She frowns again. “Pete called me in early.”
Pete Flannigan, owner of—you guessed it—Flannigan’s Irish Pub in Brooklyn Park, is a man who so badly needs to suffer a slow, bloodcurdling, screaming death that I’d willingly hand over my left nut on a platter to watch it happen. Cheap with salaries, well practiced in fighting off sexual harassment lawsuits, and brutal with his employees’ hours, Pete’s the epitome of every douche-cock employer who’s ever run a business.
Here’s where that whole “change” thing—which gives my mother issues—poses a problem. She’s worked for the prick for close to ten years. God help her, I’m not sure why the woman stays. I’ve talked to her about quitting until I was blue in the face. Needless to say, I constantly lose the battle.
“Denise, I can take care of you, Casey, and Gram.” I rest my hands on her shoulders. They feel frail, overworked, and my chest tightens with something I can’t describe. Guilt, possibly. “Let me pull the weight. Casey’s hospital bills are too much.”
She shakes her head and looks into my eyes, a retort perched on the tip of her tongue.
“Stop being stubborn and listen to me,” I continue before she can say a word. “Switch jobs. Go work in a Laundromat to keep yourself busy if you have to. But let me take care of the bills.”
“That’s not your job, Ryder.” She sighs, the lines cracking her face showing her exhaustion. “I’d never allow you to pay for anything in my home. You don’t even live here anymore.”
“And your point would be what?” I question, honestly trying to understand her madness. “I’m the only man left in this family. I not only feel that it’s my duty to help out, but I want to help you, Mom.” Using the name I should be calling the woman who gave birth to me usually works in my favor. “You’ve taken care of me my whole life. Let me do something for you in return.”
Another shake of her head, her tone resolute. “No. Again, Ryder, it’s not your job; it’s his. He might be backed up seven years, but your dad’s finally sending something every month. It’s a decent amount, and we’re doing okay for right now.”
Though the asshole left her when I was fourteen, my father recently started paying child support for my sister.
At least that’s what my mom thinks.
Last summer, after saving a fuckload of cash, I took a trip to California and used a cousin’s address to open an out-of-state checking account.
Since I’ve been graced with the prick’s first, middle, and last name, sending monthly payments as Ryder Jacob Ashcroft Senior is relatively easy. It’s all good. I’m a firm believer of what you don’t know won’t hurt you, and in this case, Denise having no clue it’s really me sending the cash, and not the sperm donor who helped create Casey and me, is something she’ll never lose sleep over. Still, I make a mental note to send more.
“You’re a tough one.” I pull a cigarette from my pack. Before I can put it in my mouth, my mother swats it out of my hand.
Her nose scrunches up. “Disgusting! I can’t believe girls kiss you smelling like that.”
I lift a brow, a smirk twisting my lips. “Many girls kiss me smelling like this. The way I kiss them is how I make their noses forget how to function.”
“My baby boy.” She places a warm hand on my chilled cheek. “You need to take care of yourself. Kisses from the ladies won’t get you longevity. Clean lungs will.”
“I disagree.” Shoving the pack back into the pocket of my sweatshirt, I kiss her forehead. “I’m pretty sure both will help prolong my life.”
A smile lifts her green eyes but vanishes the second she looks at her watch. “Dammit. I have to get going.” She pushes up on her tiptoes and plants a quick kiss on my cheek. Digging her keys from her purse, she starts for her beat-up Corolla. “Call me, okay? I’m getting tired of you being a stranger. We’ve missed you the past couple of weeks.”
I nod and clasp my hands behind my neck, watching her back out of the driveway. My attention stays on her car until it makes a left out of the neighborhood. With a sigh, I bolt up the stairs onto the front porch, sliding my key into the lock. The second I step into the modest rancher, I hear Old Blue Eyes crooning “The Way You Look Tonight” from my grandmother’s vintage record player. I can’t help but smile when I see the black-and-white photos of my grandparents scattered from one end of the living room to the next.
I round the corner to the kitchen and catch a glimpse of Casey and my grandmother dancing to Frankie’s smooth voice. My smile widens, and my grandmother dipping Casey elicits an uncontained chuckle from my chest. Stopping dead in their tracks and beaming in my direction, two of the three women who’ll forever own my heart bum-rush me.
“Ryder!” Casey squeals, jumping up and throwing her arms around my neck.
I stumble back, laughing. God, she’s growing so fast. It feels like it was just yesterday my mother brought her home for the first time. She was the sweetest goddamn thing to ever cross my vision, her existence making me understand what it is to truly love someone. The asshole who legally claims the title of her dad has no idea what he’s missed. With a single look, the kid can fucking blind you, bringing the brightest ray of light to anyone’s dark day.
Having taken well to her last chemo treatment, she’s put on some much-needed weight. “Where’ve you been?” Casey tightens her hold around my neck. “You didn’t stop by last week. Is Amber with you?” She cranes her head to the side, looking over my shoulder. “You better not have a new girlfriend. I like her, Ry.”