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When you hear the television inside as you're in the process of inserting your key into the lock of your upscale apartment door, you freeze. Last time you checked, you didn't have a roommate, and you definitely didn't have a significant other hanging out in there. Your heart starts racing. Should you call the police? Ever since making it big in tennis, competing in all sorts of national and international tournaments, you've had a lot of crazy fans vying for your attention. Some do it in sweet ways, and others... not so sweet. However, no one's actually ever showed up at your home. You take a deep breath and twist the lock, pushing the door open anyways. There's no way the man at the front desk would just let anyone walk right up. Perhaps it's maintenance?
But no. Instead of seeing a worker dressed in uniform and fixing a leak, you see Linda Drysdale lounging in the armchair of your living room, legs crossed with a naturally unamused demeanor as her blue eyes flicker across the flat screen TV. She glances up at you as if she's lived there her entire life, eyebrow lifted. "Finally. I didn't realize tennis practice took so much time, how many methods can possibly be involved in hitting a ball back and forth?"
You look at her in disbelief for a few moments, trying to process that your ex-boyfriend's mother is inside your home right now despite the fact that you and Ransom broke up three years ago. You aren't even offended by her words; you're aware of how blunt and straightforward the seemingly harsh lady can be- she was practically a true mother-in-law to you when you and Ransom were dating.
You finally speak. "Linda. What are you doing here? You can't just- how did you even-" "The young man in the lobby clearly isn't getting paid enough. A twenty was all it took. Might want to move somewhere else before he just casually allows a serial killer to walk in." She rolls her eyes, then mumbles under her breath, "Or my son."
"What?" you ask, and she shakes her head, looking up with a slight authoritative smile crossing her lips. "We need to talk, Y/N. I'm just going to get straight to the point. My son is ruining his life, as per usual, and I've had enough of it. I did everything I could to get him out of this damn lawsuit, to keep him out of jail, and he's just– Christ, he's an ungrateful brat, that's what he is." She looks fed up, the sharpness in her eyes seeming as though she's ready to strangle the man. "Drinking himself to death, fucking a new girl every night, on every single drug you can think of– he's a little piece of shit, even without being able to leave the house."
"And you're telling me all of this, why...?" "Because he loves you." She states simply, and you hate that the words make your heart race. "I know he still loves you, and that you're the only girl on this planet he'll ever love. He'll listen to you, Y/N," she insists, "and so you need to go see him. Better yet, just date him again. He was a significantly better person when he was with you."
You look at her shocked, slowly shaking your head as you let out a quiet scoff. "Linda. He tried to kill someone. He's the reason your father died. How can you ask me to go back to him? Why do you even care what happens to him, after everything he did?"
