
some point or another over the years.
The walk has made me more rational and calmer, and I must admit, I’m really happy to see him. Jake is
one of those people you can’t help but warm to, even when he’s being an overbearing, bossy, dominant
ass. His heart’s always been in the right place, and if it weren’t for him and Emma then I’d still be living
in Chicago as a homeless runaway with no hope of a future that ended well.
“I guess. Or maybe you’re just going senile in your old age and lost in memories of me being fourteen
forever.” I smirk at him, laughing at the way his flawless dark brows furrow over sparkling green eyes,
making him look about ten years younger almost instantly.
“Hey! I am forever young, Bambino. Less of the age remarks or I will strap you in the car seat and force
a pacifier in your mouth to shut you up.” He makes a move to catch me in a headlock, but I see it
coming and dodge him quickly. I know only too well what he’s like. He and his brother endlessly
tortured me for years and sometimes teamed up to make me squeal. He has a serious weakness for
hanging me upside down by my feet while his asshole brother rib pokes me into submission. It’s true
that they say men never really grow up. Jake is the definition of a male who will never grow up, despite
being a CEO of Carrero Corp, father, and husband, and pulling off Mr. Mature. at times.
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