Page 143 of Hostile Saint

Done.

The growing anger surprised me, confused me, and had me feeling unstable. I was throwing it around like lightning bolts that shot blame wherever I aimed. Why? I didn’t have a clue. The men who terrorized me and my girl were dead. I assumed that would fix everything, but it didn’t. I was no longer in danger but still felt under attack. Every single thing around me became annoying as fuck, including Lynx moving us back into the rental. That’s why I practically growled the next morning, entering the living room to see one of Diesel’s leftover pieces of ‘ass’ in the tiny kitchen.

“Excuse me,” I grumbled, trying to get to the refrigerator for some juice.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her back away, blowing on a cup of coffee. “No problem.”

I opened the fridge and grabbed orange juice.

The girl said, “You’re normally in a better mood in the morning.”

Doing my best to not roll my eyes and snarl, I retorted, “How would you know—”

I froze.

Long blond hair…

I carefully watched her set down her coffee as she giggled.

The juice slipped from my hand and crashed to the floor.

She giggled some more. “Hi, baby.”

I didn’t even look at her. I don’t think I could. The sound of that voice was that welcoming. It was that grounding, instantly making me want to hit my knees and seek forgiveness for what was eating me alive...

I had never seen this woman in person, but I guess you don’t need to when there is such a connection. This wonderful human who had welcomed me into her life so naturally, and loved me from afar, was the only mother-figure I would ever have again. That’s why I rushed into her open arms. The little boy that still lingered in Hostile Saint needed her.

“Oh, baby,” she rocked me, almost crying as hard as I was, “it’s okay. It’s okay.”

I bawled, “You’re here.”

She held me close, pulling my head to where it was hiding in her neck. “I am. Right where I want to be. With you.”

I didn’t know if my biological mother was alive but thought she most likely wasn’t.

I didn’t know where my fake-mom was but knew I would kill her if I saw her.

Then there was Elle, a woman who was able to read me as if I were her own flesh and blood and had raised me herself.

And… she wanted me.

She had sent me everything she thought could help me heal. She watched over my heart. She hadn’t put mean brothers’ needs above mine. She hadn’t run away when learning I wasn’t dead. She hadn’t abandoned the only home I knew because she wanted to avoid me like the plague.

Like a river finally being set free, I cried in that beautiful woman’s arms, repeating, “You’re here.”

She rocked me. “I am, and I’m not leaving until you get to come home with me.”

Those words soothed a broken part of me. There is simply something magical about a mother’s love. And when you have to go without it, it is devastating.

Elle may have lost a child, but she would always have one in me.

I may have lost a mom, but I would always have one in her.

From across the living room, I heard, “Ah, fuck, kid.” Within seconds, Lynx was to us, his arms around us both. “You’re killing me with this shit.” I felt him kiss my hair then heard him kiss Elle.

I don’t know how long the three of us stood there, a family huddled together, but it is one of the best memories of my life. Ours wasn’t a conventional family, but it was mine.

I spent that whole day with Elle. I spent the whole day smiling. She kept grabbing me, hugging me, squeezing my dimples, swearing I was the cutest thing she had ever seen. Elle was a loving mom, a spoiling grandma, and a hot aunt, all wrapped up in one. And she made the rental feel like the perfect home again.