There are things I don’t want to do on Saturday morning before the football game, and meeting my mother for breakfast ranks up there with having my toenails ripped off.
Guess what I’m doing Saturday morning?
Meeting her for breakfast.
Kill me. Please?
I haven’t seen my mother in nearly eleven years. Hadn’t wanted to. Maybe that’s why it takes her a moment to recognize me, or maybe she doesn’t know what to say to me. After all, the last time I was face-to-face with her, I think my last words were, “I never want to see your face again you lying whore.”
Go ahead, take a look. It’s brutal.
“You’re a lying whore, you know that?”
My mother stared at me, dark eyes narrowed. She hated me from the beginning. “You have absolutely no right to judge me, Ridge. You weren’t in my shoes.”
I laughed, bitter and revolted. “You’re goddamn right I wasn’t. I wouldn’t have fucked up like this.”
She stepped toward me, glass from the broken window I threw a vase through crunching under her feet. Her hand raised to slap me, but I caught it. “You need to earn the right to slap me.”
“You will not talk to me like that. I’m your mother.”
I smile. “What are you going to do about it? Have Brooks kick my ass again? Does he know?”
My words shock her. “What are you talking about?”
“I know he’s my biological father, but I’m curious, did you tell Brooks? Did you tell my dad? Does Austin know? Or have you been lying to everyone over the years?”
I know by the look on her face what that meant. They all knew but me.
She’s a goddamn ray of sunshine, isn’t she? Just wait until you meet her.
Do you see that woman in the burgundy floral-print blouse and black dress pants? The one with the jet-black hair that matches mine and the Botox-injected lips?
That is Madalyn Campbell. My mother. She owns this restaurant I’m stepping inside and half the goddamn town of Calistoga. She wants to own the property the race track resides on, and I’m about to ruin her motherfucking day.
I rather excited about it if you can’t tell.
Since I left town and never returned, Madalyn thinks I don’t want anything to do with the track. And while she may have been right, I can’t say it’s entirely true now.
“You look just like your father.”
Eat a dick, bitch. Of course she fucking said that.
And then she’s hugging me tighter than needed. It’s certainly not by accident. She’d probably stick my head in a vice if she thought she could have gotten away with it. “You’re so handsome and grown up.”
Make her stop touching me.
Just so you know. . . she wants me dead. I wouldn’t put it past her to hire a hit man. That’s me being dramatic, but I’m positive she’s never cared too much for her only son. Probably because I didn’t turn out anything like her. Vindictive. Superficial. Controlling. . . all right, that last one’s debatable.
Despite wanting to vomit at the sight of her, I flash my mother a detached smile and allow her to lower my head so she can kiss my forehead one last time. It burns my skin, like being kissed by Hitler.
I used to fuck this chick in college who was Catholic. Becca Hamilton. I know what you’re thinking. Ridge, that’s incredibly random, and Becca has nothing to do with your mother. Oh, but she does. Stay with me.
So this Catholic chick. . . she gave pretty good head. I remember that much, and she had this book beside her bed by Theresa Caputo called There’s More to Life Than This. Have you heard of her? She’s famous for a show called Long Island Medium. Anyway, inside this book which I read while this God-loving bible-in-her-night-stand girl was deep throating my cock, I learned, or at least read that you apparently pick your parents. I know, you’re thinking, you’re reading while she’s sucking you off? Again, story for another day. Focus. You pick your parents.
So this chick says.
If that’s true, what the actual fuck was I thinking when I chose Madalyn Campbell as my mother? Did my spirit think, fuck, she’s perfect for ruining my life, send me down to earth?
I’m still trying to figure out what that book meant, and why I chose Madalyn, but that’s a story for another day.
Finally, Madalyn releases me from her grip and inspects my face closely.
While she’s searching my eyes for warmth she’s never going to find, take a look at her a little closer. Look past the makeup and superficial bullshit like her designer clothes, the perfectly applied lipstick, and you’ll see that nothing will ever cover up the fact that she’s fake.
She fed me lies my entire life and now she wants to play nice? I don’t think so. Never.
“You’ll love the food here.” She nods toward the table in the back.
I wouldn’t put it past her to poison it. Madalyn leads me to a table in the back, telling me about how good the food is and the world renowned chef she hired like I give a goddamn about any of it. I’m not even listening.
Nope. I’m thinking about Aly and that lowcut shirt she’d been wearing at school. Had she done that on purpose? And then my thoughts move immediately to my dad, and him dying and the fact that had he not, I wouldn’t be here now.
At the table, we sit down and neither of us say a word as we flip through the menu, not looking at each other. I’m curious how she’s going to approach the subject of the race track. It’s the only reason she made me come here.
Instead, she waits until the waitress serves us our breakfast. Then she finally speaks up, clearing her throat to draw my attention to her. “Your dad’s funeral was beautiful.”
I stab my eggs with my fork wishing it was her heart, metal grating against porcelain. “Yeah, it was. Too bad it wasn’t yours.”
Too harsh? I think not.
Madalyn’s gaze locks with mine and she reminds me of the Evil Queen in Snow White. There’s a striking resemblance, isn’t there? “Is there a reason why you have been ignoring my phone calls over the years?”
Because I hate you.
“Why don’t you just get to the fucking point, Madalyn. I don’t have all day.” I smile, a bit sinisterly, empting my glass of bourbon. Yep. I’m drinking with breakfast. It’s no wonder my dad was an alcoholic when he was married to her.
“Ridge. . .” She sighs, and my jaw tightens. I hate the way my name sounds rolling off her tongue. It reminds me of all the times she tried to explain to me the reasons why she cheated on my dad, like there was anything to explain. “What are you going to do with that track?” Madalyn asks scowling at me. Now she really looks fucking old. “You don’t know anything about running a business of this nature. You don’t have it in you.”
My fist clenches under the table. Memories of every degrading thing she ever said to me pulses like flashes in my head.
You don’t have it in you to graduate high school.
You don’t have it in you to stay out of trouble.
You don’t have it in you to stay away from Aly.
Okay, maybe she didn’t say the last one. I did, but regardless, you understand where this is going, don’t you?
I hold rights to something Madalyn wants, and that’s the only reason I’m sitting here with her now. Does she honestly think I’m going to give her anything?
Sure, she’s right on some level. I don’t know what I’m doing running a race track, but I’m not about to let her know that.
“Well fuck.” I lift my brows. “Seems like you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”
“What are you going to do with it? You don’t even live here.”
I offer a smile. “I do now.”
Oh, look at that glare I’m getting. I pissed her off.
“Sell me the property.” Her tone is clipped, and surprise, surprise, she’s no longer pretending to be nice. If you look close enough, horns are coming out of her head, and she’s turning red. “I’ll make you a lucrative offer.”
She watches me, waiting on my reaction and honestly, she looks a little like she wishes she would have drowned me at birth. I can’t imagine hating a child that much, especially one who came from you.
Although Arrow is certainly one I question her parents’ motives. I’m kidding, kinda.
There’s just no fucking way I’m letting Madalyn Campbell have anything. “Sorry, Madalyn. I’m keeping the track.”
“You’re keeping it?” She laughs, as though the idea of me doing anything with my life is entertaining to her. “What in the hell would possess you to do that? You haven’t lived here for ten years and you all of a sudden you are going to run a track you hated growing up?”
“Who said I hated the track?” My fingers tightening around the glass of bourbon. “The only thing I’ve ever hated in this town is you.”
And Brooks. . . and Austin, but whatever.
Her dark eyes tighten. “So you’re not going to sell it to me?”
Look at her. She’s having a hard time understanding why I’d say no to her. It’s certainly not a word she hears often.
“Nope.” I shake my head feeling pretty good about my answer. “But thanks for this, Madalyn. Seeing you again only reminded me of how much I hate you and that I’ll never be anything like you.” I smile and silently wish it was legal to stab her with the knife on the table.
“Have you forgotten the connections I have in this town, Ridge?” Madalyn glares, her eyes hard. She’s going to pull the clout card. Nice touch.
“No, I haven’t forgotten. I just don’t give a shit, and that kills you. Unfortunately, not literally.” I wink, downing the remainder of my bourbon and stand, looking down at her. “I’m not selling you the track so you can fucking forget about it.”
I wouldn’t give this woman a goddam thing.