“I am grown,” he said as he walked down the hall to the oversize kitchen he pretty much never used.

She scoffed. “Did you grow so much, you stopped being my son?”

“No.”

“Good.” She paused just long enough to take half a breath. “So tell me everything, especially about this woman you were with. Is she someone special? Should I expect to meet her soon?”

Like that was going to happen. She wanted nothing to do with him. He was a trapped-in-a-cabin lay and that was it. Not that he cared what she thought. She was just some annoying kinda-reporter who stuck her nose where it didn’t belong and then told the world—accidentally or on purpose.

“That is never going to happen.” He grabbed an electrolyte-balanced water from the fridge and sucked a third of it down in one gulp while standing in front of the open fridge and letting the cool air hit him.

His mom tsk-tsked. “Such a sourpuss all of a sudden.”

The ache in the back of his head, the one that throbbed and sizzled at the same time, went into overdrive at the reminder that his former good nature had died a sudden and painful death that hurt enough, it could have been written by George R. R. Martin. “I can’t imagine why.”

“Ian Elliot Petrov,” his mom said, her tone sharp but with an edge of hurt. “I love you, but I’ve had just about enough of this attitude. I know you’re hurt. I am, too. I’m also angry, confused, and a million other things. However, I’m not taking that out on you, and I expect you not to take it out on me.”

She was right, but the person he wanted to take it out on, he couldn’t even look at right now.

“Speaking of Dad, is he still calling you?”

“He is.” She let out a soft sigh. “Not that you should be concerned about it. I’m taking care of it.”

Ignoring the sharp edge of her tone, he dove right in to it like it was a bench-clearing brawl. “Of course I’m worried. You’re my mom, and I don’t want him to hurt you any more. I hate that he’s done this to you.”

“It’s more complicated than that. It happened a long time ago. His cheating was definitely a reason for our split, but it wasn’t the only one. Believe me, Ian, he’s changed since then.”

“People don’t change.” He crossed into his bedroom, passing by one of the many bookshelves in his apartment and the framed family photo that was not surprisingly missing dear old Dad. “Once someone picks their path, that’s it.”