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Coming out of the bathroom, Arien stubbed her toe, close to taking a tumble over a stack of forgotten boxes in the hallway. “Ouch. Motherfu…”
She held onto her foot, hopping the rest of the way to her bedroom in the small townhouse apartment she shared with her mom. It was all packed up, cartons neatly labeled, identifying the contents inside. Bed stripped. Closet and drawers emptied.
It wasn’t like she had a choice.
A moving van was parked outside.
Holding her towel closed, her back against the wall, Arien sat cross-legged on the bare mattress. She had exactly thirty minutes to put on some makeup and get dressed. It should only take her ten.
This is so not fucking fair.
She blew out a breath. A week ago, her room was pretty and her life wasn’t packed away in cardboard boxes. That all changed when her mother and her boyfriend—if that’s what you call a man in his forties—took her out with them to dinner.
And that alone should have told her something was up.
Jennifer Brogan had been dating Matthew Brooks for about six months now, but Arien didn’t know him all that well. A real cowboy, her mother said. He had two sons and lived on some ranch up in Wyoming, an eight-hour drive from Denver. He’d come into town for business, and to see her mom, a few times a month.
He was the one to break the news to her. “Arien,” he said with a smile, taking her mother’s hand in his. “First off, I need you to know I love your mama very much. So much, that I’ve asked her to marry me.”
She about choked on her green chili cheeseburger.
Her mom held up her left hand, waving the huge diamond glittering on her finger. “I said yes.”
Okayyy.
Arien was seventeen, soon-to-be eighteen. She’d be going away to college at the end of summer anyway. Her mom deserved some happiness, right?
Swallowing down the cheeseburger, she put on a smile. “At least you won’t have to change your monogram. When’s the wedding?”
“Next week,” her mother announced, biting her lip. “I’m pregnant.”
“Three months already,” Matthew said, like he was proud of the fact, patting his new fiancée on the shoulder. “I’m coming back with the boys. We’ll get married and have you all moved in before Thanksgiving.”
What? To Wyoming? Nope. Not happening.
“Wait. You want me to move, to change schools during my senior year?”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.”
“You’re going to love Brookside.” Her soon-to-be stepfather patted her on the hand. “We have a superior private school there. The ranch. The mountains. You can take lots of pictures.”
“There’s mountains right here.”
Isn’t thirty-six too old to have a baby anyway? Apparently not. And what happened to all those lectures her mother gave her about having sex, taking precautions, and all that stuff? Mom should’ve listened to her own advice. If she had, Arien wouldn’t be going to a courthouse wedding to leave Denver, and the only life she’d ever known, behind.
Only for a little while.
True. She already had her acceptance letter to UC. She’d be back.
“Sweetie, are you ready yet?” her mother asked from downstairs. “Matt and the boys are here.”
Dammit.
“Almost,” she answered, plucking through her makeup bag.
Clearly a lie. She hadn’t even begun.
Holding a compact mirror in one hand, Arien applied mascara with the other, the towel slipping away from her.
