STEVIE M
y toes tap with nerves against the white marble floor as I wait for
my Uber to arrive. My suitcase is on the smaller side, just enough to
get me through a five-day stay in Seattle. I’m not sure how long it’ll take me to find an
apartment, especially one I can afford, but I figured I could use the extra time to explore
my new city, and being away from Chicago, where no one knows me, will be good.
There’s no crowd stalking me outside my apartment today, which is a bit surprising,
seeing as Zanders and the team won at home last night, clinching their spot in the Stanley
Cup Finals. But now that they’ve got their pictures and there’s nothing left to hide, it
seems like r eporters couldn’t care less about who I am.
Chicago’s first Stanley Cup berth in eight years overtook the headlines, and even
though I didn’t look, I’d assume anything about me or our relationship was just a footnote
in comparison.
“Doesn’t look like you’re heading to Pittsburgh,” our doorman notes, referring to the
team traveling there tomorrow, his eyes locked on my suitcase in tow.
“Not this time.” I offer him a small smile before averting my attention back to the glass
doors, waiting for my ride.
He stands next to me, his hands folded behind his back. “You know, Miss Shay. I see a
lot. I hear a lot, and I ke ep a lot of secrets. But you’d have to be blind not to see how much
you’re going to hurt that boy if you don’t tell him you’re moving.”
My eyes dart to him. “How’d you know?”
“Been doing this job for forty-seven years. I pick up on things.”
Before I can respond, a figure across the street catches my attention. Her slender
frame. Her shiny black hair, styled in a sleek low bun. The overly expensive purse that
hangs on her arm.
“Excuse me,” I absentmindedly add to our doorman before leaving my suitcase in the
lobby with him and darting outside.
“Lindsey!” I yell as I look in both directions before running across the street to catch
up with her. “Lindsey!” I shout again, but she doesn’t turn around, continuing straight for
Zanders’ building.
“Lindsey,” I add one last time, lightly grabbing her arm before she heads up his front
st eps.
She turns around to face me, confusion plastered on her face.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” My arm retreats. “I thought you were someone else.”
Her hazel eyes are strikingly similar, not to mention her cheeky smile.
I shake my head, not believing myself.
“How do you know my daughter?” she asks.
My eyes widen at that. What is she doing here? Does Zanders know she’s here? She
can’t be here, not right now. Not when there’s so much on the line for him.
“What are you doing here?” I harshly ask.
Her entire body rolls with attitude. “Excuse me?”
“I know who you are. You’re Evan’s mom. What the hell are you doing here?”
Her gaze works the length of my body, taking in and judging every inch. My oversized
and thrifted clothes are unimpressive to her, I’m sure, especially compared to her
designer purse and shoes. She clutches the handles of her expensive bag with her
manicured hands, grasping onto them like they hold all the value in the world.
She looks like Zanders, but at the same time, they’re nothing alike.
“I don’t know who you think you are”—her brows furrow in disgust —“but he invited
me here.”
What? Why the hell would he do that? And this week of all weeks?
She turns her back on me, heading up the st eps in her red-bottom heels that have seen
better days.
“You missed out, you know!” I call out, causing her to stop partway, turning towards
me. She stands st eps above me, looking down. “He’s amazing, your son. No thanks to
you.”
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” She leisurely st eps down in my direction
as if she’s stalking her prey.
I stand tall, shoulders back. “I’m talking to the woman who left her sixteen-year-old son
because his dad didn’t make enough money to buy her shit. That’s you, in case you were
confused.”
Her eyes narrow with a suspicious stare. “Mind your business. This has nothing to do
with you. This is between my son and me. I don’t even know who you are.”
“Is that supposed to be surprising?” I release a condescending laugh. “No shit, you
don’t know who I am. You’ve been AWOL the last twelve years.”
“You—”
I hold my hand up, cutting her off. “I’m not done. Your son might not be able to see it
or say it to your face, but he’s better off without you. Who does that? Who leaves their
teenage kid then comes back around when he’s making more money than she could ever
dream of? You left him! He just wanted his mom to love him and you fucking left. But the
joke’s on you because he’s the best person I know, and he became that man all on his own
with no thanks to you. You have no idea what you left behind.”
I turn away from the woman who gave birth to Zanders, but I’m only halfway back to
my apartment before I change my mind and face her again. “Stop coming around for his
money. You’re just embarrassing yourself. You did him a favor by leaving.” I add two
middle fingers for a bit of dramatic flair before I duck into the lobby of my building to wait
for my car once again.