Page 31 of Royal Desire

I’ve seen Ruby cry more times than I can count. Watching the tears roll down her face yesterday was more painful than any time before because I caused them.

I think about my life just a few years ago. I was on my way to making partner in my firm in Seattle. I built a solid barrier between my toxic parents and me. Sure, I was coming off a dramatic breakup because I woke up days before my wedding and realized I was lying to myself about love and commitment and was about to fuck up Carly’s life. I don’t remember a time in the last decade that I was happier even though I played my part as the guilt-ridden, remorseful breakup-er like an Oscar-winning performance.

As happy as I was, the remorse was real. I never should’ve let it get that far to begin with. I’ve never felt so relieved and free, though I kept that shit to myself and Dean.

But the last of my father’s fuckups changed the course of my life on a dime. It blew up that barrier I had built like World War III. I had no choice but to quit practicing law. There’s no market for a defense attorney in Winslet. I found myself back home, running a business I wanted nothing to do with, and checking to see if my mother was still breathing every morning. I can do a lot of things, but I can’t make her want to choose life over death at the bottom of a bottle.

My new normal is nothing close to living a happy and content life, but at least I was muddling through.

Ruby showing up changed that. And this little trip down memory lane hasn’t helped.

I jiggle the bag to get the last drops of saline through the IV. Lord knows, she needs every drop.

When it’s finally empty, she’s either asleep or passed out. There is a difference. I’ve figured it out since I’ve been back.

Her arm is limp when I remove the IV and tape a piece of cotton to the spot. I give her shoulder a nudge and raise my voice enough to get through to her. “Mom, wake up. You’re done.”

She finally stirs. “Good. Good, good. I’ll be as good as new.”

I roll my eyes as I clean up. The overwhelming desire to get out of this house claws at me from the inside out. “Take a shower. I’ll bring you some food. You need to eat.”

She nods and tries to push up to her ass. “Mm-kay.”

By the time I return with two warmed plates of leftovers Sadie left in the fridge, I hear the shower. That’s half the battle. I put the food on the table next to the sofa and leave. This is the cycle. She might leave her room a couple of times until the next binge. Sometimes this lasts a day. Sometimes three. Then it starts all over again.

There are times I feel like a willing participant in her own self destruction. I prefer to think of it as managing the unmanageable. She can put me through hell, but at least I’m keeping that hell within the confines of this estate. I know the repercussions of allowing it to bleed into the world.

I’ll live a life of misery to keep that from happening again.

But it’s suffocating. If I don’t escape for even a minute, I’ll implode.

I’m exiting the gates of the property as I open the app to set the alarm. If she so much as opens a door or cracks a window, I’ll know. The need to get away is so strong, my engine revs when I hit the gas. I take the twists and turns coming down the mountain from our property way too fast. The farther I get, the clearer my head is.

I know what I need to do.

I barely stop at the three intersections in town before I take the last turn. It wasn’t even twenty-four hours ago that I was doing this same thing. But tonight, when I jog up to the front door, the house isn’t lit up like the Fourth of July. It’s exactly as I remember when I was welcomed here most of my life. A dim lamp is lit in the family room, and that’s it.

I pull in a deep breath before I hit the doorbell. It’s late but not quite pushing the boundaries of being rude. The low murmur of the TV goes silent before the porch light shines directly in my face. It feels like an interrogation room.

That’s when I see the same blue eyes that torment my dreams peek through the faded lace curtains.

But nothing happens. She doesn’t open the door, nor does she acknowledge me.

I put my knuckles to the door three times. “I see you. Open up.”

Nothing.

And just to grind my gears, the interrogation light goes dark.

Just like my soul.

Fuck me.

I knock again, harder this time. “I just want to talk, Ruby. Open the door.”

The TV turns on again, and this time it’s easier to hear since she cranks up the volume.

I hit the doorbell three times in a row and put my fist to the door. “I won’t give up. I’ll do this until you leave for the Combover tomorrow morning.”