Break of Day (23 page)

I
made it to my mother's new apartment in record time. But when I banged on the door, as I suspected, there was no answer. So with a heavy heart, I headed to David's house instead.

David lived at the end of a dead-end street, in a small neighborhood with rundown houses, most of them abandoned. I'd only been there once before, years ago, when my mother had gotten herself in a bad way and couldn't figure out how to start her car. I still remembered the smell of the place like it was yesterday, however. A kind of burnt rubber stench permeating the residence. And that wasn't half as disturbing as the people who had been there. People just hanging out, their dead eyes staring listlessly at the television set, which hadn't even been turned on. It was horrifying, to say the least, and at the time I had made a vow to never return.

So much for that.

With trembling hands, I walked up the front steps and reached up to bang on the door. At first, there was no answer. But I caught sight of my mother's car parked in the street and so I banged again.

“Hold your horses, I'll be there in a second.”

The door squeaked open a crack. A pair of watery blue eyes peeked out from the other side. “What do you—” David started to say, then stopped. “Oh. It's you.” He pulled the door open wide. “She's in the kitchen. Rambling on like a crazy bitch. I need you to get her out of here. She's annoying my customers.”

I pushed past him, not dignifying him with a response, making my way to where I remembered the kitchen to be, stepping over piles of trash—some of them possibly people. The stench of burning rubber rose to my nose again—eau du burnt meth chic—and my stomach lurched in disgust.

Oh, Mom. Why? You were doing so well.

I stepped into the kitchen. My mom was sitting there, eating a bowl of cereal. She looked well, surprisingly. She'd gained a few pounds in rehab and her eyes looked less sunken and less shadowed than they'd been.

She looked up, surprised. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

“I've come to take you back to Safe Harbor.”

She shook her head. “I'm done with that place.”

“Mom, you have a week left of treatment.”

“Don't need it. I'm already cured.”

“Why are you here then?”

She frowned. “I was just visiting David. Am I not allowed to visit friends?”

“Not if those friends are drug dealers, no.”

She rose to her feet. “I'm not doing drugs anymore,” she shot back indignantly. “I told you—I'm cured!”

“Okay.” I forced out a breath. “Then can I give you a ride home? Maybe buy you some groceries?”

Her expression softened. “Thank you, sweetie, but I have my car. Though . . .” She gave me a searching look. “Now that you mention it, I am a little short on cash right now. Maybe you could spare a few bucks for gas? And food, of course. I'll swing by the grocery store on the way home.”

I bit my lower lip. Sometimes I wondered if she actually believed the lies she told me herself. That she was truly delusional enough to think if I gave her money she'd spend
it on food and gas. I had to hope that was true—that she wasn't purposely trying to scam me each and every time.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I can't give you money. At least not until you complete your rehab. That was the deal.”

“I did complete it!” she snapped, her calm façade crumbling away. “And I'm fine! I'm telling you. I mean—look at me! I'm here at David's and I'm eating fucking cereal! Everyone here is high—except me!”

“Yeah, 'cause you don't have any money,” I shot back, anger rising inside of me. “I'm not stupid, Mom!”

“No. You're not stupid,” she jeered. “You're just a self-righteous bitch! You think you're better than me? With that fancy job and that rich boyfriend of yours? How dare you come here—to
my
world—to tell me how to live
my
life? Especially seeing as you're the one who fucked it all up to begin with.”

“Mom . . .”

“I lied for you. I went to prison for you. I spent years locked up so you wouldn't have a black spot on your record. What would your fancy little job or your rich little boyfriend say if they knew the truth about you? That you murdered your own brother!”

I flinched, her words twisting in my gut like knives as panic rose to my throat again. In an instant, my mind flashed back to that night. That terrible night.

Piper! Wake up! Where's your brother?

Where the HELL is your brother?

Then, out of nowhere, Asher's voice broke through the scene.

Addicts never take responsibility for their actions. But that doesn't make them not responsible.

I swallowed hard. I squared my shoulders. I looked my mother in the eyes. “I did not murder Michael,” I said.

“You were supposed to be watching him!”

“
You
were supposed to be watching him. You were his mother. But you chose to leave him. You chose your addiction over your own son.”

She stared at me, horror clear in her eyes. But I wasn't finished yet.

“Yes, I fell asleep. And I will live with that guilt every day for the rest of my goddamned life. But I was not the adult in that situation. I was not the one who should have been in charge. All my life I've heard you tell me that you lied for me, that you went to prison to protect me. But that's bullshit, Mom. All you wanted to do was protect yourself. Because if you didn't make up that story? I wouldn't have been the one charged with murder. You would.”

My mother's face crumbled. She fell back in her chair. Her skin was white as a ghost's and her whole body was shaking.

“Piper . . .” she tried, but I shook my head.

“I'm done letting you guilt me into feeding your disease. I'm done lying to you to make you feel better about yourself. You either go back to rehab and face your demons for real or I am cutting you off forever. Either way—you will never, ever blame me for Michael's death—ever again.”

I swallowed hard, going silent, waiting for her answer as my heart thrummed madly in my chest. I tried to tell myself that her response didn't matter—that I had stood up for myself for once in my life—forced her to listen to the truth and that was a step in and of itself. But deep down, I wanted her to hear me—to really hear me. Because until she did—until she accepted what happened in the past—she could never truly move forward. Just as I hadn't been able to—until Asher and that boat set me free.

For a moment, she said nothing, just stared at her hands. Then, finally, she rose to her feet.

“I think I'm . . . ready to go back,” she said, her voice cracking on the words. “To Safe Harbor, I mean.” She drew in a shaky breath. “Please . . . Piper . . . can you take me back?”

I pulled her into my arms. She sobbed against my chest and tears fell from my own eyes as well. I stroked her hair—which was still so brittle and thin—just as my mother herself. My heart wrenched in my chest. So many years—so many years just wasted. But now, finally, a chance to start again.

“I'll take you back,” I said. “I will always take you back.”

A
fter my mother left, I went surfing. It had been a while since I'd been out on the water, besides that one lesson with Jayden, and I'd almost forgotten how good it felt to paddle out beyond the surf. To sit on my board, feeling the waves gently rock me up and down as I waited for the perfect swell. Out here, one with nature, my problems started to ebb away—at least for now.

I read somewhere online that you can think a thousand thoughts while waiting for a perfect wave and when you paddle toward that wave you can think a few thoughts. But when you finally catch that wave—there's only one thing on your mind.

Joy.

And that was what I was chasing today. Mindless joy. That moment where I could forget everything else and just be happy.

But for some reason, today the waves weren't working the way they once had. Sure, they had no issues in bringing me back to shore. But once I arrived, my problems were still
there, still waiting for me where I'd left them. Try as I might I couldn't lose myself. I couldn't shut them out.

I still couldn't believe the trap my mother had constructed—or the way I'd just wandered right in, no questions asked. Now she had me right where she wanted me, and I didn't know what to do about it. I could go along with her scheme, and maybe Piper would understand. But where would it end? How long would I be trapped under her thumb? Once upon a time, I had resigned myself to this life—never seeing an alternative. But now that I'd felt the sunshine of freedom—shining on my face—I couldn't bear to bring myself to step back into the shadows.

As I rode a wave to shore, I observed a lone figure emerge from the parking lot and step out onto the sand. At first I didn't think much of it. But then, my eyes widened in recognition. Was that Piper? What was she doing here, willingly walking out onto a beach?

I took the wave as far as I could, then dragged my board to shore, out of the water and up the beach. She was standing closer to the water's edge than I'd seen her stand in the past and she looked radiantly happy. My heart squeezed in my chest.

This girl. This beautiful freaking girl.

“There you are!” she cried. “I thought I was going to have to send out a search party!”

I blushed, remembering I had told her I would wait for her at the surf school. “Sorry,” I said. “I didn't mean to disappear. I just . . . needed some time alone.”

Her brow creased. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Absolutely not!” I grabbed her and pulled her toward me. She laughed and jumped away.

“You're soaking wet!” she cried.

“And you love it!” I leapt forward, grabbing her again. She squealed, but I wouldn't let her get away, tackling her to the sand. Then I kissed her soundly on the mouth. “I missed you,” I said when I had finished.

“I've only been gone two hours.”

“Two very lonely, terrible hours.”

She rolled her eyes, then gave me an affectionate look. “I promise, it won't happen again.”

“So you look happy,” I said. “What happened with your mother? Do I dare hope for good news?”

Her smile widened. She pulled her knees to her chest. I listened as she told me about finding her mother and giving it to her straight for the first time in her life. When she got to the part about her mother returning to rehab, my heart soared. I pulled her to me again, cradling her in my arms. And this time she didn't protest getting wet.

“That's wonderful, Piper,” I whispered.

She nodded. “I know, right?” she asked. “I still can't believe it. I finally stood up to her. And she totally responded. It was amazing.” She turned to me, her eyes shining. “I think it might really stick this time. She might actually be ready to accept the help she needs.”

“I'm so proud of you, sweetheart,” I murmured in her ear, my heart feeling very full.

Piper nodded, giving me a happy look before rising to her feet, looking out over the sea. Then, to my surprise, she started walking toward the edge. I watched, breath caught in my throat, as she stopped a few feet from the water, then turned to look back at me.

She held out her hand.

Realizing her meaning, I scrambled to my feet, running over and grabbing her hand, squeezing it tight. Then, together, without saying a word, we walked to the water and stepped in.

Then we took a second step. And a third.

As we took a fourth step, I stole a glance over at Piper. She was shaking a little and her skin was stark white. But she didn't turn around and she didn't stop. Instead, she took a fifth step, then a sixth, until she was up to her waist in water, still wearing her clothes. The waves crashed all around us, splashing us, but she ignored them, turning to me and meeting my eyes with her own as she took my other hand.

Then she kissed me, her hands pulling me closer to her, until our bodies were flush against one another, our mouths
fusing together. And in an instant, the ocean was gone, my problems were gone, and it was just her and me—nothing else mattered but the taste of salt on her skin. Our mouths moving against one another, hard and desperate. As if the simple act had the power to chase away a lifetime of demons.

And hell, maybe it did.

The kiss went on for eternity, but even that wasn't long enough for me. When we finally parted, she looked up at me with glassy, dazed eyes. But she didn't make a move to step out of my embrace—or run to the shore. And so I stroked her back, smiling down at her. Soaking wet, maybe a little cold, but oh so happy.

“You are truly amazing,” I told her.

She blushed. “I don't know about that.”

“Well, I do. And, haven't you heard? Asher Anderson is always right.”

I scooped her up into my arms, as if she were a baby, carrying her out of the sea. I laid her down on the towel I'd brought and started to dry her off and warm her up, taking my time with each and every body part.

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you, too.”

“And I'm proud of you.”

She smiled up at me, looking a little sheepish. “I finally got into the water!”

“I'm proud of you for so much more than that.”

We lay on the beach for a long while, cradled in each other's arms. Talking a little, but not about anything big or important. It was nice and peaceful and I was so proud of Piper—for pushing past her fear. I thought back to the first day I had seen her on the beach at Beth's wedding. How scared she'd been. Like a little mouse. Now she was a fucking lion.

Unlike . . . say . . . me.

“What's wrong?” Piper asked, clearly feeling me stiffen. She propped herself up on her elbow, cradling her head with her hand, looking at me with worried eyes.

I groaned, falling onto my back, staring up at the sky. I
didn't want to tell her. But how could I keep it a secret? She was going to find out eventually. Better she hear it from me.

“After you left, I had a visitor,” I told her. “My mother. She suggested we do this huge press conference to get everyone excited about the surf school.”

“Really? But that's great! The more press, the better!”

“Yeah. I mean, that part is great, you're right. It's just . . . there's more.”

I drew in a breath and spit out the whole story. She listened carefully, without comment. When I had finished, she nodded.

“So you do it with Sarah. No big deal.”

“No.” I shook my head. “It
is
a big deal,” I argued. “I refuse to let them disrespect you in that way. I mean, there would be no surf school without you. People need to know that.”

I squeezed my hands into fists, watching the knuckles whiten over the bone. “I should have never asked her for the money. After all, I know better than anyone it always comes with strings attached.”

I rose to my feet, pacing the sand, trying to quell the anger I could feel rising inside of me. I thought back to all the times my mother had manipulated me—used me—for her own personal gain. And I had let her do it all these years. Like a trained monkey. A circus bear.

She may not have been an addict like Piper's mother. But I had enabled her all the same.

“I wish I could be as brave as you,” I muttered. “I mean, you stood up to your mother . . .”

“And you can, too,” Piper said. She rose to her feet and crossed over to me, pulling my hands into her own. “And you will. Once the school is fully, independently funded, we won't need her anymore. We can write up grants and present them to the city. We'll hold fundraisers. We'll make our school completely self-sufficient. Then you can finally be free.”

I groaned. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It's not simple,” she replied. “But the difficulty would be worth it in the end, don't you think?”

“Yes,” I said. “Of course. But . . .” I trailed off. “It's complicated,” I said at last.

“You're worried she'll disinherit you,” Piper observed. “I get that—I do. Walking away from all that money would be scary. But it might also make you happy. And wouldn't it be better to be happy than rich in the end?”

“Of course it would!” I snapped. “But it's not about the money. Have you seen the way I live my life? I don't give a shit about the money.”

She frowned. “Then what's wrong? I mean, if you're not worried about the money . . .”

I stared out onto the water for a moment, not sure if I wanted to answer. But she'd shared everything with me—even the stuff that was hard. The stuff that was humiliating beyond belief. And when she had—it had helped her break free of her own shackles. Maybe it was time for me to do the same. Maybe it was finally time to come clean to someone at last. Someone I could trust with this secret that had been weighing me down for three years.

“You remember when my father had his accident?” I said at last. After she nodded I continued. “Well, he lost a lot of blood. He needed a transfusion and, of course, I wanted to help. So I went to have my blood tested—to see if I was a match.”

I paused, the memory of that day flooding my brain. I had been so worried about my father. My childhood hero. If something were to happen to him. If he were to die . . . to leave me all alone . . .

I drew in a breath, turning back to Piper. “Well, I wasn't a match.”

“So you . . . couldn't give blood to your father?”

“I don't know. The man in the hospital wasn't my father.”

“Wait, what?” She stared at me, incredulous.

I raked a hand through my hair. “My parents both have O negative blood. That means they're universal donors. They could give blood to anyone and would always make a big show of donating when there was some local tragedy or whatever. After all, my mom never turned down the chance
for free publicity.” I made a face. “But when I got my blood tested, they said I had type A. Which means there's no way I could be biologically related to both of them.”

Piper stared at me, her face warring with confusion. “But that's not an exact science, Asher. You can't prove paternity through blood type alone.”

“You're right,” I said. “Which is why I had a DNA test done to confirm it. Turns out the man I called father my entire life—the one I always looked up to and in whose footsteps I wanted to follow—he isn't any relation to me at all.”

“Oh, Asher . . .”

“I went straight to my mother, of course. After arguing with her for a while, she finally admitted to the affair. Not a love affair, mind you,” I spit out, the anger coursing through me now as I relived that day. “Hell, I could almost forgive her for that. But she—she slept with one of the advertisers. Some married guy with deep pockets and a lusty eye. She got drunk with him and slept with him so he'd give her money for News 9. It wasn't until a few months later that she realized he'd knocked her up.

“My father was thrilled when he found out she was pregnant. He'd wanted a son forever and they'd been trying for years with no luck.” I shrugged. “So she let him believe it was his. Why not, right? Certainly my real father—the fucking bastard with another family—wouldn't want me. And this way my mom had an heir to the family fortune like she'd always wanted.”

Piper's face was awash with horror mixed with pity. “I'm so sorry, Asher.”

I waved her off: I needed to finish. “Anyway, after she confessed she swore me to secrecy. She reminded me how vulnerable my father was now. How fragile. If he were to find out the truth, that I wasn't his son, it might just kill him.”

The sympathy on Piper's face twisted to indignation. “So that's why you let her push you around now? Because you think she'll tell him if you don't do what she says?”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Everyone thinks it's because of the money, of course. But I don't give a crap about the money.
In fact, I would love nothing more than to lose all the money. Money has destroyed my mother. My entire family. I would gladly give every penny away if it meant I could be free.”

My voice broke and I found I couldn't continue. Piper pulled me into her arms. At first, I just stood there, trying to stanch the rage that radiated through me, too angry to accept her comfort. But she didn't give up, stroking my back, planting small kisses on my chest. And at last I gave in, wrapping my arms around her and attempting to accept the warmth and love she was offering me.

“What was it you said to me?” she murmured. “That we are not our parents? We can't let their mistakes define our lives. I know it's scary—believe me, I've been there myself. But I think you should tell your father the truth.”

I shook my head. “No.”

“But, Asher—”

“You don't understand! It would kill him!”

“So you'll let it kill
you
instead? Come on, Asher. It's clear this has been tearing you apart for the last three years—I'm sure he can tell something's wrong. Doesn't he deserve to know the truth—however painful it might be?”