e was looking up at him. “What is it?” She reached up, pressing his forehead. “You’re frowning. Did something happen?”
“Your mother stopped by.” He sighed, admitting, “She’s dead set against us.”
“What?” Emmy Lou stared at him, blinking slowly. “I can’t…I can’t do this anymore.” She slipped from the bed, shaking. “I can’t.”
If that’s what she wanted, he’d do his damnedest to let her go. His chest hurt, his heart hurt, but he managed to keep his shit together.
“I keep trying to give her the benefit of the doubt. But her idea of the truth is whatever version best suits herself. Her addiction… I want to believe her. That it’s real and she’s getting help, but I don’t know anymore…” Her gaze darted his way, her lower lip wobbling.
He stood and wrapped his arms around her. “You think she’s capable of that?” He was no fan of CiCi King, but it was hard to wrap his head around what she was saying. “Why?”
“If she’s a victim, she can’t be blamed. I’m not sure she sees it that way or what she’s doing, it’s just…who she is. An addiction makes all the things she did or didn’t do not her fault.” She stayed in his arms, stiff. “I can’t believe I’m saying this…”
“It’s okay.” He hugged her closer.
“It’s not. She’s my mother.” There was a long pause before she spoke again. “But I finally understand why there’s so much tension between Momma and Krystal.” Her green eyes found his. “Krystal sees Momma for who she is, not who she pretends to be. And Momma can’t deal with that.”
He hurt for her, to the core. If there was one thing he could count on, it was his father and Aunt Mo’s honesty—even if it was hard to hear. Dealing with CiCi King hadn’t been pleasant, but he wasn’t her child. He’d assumed all her threats and lies were only for those she considered a threat to her family.
“I can’t blame her for keeping such a tight grip on me. If it wasn’t for Daddy, Krystal would be lost to her. Travis doesn’t put up with her drama, either, but he tends to tease instead of get worked up over it.” She stared up at him. “I was the only one who still wanted her approval. But now, I can’t help but wonder what she’s said and done and lied to me about…”
“What changed?” He stepped closer, smoothing a lock of hair from her shoulder.
She didn’t want to answer him. Her long pause told him that. The way her gaze fell to the ground and she was drawing into herself.
“Hey.” He took her hand. “You can tell me.”
It took a moment for her to look at him, longer for her to whisper, “For the first time in my life I wanted something, even though she was dead set against me having it. The more I wanted it, the more doubts and fears she planted. In me, her daughter.” She shook her head. “She’s my mother. But I don’t think she understands what it means to really love someone. If she did, she’d listen to what I wanted—not expect me to replace it with what she thinks is best.”
Brock hugged her then, running his hands down her back. Krystal had hinted that Emmy wasn’t happy, but he’d never imagined it was this bad. How could the woman look her daughter in the eye and know she was depriving her of happiness? “What can I do?”
Her hand slid up, along his shoulder and around the back of his neck. “You’re doing it.”
He kissed her until she was swaying into him and any and all thought beyond the feel of one another no longer mattered. Long after she’d fallen asleep, still tangled in his arms, he sorted through everything she’d said. No matter what CiCi King had done or said to him, nothing compared to what the woman had done to her own daughter. Love was a gift, not a tool. Emmy needed reminding of that. There was nothing he wanted more in this world than to be the one to remind her.
Chapter 17
Emmy stared at the glossy Wheelhouse Records folder, full of dates, locations, and opening acts. “Wow…just wow. Europe?”
“Wanted to make sure there wasn’t a problem with the dates.” Daddy sipped his coffee. “Your sister and Jace are fine with it.”
“I am, too. In case you wanted to know.” Travis winked at her. “You sure you don’t want one?” he asked, sliding the bakery box across the table.
“Wouldn’t want to deprive you of breakfast.” Emmy laughed.
“Oats. Raisins. That’s healthy.” He shrugged, continuing to chow down on the freshly baked oatmeal cookies he’d had delivered to the Kings Coach II.
The first date was March. In London. Football season would be over. Brock had said “us.” She’d liked the way it sounded. Brock and London and March.
“Emmy?” Daddy was watching her. “Do these dates work? I’ll be honest, I thought you’d be more excited.”
“She might not be, but I am.” Travis spun the glossy folder, eating another cookie. “Weeks in Europe. Hot French chicks for me and Sawyer. They dig cowboy hats and boots,” he said to Sawyer. “We’re going to have a good time. Guaranteed.” Daddy sighed, shaking his head, but Travis ignored him and glanced her way. “Why the long face, Em?”
“I was just a little caught off guard.” She shrugged.
“When have we ever gone more than eighteen months without hitting the road?” Travis pushed. “Or are you worrying about leaving Watson?” He was smiling so big, she almost stomped on his foot under the table. He knew she was thinking about Brock. And she knew he was using Watson as code for Brock. “I don’t know what sort of papers he’s going to need. He eats a lot, too, so that might be hard to keep up with. And he needs exercise… Or you could leave him here with Momma.”
She was almost laughing.