Chapter Twenty-Nine Everest （Kane）
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
EVEREST (KANE)
My head is pounding. That’s what happens when you throw back half a bottle of whiskey like you need it for hydration.
Most of last night is a blur, bits and pieces flashing through my mind. Showing up at my father’s office. The liquor store. Banging down Sam’s door, drunk off my ass. Tasting Sam.
Marking her.
It’s all there, playing like the movie trailer for a night that went every way but right.
I had hoped I dreamed it. Prayed it was merely a figment of my imagination. There’s absolutely no way I allowed my emotions to get me so far into my head that I sought comfort in the one person I told myself to stay away from.
I went there for answers, only to leave with more questions. The photo I found in her room, the one now resting in my passenger seat, clawed at me all night. My mom’s face next to theirs, all lined up like they’re close friends, taunts me. And Sam didn’t help, tensing up the moment I saw it.
She’s up to something, and whatever it is has to do with my mother.
But what?
Could this picture be what has my father so riled up?
I need answers, and there is only one person I can trust to give them to me.
My tires screech as I whip into the parking space in front of the psychiatric facility.
The car jolts, still in motion when I throw the door open and jump out.
My shoes hit the pavement, and I’m on the move, not bothering to lock it.
The air feels more stilted now, heavier and thicker than when I left the house.
It’s as if the clouds are closing in around me.
Wyndmoor looms ahead. Even from the outside, it’s clinical and emotionless. Ironic given this is the very place one comes when emotions have begun to be too much.
Climbing the stairs, I fold the printed image and shove it into my back pocket before entering the building, cool air immediately hitting me.
Approaching the front desk, I make eye contact with the nurse.
She knows me by name at this point, so she doesn’t ask for my ID, and passes me the clipboard where I scribble my signature.
She takes it back from me. “She’s in the rec room today.”
I nod then round the corner and push through a set of doors. Voices bleed together, mixing with the clatter of board game pieces to my left, and the low hum of a daytime talk show on the right. The room is bright as if it’ll mask the gloom of this place.
A man in a checkered robe paces near the window, mouthing words I can’t hear, his fingers twitching.
A woman rocks gently in the corner with her eyes fixed on something behind me.
On the other end, two younger patients laugh over a game of Connect Four.
Someone coughs in the distance, another hums, while someone else stares into space.
They don’t acknowledge me as I pass. They never do.
Always in a world of their own, and oftentimes I envy that.
I continue on until finally I spot her. She’s nestled at a table in the center of the room, a game of solitaire splayed out before her, and from the looks of it, she’s winning.
It takes a second before she notices me.
Then she lifts her gaze and pins me with a smile.
Mine forms without effort, much like it always does when I see her.
Her smile is contagious, and it always has been. Even with everything going on with her mental state, a bad day would hate to see her coming. The building could be on fire, and she’d find a way to calm those around her.
“Everest,” she says, her eyes softening.
Her voice is clearer today, more grounded and alive.
“Hey, Ma.”
She stands to meet my height. Half of Richard’s DNA may be running through my veins, but I’m definitely my mother’s child.
We have nearly matching heights and identical features—the same cheekbones, strong nose, and even the shape of our eyes.
Though where mine are slightly lighter, hers are a deep shade of brown.
She’s wearing her signature red lipstick, and her hair is longer than it was last week.
My mother wraps me into a hug, and I plant a kiss on her cheek.
“What are you doing here?” she asks while searching my eyes. “How was your game?”
I grin. “I took the winning shot.”
She playfully smacks my arm. “Get out. You did?”
“Yeah. It was a close game, but we won.”
She shakes her head, her smile now reaching her eyes. “I’m so proud of you. You boys off to nationals yet again.”
“Thanks.”
“Come. Sit with me.” She gestures to the chair beside her. “How’s Alex and Bryden?”
“Good. Actually, I wanted to see if you wanted to get some fresh air and walk with me.”
“Yes. Let me clean up my cards.”
Patiently, I wait for her to scoop up the cards and stuff them into the box before we head over to the nurses’ station to check her out for a walk outside.
My mother slips her hand into the crook of my elbow and pats my bicep as we go through the double doors. “Good thing I have on my thick sweater, I know it’s chilly out there.”
I remove my hockey jacket. “Here. This should help keep you warm.”
“Nonsense. Then you’ll be cold.”
“I work out six days a week, with less than ten percent body fat. I’ll be fine.”
She shakes her head and smirks. “You athletes.”
“As if you weren’t one,” I counter.
Back in the day, she was a beast on the track.
She had record-breaking stats, and a full-ride offer, her name in bold on the SKU bulletin boards.
Hell, she’s the reason I wanted to go to Sovereign King’s.
She was a star; everyone knew La’Kia Kane—the sprinter, jumper, and champion.
She used to joke that the only thing faster than her legs was her mouth.
Which was an understatement because the woman could talk a mile a minute.
I guess I get the competitive gene honestly. Because I damn sure didn’t get it from Richard; neither did Alex, for that matter.
I watch her, remembering the stories she shared, remembering the medals she had hanging on her bedroom wall. Even remember the photo of her midair during a hurdle framed on my grandparents’ wall, thinking that’s what strength looked like. What resilience looked like.
Richard gave me hatred; she gave me everything else.
We descend from the deck, and my mother waves to others as we step into the yard.
I step into the grass first, holding out a hand to help her down the small flight of stairs. Flowers and neatly trimmed bushes line the property. There are benches scattered throughout along with some oversize outdoor games to entertain everyone.
I match her pace, and she wraps her arms around mine. We approach the fountain, and she gazes at it for a moment too long.
“You never told me how the boys are?” She breaks the silence.
I suck in a breath. This isn’t what I want to talk about, but until I muster the courage, I go with it.
“They’re good. Mrs. Montour sent us some snacks not too long ago.”
“That’s nice of her.” We continue walking. “And Alex. How’s he?”
I freeze at that. Her concern for Alex isn’t anything new.
We’ve been friends our whole lives, so it makes sense that she’d check on him.
Only the question hits different ever since I found out the truth.
I haven’t shared that I know he’s my brother for fear of triggering her.
She’s kept this from me all this time, and something tells me that’s because she can’t face it.
Having spent the last two years dealing with Richard, I get why she hid it. He didn’t want me, and she kept that from me to protect me.
“He’s good.”
She nods and stops to pluck a rose from the bush. We move again as she leisurely plucks petals and lets them float in the wind.
“And your grades?”
“Three-point eight GPA,” I say matter-of-factly.
“You’ve always been so smart.”
I don’t respond; instead I contemplate all the ways to bring up my questions.
“You get that from your grandmother.” She plucks another petal. “She was a genius.”
I smile. “She was.”
“So are there any girls that caught your eye?”
I sigh.
“I’ve just been focused on the game.” If only that were the truth.
“I know. But please tell me you’re having fun, too. College should be all about the experiences.”
Again, I say nothing.
“Ma?” I kick at a dandelion. “Do you remember Samantha?”
She frowns. “Samantha.” She repeats as if it’ll refresh her memory. “No.”
“Collins? Her mother was a patient here with you about eight to ten years ago.”
There’s a subtle shift in her shoulders, but she recovers instantly. I frown and decide not to push it.
“Oh. Yeah. What about her?”
“She’s a student at SKU now.”
My mother doesn’t look at me, her shoulders tensing just a bit.
“You don’t say.” She stares straight ahead. “How’s her mother?”
“I’m not sure.” Now’s my chance. I slide the folded page from my back pocket and hand it to her. “But I had always thought the first time you met was here.”
My mother opens it, and her face goes still, then it breaks. First, there’s a twitch of her lips; then her hands start to shake. “Where… where did you get this?”
“From Sam. She found it in the school archives. Says you were in a club together. You never told me you knew her mom from school.”
Her breathing turns shallow. I move to steady her, but she jerks away like my touch burns. Her eyes dart around the courtyard. She drops the page, and it floats to the ground.
“They said it was over,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “They promised…”
“Who?” I press, searching her eyes. “What’s over?”
But she’s gone. Just like that, her eyes glaze over, panic rolling off her in waves.
“Mom. Why didn’t you tell me you all knew each other?”
She lets out a broken sob, hands clamping over her ears.
“I didn’t mean to,” she rambles. “They can’t know. They can’t know we remember.”
“Ma. Look at me.” I cup her face. “Remember what?”