Slow Grind (Men of Mornington Book 1) Read Online Free Page B

new one, but her name’s not the one illuminated on the screen. Neither is Nate’s. Looking toward the heavens, I ask whoever’s up there, “Why me?” and watch the name flash over and over again.
    Mother. I groan and rub my aching head. Why would she ruin a perfectly good year by calling me? It’s been nearly five years since I’ve had any communication with her. We don’t talk. Like, at all . We don’t even email. It’s not that I don’t love her; I think human beings are programmed to love the person who birthed them, regardless of wrongdoings. It’s that whole unconditional love thing. And I know my mum loves me, but we don’t like each other. We haven’t in nearly a decade, since I left Australia.
    In all my pondering, the ringing stopped again and just as quickly started back up.
    “Hello,” I answer, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of my tone.
    “Aubrey? Is that you, sweetie?” Her voice is so saccharine, I’m nearly gagging, and all I can think about is how badly she fucked up all our lives.
    The downward spiral of our turmoil-filled relationship started just after I turned twelve. My father was a professor at Monash University, which is ironically where he met my mum before Max was born. Our home wasn’t far from the University, so it wasn’t atypical for me to pop in to spend time with my dad while he was grading papers or between lectures. Apparently, my mother didn’t take this into account when she decided to have an affair with his TA … in his office … while he was in the lecture hall teaching his class. It was nearly ten years ago, but I remember it vividly, which, after years of therapy and medication, I wish I didn’t.
    Out of all the things I forget on a daily basis—where I put my keys, where the laptop charger is, if I did my homework, or have I called home to my brother yet this week—it’s the one thing that stays lodged in my head.
    The first person I told about the scandal was my big brother, who urged me to keep my mouth shut. He was six years older than me and for a while, I thought he was right, so I took his advice. Then my mother kept coming home later, making excuses to go to campus at random hours and had even invited her lover to the house for dinner. That was my last straw. I had to do something. I wanted to keep everyone happy, but even at twelve I knew it was wrong for her to let my father look stupid in his own home.
    So I told him.
    Three months later, their divorce was final. My mother looked at me like I was the one who ruined her perfect little family, and that’s when I decided to go back to the States with my dad when he accepted a teaching position at the high school level. It was definitely a step down career wise, but he used to say that’s what he was passionate about—teaching children while they’re still young enough to care.
    “Of course it’s me, who else would it be?” I finally choke out. “What’s going on? It’s three in the morning. Why are you calling me?” And why are you sounding so damn happy to be speaking to me? The last time we spoke, she was screaming at me, telling me what a selfish child I was. All for ruining her perfect little affair.
    “I need to talk to you about something very important, sweetie.”
    I cringe. Has she had a stroke? That’s really the only explanation for her behaviour.
    “Just spit it out, mother,” I huff, turning on the overhead light. There’s no way I’m going back to bed after this. If I wasn’t awake before, I certainly am now. “What’s the big emergency? Is it Max? Has something happened?”
    I had never really made the trip back to Australia to visit my mother since we didn’t have much to say to her, but Max came here to visit as often as he could. Once he got past his first year of college, the visits became shorter and longer apart. I knew he was growing up and he had more important things to do than visit with his kid sister. I never held it against him, and I still