Twisted Collide: The new sports romance in the Redville Saints series
Twisted Collide: Chapter 7

The sound of my phone blaring in the distance has me peeking my head out from under the blanket draped over my face.

Ouch.

How much did I drink last night?

Too much, that’s what.

I regret turning the phone back on when I got to my room early this morning.

A smile spreads across my face.

Even though my head pounds, I don’t regret it. Not one minute of it.

That man was delicious and exactly what I needed. Now, I have to face the music of my choices, but at least I’ll have a wonderful memory to get me through the grueling days ahead.

Again, the loud and obnoxious ring from my phone goes off. Whoever is calling will not take no for an answer. That means it’s one person . . . the one person I am not in the mood to speak to right now.

I’m not ready to deal with her. Not when it feels like I just closed my eyes.

On the fourth ring, I push the blanket off my body and grab my phone.

Yep, it’s her, and as much as I don’t want to answer the call, I’m very well aware that if I don’t, she won’t stop annoying me.

I press the button and wait.

“I’d ask where you are, but I know damn well where you are.”

“Hello to you too, Mother.”

“How could you?” Her harsh voice echoes throughout the room.

“You’re going to need to be clearer on what I’m being yelled at for.” Something tells me this will be a long conversation filled with lectures and threats, which means I probably should make myself comfortable.

I prop myself up in my bed, rearranging the pillow behind me.

“You know what I’m talking about. Booking a hotel room. Imagine my surprise when your father texted me last night and told me you never showed up at the party. Then I check my email, and I had a notification from the credit card company that a hotel was paid for on my credit card.”

“Oh yeah, about that—”

“I’m not done speaking, Josie.” She lets out a long, audible breath. “This has to stop.”

“If you’d allow me to speak—”

“Nope. I’m done listening to you. I have worked myself to the bone my whole life to provide for you, so now you will listen to me.”

Funny, because in all my life, that’s the one thing my mother has never done. It’s always been her speaking and me listening. I’ve never had the chance to voice my concerns because anytime I’ve tried, I’ve been gaslit or ignored entirely. Maybe that worked when I was a child, but if she wants me to grow up, then she needs to start treating me like an adult.

“First things first, I expect you to take my credit card out of your wallet and cut it up,” she orders.

“Fine,” I say.

Cutting up my credit card is extra, even for her, but she’s right. I need to figure it out for myself.

“I expect you to then drop it in the mail. I want you to send it to me to prove it’s been done.”

“Okay.”

“Good, and then after you do that, I expect you to head over to your father’s place. You are too old to be a freeloader. You will work for him. You will do what you need to make connections.”

“I don’t need your lectures anymore. I’m an adult.”

“Too bad, young lady. You’ve made it really clear you can no longer be trusted.”

“Mom—”

“You’re behaving like a child. You are twenty-two years old, and it’s time for you to start acting like it. You understand me?”

“Mother,” I snap. “Can I talk?”

“No,” she barks back, and I’m seconds away from losing my cool for the first time ever. “Josephine . . .” What now? What more can she say to me? It’s bad enough she shipped me to live and work with a man I’ve never met before . . . someone she’s purposely kept out of my life. Now she’s just piling it on thick. “I’m doing this because I love you.”

My heart feels tight in my chest. It’s always the same. Berate and then declare it’s all done out of love. She constantly trivializes my feelings. The older I get, the more I see it for what it is. She gaslights me, and I stonewall her. I should respond, but all I can get out is “Okay.” Then I hang up. There’s no point in trying; nothing will change my mother’s mind once it’s made up. Now, it’s time to face the music.

I’m not sure what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. This house is much nicer than how I pictured it. In my imagination, living in his guesthouse didn’t make sense, but now it does. The property is ginormous, and the house even bigger. Must be nice to have had all this yet have no relationship with your kid.

Even now that I’m moving in with him, I’m not sure he’ll have any interactions with me. The man won’t even know I’m here.

I take it all in and replace myself feeling wholly insecure. Who is this guy?

The house is a large colonial with red brick and white pillars. It’s the type of house that reminds me of a Christmas movie. The type of house where a happy family lives.

It seems a little large for one person.

My stomach plummets . . . is he alone?

I never asked, and now that seems like a very important detail.

He might have a whole family. I might have half-siblings.

I feel sick.

Bile crawls up my throat, and my hand lands on my stomach as if that can stop the ill feeling.

What will I do if he does? It’s been hard enough dealing with the fact that I had a dad I didn’t know about, but what if I have a whole damn family?

I take a step up to the front door and pause for a moment, wondering if I’ll ever be ready for this introduction. No part of me wants to knock, but I’ve already stalled long enough.

It’s time to put my big girl panties on and face whatever’s to come.

Just as I raise my hand to knock, the door swings open, and there he is.

I know it’s him right away because, like me, he has eyes the color of a tropical ocean. So blue they are almost translucent.

My mouth opens and shuts as my hands shake at my sides.

Is this how it feels when your whole life changes?

“You must be Josie? I’m Robert, your father.”

So formal. So awkward.

My hands go behind my back, and I rock on my feet, unsure of what to say or do.

“Come in,” he says, stepping aside and motioning for me to enter.

The place is even grander inside. I can’t imagine kids have ever lived here. Everything is marble and expensive. So contrary to where I grew up.

It makes me wonder if this is why Mom kept me away. Did she feel inadequate compared to this man? I surely do, and I’ve hardly spoken a word to him.

“I know this is a bit . . .” He sounds almost unsure himself.

“Overwhelming? Weird?”

He chuckles awkwardly. “We’ll go with overwhelming.” He offers me a smile, but I can’t even force one of my own.

“I know this is a lot. It is for me too,” he admits. “But for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here.”

I’m not sure how to feel about his words. Surely some warmth or happiness should envelop me, right? Wrong. I feel nothing but uncertainty and insecurity.

“Let’s take it day by day, shall we?” he says, and I nod.

That’s as much as I can offer. Because no matter how glad he is that I’m here, in twenty-two years, he’s never once came for me. And that’s something I won’t forget.

“About this job. What exactly will I be doing? Because I have to tell you, I don’t think I’ll make a very good winemaker.”

He quirks a grin. “No winemaking in your immediate future.”

“Oh, thank God,” I say with a massive breath of relief.

He cocks his head to the side. “Didn’t your mother tell you why you were coming here?”

I rock back on my heels, suddenly uncomfortable hearing him speak about my mother in any capacity. I don’t know anything about their relationship because she refused to talk about it. As far as I can guess, I’m the product of a one-night stand that was never going anywhere.

That makes me think of the stranger from last night, but I tamp that down because I do not want my mind to wander to comparisons when my mother is part of the equation.

Yuck.

“I need assistance in marketing for the hockey team I coach,” he says, and I can’t help but groan.

“Hockey,” I mutter. “As in sticks and black rubber.”

He perks an eyebrow. “Not a fan of hockey?”

This feels like déjà vu, and I wonder if the universe is truly out to get me. Regardless of my less-than-fond thoughts on the homicidal sport, I need this job.

“I’ll admit I don’t know much about it, but I’m a quick study and ready to learn.”

He nods his head. “Great. That’s what I like to hear. Team player.”

Something tells me he wants me to smile, but I can’t. Everything feels twisted and wrong. What have I gotten myself into? Can I do this?

Yes.

I don’t have a choice. Getting work experience is what I need. Without it, I’ll never get a real job. I will make this work, and I will prove to my mother that I’m not a lost cause.

Universe, please be kind.