Bitter Truth (Hawthorne Vines #1)

As I’m singing the last chorus, I glance to the side and see Wes standing just outside the kitchen, his gaze thoughtful on me.

He’s seen me perform before, though the first time it wasn’t my own music and the second time it was a quiet solo performance in his car. So something proud and beautiful blooms in my chest at the way he’s watching me. At the way he’s nodding his head along with the beat of it.

There’s a pride there. A happiness for me that has nothing to do with him.

I’m starting to learn that Wes is selfless like that.

And it makes me love him even more than I already do.

Chapter Eighteen

WES

It’s after eleven when we finally get the kitchen cleaned up, and even though I’m exhausted, I’m also rejuvenated in a way I wasn’t expecting. In every instance of opening a restaurant in the past, I crawled home afterward and curled into the fetal position on my couch completely depleted.

Tonight, there’s a sense of being tired, absolutely. But I also feel like I could work another opening night straight through if I needed to.

Not only was the response from customers better than I could have imagined, everyone was on point. Kellan and Mark were focused; there were no major mistakes; the front of house didn’t send anything crazy our way that might have bumped us off our game. Memphis kept popping in to let me know about the compliments he was receiving from guests, too.

Then there was Murphy.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so determined to poke my head out of the kitchen as I was tonight, and I had to remind myself a few times that my priority was cooking. Not watching Murphy like a lovesick puppy.

She was incredible, though. Tonight only further highlighted to me how talented she is. Which makes me think she would be a fool not to at least meet with those people from her friend’s new label.

But she has to decide that for herself.

I pick up my phone where it’s been sitting in the little office off the kitchen and prepare to send Murphy a text to let her know I’m wrapping things up.

My heart shoots into my throat when I see the twelve missed calls from Ash.

Clicking on his name, I bring the phone to my ear, waiting with bated breath as it rings. And rings. And …

“Mom’s in the hospital.”

He says it the second he answers the phone, and my throat tightens.

“Mira and I went to fucking Vegas, and I can’t get a flight home until tomorrow morning. Can you go?”

I sigh. Part of me wants to say no, as horrible as it sounds. When you have an addict as a parent, you can only repeat the same actions over and over again so many times before it feels useless.

But I won’t say no. Not just because I love my mother and want to make sure she’s okay and not alone. Because I love my brother. He’s a lot more emotionally connected to her than I am, and if this is something I can do to help ease his stress and worry, I’ll do it.

“Text me the details. I need to go change, but I’ll get on the road in the next half hour, okay?”

I hear Ash exhale on the other end of the line, and I know I’ve alleviated at least a little bit of the stress.

“Thank you, Wes.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just text me, okay?”

We get off the phone, and I drop into the desk chair, giving myself a moment before I soldier on.

My mother has been in the hospital, on average, every few years for as long as I can remember. The first time, I was seven and Ash was two, and she got in a car accident because she was drinking and driving. We were at home for four days without any adults when she finally came home.

The most recent time was because she was drunk and passed out at a bus stop, and a Good Samaritan called an ambulance for her. I was in Chicago for that one, but I remember the way Ash sounded when he called me. She was supposed to be in rehab, and he’d been so hopeful for something good to come from it.

Everything about my mother is a mess, and I’ve tried to be there for her as often as I can. But it’s hard sometimes to go see her when it’s like that.