Free Yellow (The Safeword Series, #2) by Ava Claire Page A

money for the same shit I could get at iHop for a fraction of the price, I would call them on it. “If this place boasts fresh and free range ingredients with the bill to boot, you better believe I’m going to ask the waiter some questions.”
    “That aside,” Mallory continued, agitation edging her voice at the interruption. “You just chugged that coffee like it was a shot of vodka, and you don’t even like coffee.”
    I pushed my shades to the bridge of my nose, not debating that fact. “This place forces their fair trade crap down our throats whether we want it or not. I didn’t want it to go to waste.”
    “Riiight.”
    We were on the patio, the sun streaming down on me like a spotlight and I was the lone person on stage. Mallory was front and center, ignoring the brightness and my obvious discomfort. She pulled off her sunglasses altogether, like she wanted an even better look at me. Or maybe she wanted me to see that whatever lie I was selling, she wasn’t buying. “Even if I wanted to believe that something isn’t up, there’s one key piece you’re forgetting.”
    “What’s that?”
    “You haven’t denied that there’s someone. At all.” She held up her hands innocently when I let out a groan. “Hey! I’m not complaining. Heck, I want to shake her hand. She turned my butthole brother into a decent, almost agreeable human being.”
    “If you weren’t my sister, I’d be flipping you off right now.”
    “Good.” She stuck out her tongue at me. “I’d hate to rat you out to Mom.”
    As soon as her final word dropped, so did Mallory’s smile. I knew what was coming before she even said it. I couldn’t stop the rush of bitterness that shot to my throat like bile. It was directed at the woman who raised us; the woman who forced my sister to step into the role of mediator. “She asked about you yesterday, Des.”
    Now, I wish I had that shot of vodka. Big, bad, Desmond O’Connell, and this was the one thing that brought me to my knees - disappointing the people I cared about the most. “I’m going to see her this week.”
    “You said that last week,” Mallory pointed out. Not in petulance, or like she was scolding me, even if I deserved it. Her tone was matter-of-fact, stating the pitiful truth.
    I still hadn’t forgiven my mother, or myself, for that night. The night that changed me. The accident was nearly three years ago now. The call that destroyed everything I thought I knew about my mother, about myself, was just as devastating as it had been back then.
    “She’s been sober since the accident,” Mallory offered gently.  “Caity’s parents forgave her-”
    “I did meet someone.” I silenced my sister, knowing the risk. Admitting I was in a good mood, a good mood that was quickly becoming a distant memory with the ghosts from the past being forced down my throat, was preferable to another conversation about second chances and forgiveness. Usually, Mal backed off when I got testy, but lately, she would whip out some unsolicited reflection on how I had to let go and process my grief. “If you’d like to talk about that and make me super uncomfortable, bring it.” I glared at her over the rim of my shades, making myself crystal damn clear. “I’m not talking about Mom.”
    Mallory was the spitting image of our mother, all fair skin, red hair, and stubbornness. To be fair, I was pretty stubborn myself. It must be an O’Connell thing.
    We squared off. Her cheeks were inflamed, lips pursed like she was fighting the urge to cuss me out, hit me upside the head, or both. I knew she’d do neither, considering we were surrounded by witnesses and the trigger happy paparazzi. They hovered behind the invisible line the star studded restaurant had drawn so their customers could eat in peace.
    I wasn’t a praying man, but I found myself hoping that just once we could skip our usual song and dance; Mal would get all teary and tell me she was just trying to help, we’d both feel guilty,