Threat (15 page)

I let out a sigh. I can't think of a single
important thing in Utah outside of the Cabin, and that's nowhere near
here.

But Threat holds true to his promise, for once.
Less than ten minutes later, we're off the freeway, cruising past
schools, churches, and restaurants, and high end strip malls that
look like every other high end strip mall in the country. Threat
makes a right turn taking us through a residential area. The farther
we go, the bigger the homes get, until we finally park outside the
gate of a private community with high brick walls and looming trees
that block any chances of us getting a glimpse at what's inside.

When I glance back at Threat he's sitting next
to me, calm, cool and collected, like he always is. But there's a
gleam in his eye, like he's up to no good as he scans the street in
front and behind us.

“Should I even ask?”

He shakes his head. “No. you shouldn't.”

“Seriously, Threat, if this is something
illegal...I can't get arrested I'm going to Stanford in three
months!”

“Wait, what school are you going to
again? Remind me because I forgot.”

“I'm seriousl. I could lose my
scholarship if I get arrested!”

“Good God, would you calm your tits?”

My face scrunches into a look of disgust.
“Don't say that, it's gross.”

“Then stop freaking the fuck out,
goddamn. I'm not going to make you do anything illegal.”

I glance back towards the neighborhood. “Then
why are we here? And what are we waiting for.”

“Just…” he holds up a finger
to me as he follows a black sedan with his eyes. The driver passes
us, turning the corner and stopping in front of the gate. I watch in
confusion as Threat's hands tighten around the wheel. Just what is he
planning on doing? The gate opens, and just seconds after the driver
in front pulls through, Threat floors it and zips in behind him.

Shit.

“What the hell are you doing?” I
shout frantically.

“What does it look like I'm doing?”

“Uh, it looks like you're breaking into a
private gated community!”

“This isn't breaking in, give
me
a break.”

“It is! You are not supposed to be in
here unless you have a code! We can get arrested for trespassing, and
you swore you wouldn’t make me do anything illegal!”

“Would you chill the fuck out? You can't
get arrested for this. Besides, if anyone asks we'll just say we're
here as guests.”

I scoff, folding my arms tight across my chest.
What a stupid ass plan.

“Right. Say we're guests of who,
exactly?”

“Guests of Miriam LaFevre.”

“Miriam... LaFevre?” I ask, my
voice tentative. That name is too familiar for comfort.

“Yep,” he says as he parks in front
of a large colonial style home.

I feel a knot build up in my throat as I grip
the edges of the car seat. “Threat, whose house is this?”
I ask shakily. My eyes dart back to him. “Whose house is it?”

He keeps his eyes facing front as he grips the
wheel pensively. “Miriam Lafevre. Formerly known as Miriam
Wilson, and for a short while, Miriam Parker.”

I stare at him waiting for a punch line, but it
never comes. “This is a cruel joke, Threat. Even coming from
you.”

When he looks at me I know he isn't joking. “It
wasn't that hard to find her. When you told me her first name
yesterday all I had to do is trace it back to her maiden name. When I
googled that I found an engagement announcement, which gave me her
new last name,” he says solemnly. I listen on in horror. “Her
husband is a prosecutor and the bar website gave me their address.
Ridiculously easy.”

I'm not sure if I should cry or scream—I
feel like doing both at the same time. “So why are we
here
?”
I demand.

“Because I think you should talk to her.”

Where the hell did he get the audacity to think
that? “Is this one of your stupid dares? Because this game
isn't fun any more, it's fucked up.”

“You said yourself you haven't seen her
since you were a kid.”

“And? When did I say I wanted to see her?
Not once. I thought I made it clear she wants nothing to do with me.”

“Yeah? Well maybe you want something to
do with her.”

“I don't. It's presumptuous and rude and
just….argh.” Threat has pulled some downright awful
shit, and just when I thought he couldn’t top himself, he does.
This is beyond an asshole move. I can't even articulate how
despicable it is. “You are out of line, completely.”

“All it takes is five minutes.”

“I don't
want
to talk to her. Don't you get that? She's the
last
person I want to talk to, except for maybe you, and that's saying a
hell of lot.”

“Look, you said you were fine with her
leaving and not being in your life, right?”

“Yeah, I am. If you understood that then
we wouldn't be here right now.”

He shrugs. “If she doesn’t mean
anything to you then it shouldn't bother you to talk to her.”

He's challenging me with his eyes now. Even
though there's not a hint of arrogance in his tone, and his smug
demeanor is absent for probably the first time ever, I still want to
punch him square in the jaw.

“Fine,” I reluctantly agree. “Five
minutes. But after this, you don't talk to me for the rest of the
trip. No more dares, and no more games. We go back and get your bike
and head to the lake, no pit stops.”

“Fine,” he replies coldly,
unbuckling his seat belt and exiting the car.

I follow suit, feeling a wave of dread wash
over me the second my feet hit the pavement. I always imagined if I
saw my mother again, I'd throw every single achievement my father and
I made in her face, just to remind her of how horrible a person she
is, and show her what she missed out on. But here now on her
doorstep, I feel like that same pathetic little girl who cried every
night for her mother to come home, even when it was beyond clear that
she wanted nothing to do with us. But that's not who I am anymore—I
refuse to be that girl again.

I stand absolutely still, staring at the ornate
double doors, wishing I could turn and run, but I know Threat
wouldn't let me. She's obviously done well for herself because her
place is massive. She's clearly never wanted for a single a thing,
least of all me. I've never wanted her to suffer and I've never
wanted to hurt her. But I did get satisfaction out of the illusion of
her regretting the life she missed out on. Seeing how much she gained
by walking away from us is a dry and bitter pill to swallow.

I take a deep breath to steady my nerves. It
doesn't work.

“Ready?” Threat asks.

I want to shake my head no and beg him not to
make me do this, but you know what? I'm not weak and I'm not that
little girl. Threat's right; if she doesn't mean anything, then
seeing her again shouldn't affect me.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” I reply,
putting on the calmest voice I can muster.

Threat reaches out and presses the doorbell.
Shit, I wasn't ready for it. He sure loves to overstep his
boundaries.

The next few seconds feel like hours until the
door final opens. My heart jumps in my chest and I expect to see her,
but the woman who opens the door looks nothing like my mother. It's
been a while, but there's now way she's changed that much.

She barely cracks the door open and looks
concerned when she sees us. “May I help you?” the lady
asks us.

I can't speak, but much to my demise Threat has
no problem doing it for me. “Yeah, hi, we're here to see
Miriam.”

This is really happening, isn't it?

The woman pauses, looking us over. “I
don't believe she was expecting company.”

“Oh, she knows we're coming, she gave us
the code to the gate,” he says, flashing his own version of a
charming smile.

“Hmm, alright,” she replies
suspiciously. “Let me check with Mrs. LaFevre.”

She shuts the door, leaving me to two minutes
of pure torture. I shuffle my feet and glance up at Threat. “Let's
just go,” I whisper to him, “this was a bad idea
anyways.”

He simply shakes his head, not averting his
eyes from the door. Obviously, whoever that woman is, she doesn't
believe or trust Threat and frankly, I can't blame her for that. I
open my mouth to protest again, just as the door opens.

And standing in the door is my mother.

It's like every breath in my body has suddenly
been sucked out. I stand there in stunned silence, my stomach doing
flip-flops and my heart wrenching. I can't take my eyes off the woman
who looks like an older version of me, with the same amber eyes and
graying auburn hair.

“May I help y—” She looks up,
and cuts herself off the minute our eyes lock.

Seeing her brings back a flood of emotions.
Even though I can barely remember her, I would still know her
anywhere.

“Mom,” I whisper.

She blinks rapidly, as if she doesn't believe
what she's seeing. “Leah?” she says with wonder, here
eyes trailing over me.

I crack a weak smile. “It's...it's been a
really long time.”

She nods slowly. “You're so... grown up.”

“I'm eighteen now. I just graduated.”

“From high school?”

I nod.

“I see,” she says. Her eyes dart to
Threat and her whole face hardens. “Is this your husband?”
she asks, looking him over judgmentally.

“No, he's my stepbrother.”

“Stepbrother?” she repeats with a
haughty laugh.

“Threat,” he says holding out a
hand to her. Her lips purse as she fumbles with the collar of her
white button down. Threat shrugs it off when she doesn't reciprocate.
He might be an ass, but she doesn't know that. What a rude way to
treat someone you just met.

“Come inside,” she tells us
begrudgingly, inching the door open.

This is probably the perfect time to turn and
run. I don't exactly have the best feeling about this. But when I
turn to Threat he gives me a reassuring nod. He follows me as we
shuffle inside and Mom directs us towards one of the couches in her
living room.

“Sit. I'll have Anna make us some tea,”
she says as she rushes out of the room, avoiding eye contact with
either of us. She wasn't ready for this, I can tell.

“Tea?” Threat whispers to me,
holding back laughter.

“Stop,” I whisper. “This was
your idea.”

A few minutes later she returns with the same
woman who opened the door in tow. She's holding a tray with two
glasses of iced tea for Threat and I, and a cup of hot tea for Mom.
We both thank her and take sips. The air in the room is thick and
tense—how exactly do you strike up a conversation with the
mother you haven't seen in twelve years?

“So,” she asks, shifting in her
seat. “Is everything alright with your father?”

“Dad? Yeah, he's fine,” I reply.

It seems as if there's something she's avoiding
asking. “So everything is alright?”

“Everything is great, actually,” I
reply nervously. “I was salutatorian in school. I even gave a
speech. I sent you an invitation.” Which I knew was a pointless
gesture when I did it. But it would have been nice to have had more
than one person in the audience for me. “And I'm starting
school at Stanford in August, on a full ride scholarship.”

She cracks a tight lipped smile, but just
barely. “That's nice,” she says as she takes a sip from
her cup.

“And I graduated with a 4.2 GPA.”

She looks thoroughly unimpressed. “That's
great as well. Education is important. It's too bad your father never
felt the same.” It's like I'm waiting for a reaction or some
semblance of emotion out of her, when she seems more concerned with
the temperature of her tea than anything else. What more do I say to
her? I proved her wrong, I accomplished all of the things she
expected out of my father. So why isn't she acknowledging me now?

“What is it that you want from me?”
I ask. That came out much louder and a lot more pained than I
planned.

She freezes, her stare is icy and her lips are
pursed. “I beg your pardon?”

In a huff I shake my head. “Leah,”
Threat says, placing a concerned hand on my shoulder, but I shrug it
off.

“You were wrong about us. We
both
proved you wrong. You told my dad he would never be successful and
look at him now? He raised me on his own and I think by most
standards he did a damn good job.”

She rolls her eyes. “Look, Leah. Your
father is an entertainer, he didn't win a noble peace prize. And he
doesn't deserve any medals for getting his own daughter to graduate
from high school.”

My shoulders slump from frustration. “So
what is it that you want from me?”