Cherry Creek - Dani Matthews Page 0,3

watching re-runs of a sitcom on our small portable TV.

I’m betting she barely even has enough money to get the bare necessities to fill the battered cupboards, so I shake my head.

She nods, sweeping her blonde bangs away from her eyes. “Don’t answer the door while I’m gone,” she tells me.

“I know.”

Her light blue eyes scan me, taking in my long hair pulled up in a sloppy bun and the old tank I’m wearing along with a pair of jeans with a hole in the knee. Her eyes soften. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Livvy. You know that, right?”

My lips flatten, and I turn my head to stare at the TV moodily. “I know. He was going to kill me. But it’s still my fault he’s in a coma.” Before she can answer, a curt knock draws our attention to the apartment door. I can’t help but tense up. Who is it now?

With a resigned sigh, my mom sets her purse on the couch and walks to the door. She swings it open, but from where I’m sitting, I can’t see who it is because the now opened door blocks the doorway. Her entire body seems to freeze as she stares at whoever had knocked. “Can I help you?” she asks in an oddly friendly tone. I recognize that tone. It’s the tone she uses when she’s flirting. Evidently, it’s a man. If he’s a cute reporter, I might be screwed. I’ve requested that my mom refrain from giving any interviews, and she’s respected my wishes. I just want this all to go away.

A masculine voice murmurs something too low for me to hear, and I watch her curiously. My mom’s head tilts, and she listens intently for a moment. When he’s finished speaking, she glances back at me briefly before she looks at him again. “If you’re a reporter…” she begins. I can’t hear his reply. “All right. Just let me get my purse,” she says lightly. She turns from the door and walks back to the couch.

“Who is it?” I ask with a frown. The man hasn’t stepped inside, and he’s still blocked from my view.

“Just someone who wants to talk to me,” she says as she slips her purse over her shoulder, her blue eyes gleaming.

“Mom…”

“I don’t think he’s a reporter. We’re just going to grab something to eat, and then I’ll be back,” she promises before she walks back to the door and disappears, firmly shutting the door behind her.

I stare after her and scowl. My mom is so gullible. She’ll believe anything if the guy is cute enough. A sigh escapes me as I turn my attention back to the TV. I can’t control anything she says, so if he’s a reporter, there’s nothing I can do about it.

My thoughts shift back to Brad, and guilt eats at my insides. A week ago I never would have imagined that my life could change so drastically. I never thought Brad would ever try to hurt me, but I have the dark bruises around my throat to prove it. I think the physical proof that Brad attacked me is the only thing that’s keeping his parents from filing charges against me for putting their son in the hospital.

My head begins to throb slightly, and I try to shove the attack out of my mind. I close my eyes and try to relax, taking slow deep breaths. Ever since the attack, I’ve felt anxious, as if I can’t come down from the adrenaline rush I’d had when I’d fought for my life. It’s with me all the time, and I haven’t been able to sleep much lately. Mom says the shock of it all will eventually wear off, and things will go back to normal. We’ll see.

I must have fallen asleep, because the sound of the key in the lock has me waking up with a start. I blink and look around, taking in the lamp I’d left on and the fact that I’m still on the couch. The apartment door swings open, and my mom steps inside, followed by a man. She brought him back here? Great. She’s brought men home before, and no matter how quiet they try to be, I can still hear them in her room. The last thing I need tonight is to listen to my mom have sex.

As I study the man, I realize he’s not her usual type. Not at all. The man looks loaded, and he’s younger than my mom