Cole: The Wounded Sons, Leah Sharelle [the reading list .TXT] 📗

“Next time you have a fucked up thought about me, remember who I came from, old man. Mum is your Angel; well, Oaklee is my light. While she is in my life, nothing dark will ever touch her.”

Hanging up on my dad without saying goodbye, another thing I have never done, I left the coms room.

My heart heavy with worry and hurt.

CHAPTER TWENTY

OAKLEE

I walked into the kitchen with the intention of getting a bottle of water and a piece of fruit. Thayer was due to pick me up in fifteen minutes to ‘take me out and help you get over the soldier,’ her words not mine. And while the last thing I wanted to do was get over Cole because we weren’t really broken up yet, at least officially, I did want to get out of this house.

Dirty dishes littered every surface, even though I had cleaned up just yesterday. Empty beer bottles, crushed vodka cans and pizza boxes full of crusts were stacked up on top of the stove.

Delightful.

Seeing my mother sitting at the kitchen table, her head dropped onto her folded arms, I rolled my eyes and continued to the fridge. Grabbing a bottle of water I’d hidden in the vegetable crisper under a cover of rotting lettuce leaves, I popped the top and took a long gulp.

“Where the hell did you hide that?” Mum hissed, turning her head to glare at the water bottle at my lips.

“Crisper,” I replied, wiping my mouth, “no way you or Pete would look there.” Giving her a smirk, I tossed back the rest of the water, taking three gulps to do it.

Mum muttered a string of curses before face-planting back down on the table again.

“Why are you here, Oaklee? You have your own home, you know.”

“I am aware of that, Carla, but this is technically my house, too, if you recall.”

“I pay you rent for this place, daughter of mine. So technically, I can say who can and can’t stay here.”

“Well, considering you are four months behind on your rent, that gives me the right.” Crushing the bottle, I threw it in the sink of dirty dishes, then turned to look at my mother.

Really look at her.

At thirty-nine years old, she looked closer to fifty. Her long black unbrushed hair looked like it had a bucket of grease through it. Her nails were chipped and broken and between her pointer and middle fingers were disgusting yellow stains from smoking, and that was what I observed without seeing her face.

Basically, she was a hot mess.

Buying a house as an investment, I poured all my savings and most of my trust fund from my dad’s grandparents into it. Both his and mine loved him, but all four of them knew giving him a wad of cash would be a bad idea. So, I got it and decided to purchase a house with the idea that bringing in renters would pay off the mortgage faster than I could. My grandparents had already surprised me with my little bungalow, and I didn’t like the idea of moving away from them. How I got talked into renting to Pete and Carla was still a mind-dumbing blur, but I did and pretty well regretted it every day since. The only light in this black hole was the insurance on my mortgage and the real estate agent I hired to oversee the day to day care of the property.

“We aren’t behind, just don’t pay the full amount each week. The tenant board chick said, as long as we are making an effort, then we can’t be evicted.” Mum’s triumphant, muffled response making me grimace because she was right.

“Yeah, you know all the loopholes, don’t you, Carla? God forbid you would actually get a job and become an active member of society.” My sarcastic reply getting my mum’s attention enough for her to bolt up in the kitchen chair. Now, I could see just what her lifestyle was doing to her. The parties, drinking and drug abuse, all of it was slowly and surely killing her.

Casting her green eyes on me, the same green as mine, Mum looked me up and down, a nasty twist gracing her chapped lips.

“You’re too fat, maybe you should stop eating again.”

I didn’t need to look down at myself to see that I had lost weight in the last three and a half weeks. Twenty-four days since I’d left the compound and my job, add another fourteen on top of that since I last saw Cole.

Since I last kissed him, made love to him, and looked into his beautiful, onyx eyes and heard the words ‘I love you’.

I miss you, Cole, and I love you. I left for you, so you don’t have to disappoint your dad.

That had replaced my mantra the last three weeks. I’d repeated those words over and over in my head so many times during the day my heart practically beat to it.

My health had suffered slightly since the confrontation; yeah, I’d lost weight, but I knew when to ask for help this time. I went to my therapist, talked over what was going on in my life to make me drop six kilos. To some, that was not a lot, to my small frame, though, it was huge. Sunken cheeks, collar bones protruding dangerously, and no appetite whatsoever, I sought help before I reached the point of no return. Now, I had clawed back one whole kilo and was back on a healthier eating plan. No hospitalisation this time.

Although, choosing to stay here didn’t make me a good decision-maker.

Neither did leaving Cole without a word—my subconscious accused, rather unhelpfully.

Leaving the Club and my job after that day in the park with Memphis, I ran where no one would be able to find me. Memphis knew about my parents but not that my mum had a different last name. Pete was always in trouble with the law, so everything was in my mother’s name,