Page 116 of Heartstrings & Horseshoes

I flinch at her words, hating that she or anyone thinks of me, or Connor, that way.

“Get off me! Get out and I won’t call the cops,” I plead, wrenching out of her grasp.

She snaps her fingers and the goblin from the front door rushes me, backing me into a corner in the living room. He cages me in while my mom destroys my apartment, searching for anything she can sell.

He’s too close. I try to get away, but he grips my jaw, his thick fingers digging into the flesh of my cheeks. Stale booze wafts off him, making me gag.

“Go ahead,” Mom says to the man, whose mouth lilts into a predatory grin that has me trembling. “You’ve got until I’m done searching the place.”

Without warning, the front door blasts open, wood splintering as it slams against the wall.

“GET OFF MY WIFE!” Connor booms.

The creep’s ripped away from me by the hair, Connor throwing him to the ground like a piece of trash. The clunk of his skull cracking against the hard wood floor vibrates in my bones.

Connor’s cowboy boots obliterate the guy’s ribs and back despite the fact he’s already unconscious.

He whips around to catch me as I fall into his arms, shaking.

“Are you okay?” he asks, checking me for injuries. I think I nod. I’m not sure.

I’m not here, because this can’t be happening.

The unmistakable click of the hammer of a gun halts all movement.

Connor blocks my body with his own like a human shield.

“Come on, boy. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I was just explaining to your bitch of a wife how you’re gonna support me from here on out as a thank you for letting her live this long,” Mom snarls.

When the man groans from the floor, Connor delivers another kick to his side. He steps away from the heap of human garbage on the floor and holds me behind him.

“Sit down, Ivy.” His voice is firm but calm. “Put the gun down.”

Either she’s extremely confident in herself, or too high to make a different choice, but she collapses onto our couch. She slams the gun onto the coffee table, and I flinch, terrified it’ll go off. Unconcerned, she fishes a bag of poison and a cloudy glass pipe from her jacket pocket—blackened at the end from use.

I can’t look away as she loads the pipe and holds a plastic lighter under the bulb until she’s ready to smoke it.

She inhales deeply and twitches like electricity is coursing through her veins. She quickly pales and sweat beads on her pallid skin. Her eyes dart around, rapidly losing control to the high.

Connor instinctively takes a step back, protecting me between his body and the wall.

Her breathing is shallow and rapid, like she can’t get enough air. The electricity in her veins is pulsing—her hands going rigid and twitching at unnatural intervals.

Her hand flies to her chest and I know.

She falls forward off the couch, contorting on the floor. Her choked gasp reaches into my chest and tugs on my heart as my mother dies on the floor of my apartment.

“Call 911,” Connor says quietly, but he doesn’t move to help her. I’m frozen to the spot, too fixated on a chip in the coffee table to locate my phone.

“Delilah, baby, I need you to call 911.” He hands me his phone and I dial.

The voice on the other end says something, but I can’t make out the words. Connor gently takes the phone from my hand and speaks to the dispatcher in low, clipped sentences. He gives them our address, explains the situation, and tells them there’s a gun present.

Long moments pass. Connor walks over to her body and kneels to check her pulse. He meets my dead eyes and shakes his head.

You’d think I’d be crying, or screaming, or begging him to save her. Instead, I can’t move. A warm peace flows through me, sickly grateful she’s gone.

A scraping noise draws our attention. Mom’s accomplice is trying to drag himself to the door. Connor crosses the room in three long strides and holds the guy down beneath his boot.