Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Noa
I resist racing through the gap between Stone’s body and the doorframe to get inside and block him from entering, but only just.
“Ma?” he calls again, stepping over the threshold.
I follow, wringing my hands and picturing my brain in the same jumbled mess as my fingers.
Does he really not know? How could Stone not be aware of his mom’s cancer? Did Mrs. Stalinski not tell him, or is it because he’s basically cut the entire town of Falcon Haven out of his life—including his mother?
I’m guessing the latter, but have trouble picturing either Stone or Mrs. Stalinski doing something so hurtful to the other.
Except, here Stone is, dumbfounded, but hiding it with increasing stiffness as his mind puts the pieces together.
My nursing uniform.
His mother’s lack of response.
Carly’s over-the-top, icy behavior toward him, even for her.
“Ma.”
“She’s sleeping.”
Stone whirls, his luggage thumping to the floor. “It’s seven in the evening. She should be eating dinner, not sleeping.”
“Her dinner’s warming in the oven.” I gesture to the kitchen behind him. “She eats later these days and will probably get to it around nine.”
Stone snaps his attention toward the kitchen, then back to me. “You made the dinner?”
“Yes.”
“But Ma loves cooking.”
“She does, but hasn’t had the energy lately.”
Stone’s throat bobs. His startling blue eyes stay glued to mine. “Why would that be?”
The moment of truth. I want to throw up. My gut churns like it really wants to follow through with that thought. “She…”
“Tell me, Noa.”
His voice is harsh, soft, and full of grit. Stone’s hands clench against his sides, the tendons protruding and turning an alarming purple.
Against my will, my vision blurs. Time should’ve made this easier, but I never look forward to hurting someone. Even when it’s him. “Stone, I’m so sorry.”
His stare shrinks. Stone steps forward like he’s prepared to shake the truth out of me. I’m certain if he steps any closer, I’ll be able to hear the wild thumps of his heart.
“Honeybear? Do I hear your voice?”
Mrs. Stalinski’s soft question at the top of the stairs makes Stone step back with a tiny wince. I swear cool air brushes against my cheeks at his retreat. I close my eyes and breathe in deep.
It’s not that I’m afraid of Stone in this moment, but he’s so coiled, so indecently thrown into a dire situation, that I’m not sure what he’d do to release his frustration.
Not hit me—never. Stone would never resort to violence against a woman. But the wall behind me or the open door hanging on brass hinges, even the potted plant at the base of the stairs, however…
“Ma.” The word whooshes out of Stone’s mouth as he passes me and clings to the banister on the first step. My heart squeezes at the worry in his voice.
As soon as he sees his mother holding her robe together and her usually perfectly curled, dyed red hair flattened on one side of her head and mostly gray, I pull my lips in and bite down.
“Honeybear, what are you doing all the way out here?” she asks him.
He ignores the question. “Tell me what’s going on. Why are you in your pajamas instead of grading papers or making dinner or hanging out with your friends at the salon or?—”
“Son. Honey. Calm down.”
“No—” he hisses as he stops himself from breaking down in his mother’s presence, though I’m 100 percent certain he was about to say no fucking way am I calming the fuck down.
“Noa?”
Mrs. Stalinski’s use of my name jerks my chin up.
“How much have you told him?”
“Nothing,” I say, conscious of Stone’s attention prickling against the side of my face, cold with betrayal.
I don’t owe him anything , I assure myself. He lost that privilege when he left me without so much as a goodbye.
Mrs. Stalinski sighs. “All right. Help me down.”
Stone immediately complies, taking the stairs three at a time. Mrs. Stalinski offers her hand, but Stone ignores it, scooping her up in his arms.
His face collapses at how lightweight she is.
My composure cracks at the sight.
Stone takes the steps with grace and care now that he’s holding his mother. I scoot out of the way as he brushes past me and into the living room, where he gently places her against the stacked cushions—a favorite spot of hers.
“I’ll give you two some time,” I say softly, backing away.
Mrs. Stalinski catches me right before I reach the front door. “I’d love some hot tea, Noa, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course.” With one last, longing look at the front door, I turn into the kitchen, but not before going into the attached dining room and lifting expensive bourbon off the bar cart.
If Stone is the same William Rodney Stalinski from my childhood, he’ll need about three fingers of this right now.
I busy myself in the kitchen, throwing on the kettle and readying two chamomile tea bags in a mug until I find myself with nothing to do but wait as the water boils.
There’s no door separating the kitchen from the hallway, and Stone and his mother’s voices carry like a gentle wind flowing through the space and into my ears.
Biting my lip, I lean against the wall, my head tilting back as I listen.
“How long?” Stone demands.
Mrs. Stalinski must have laid her diagnosis on him the moment I left, a move I respect. The poor man was vibrating so much with worry and confusion, it electrified the air throughout the entire house.
Or was it only the air between him and me, thick, pulsing, and heated?
We left so much between us unsaid. And so much more was added to our emotional baggage today.
“A few months,” Mrs. Stalinski admits to her son. “It’s rather aggressive.”
“And you didn’t tell me?” Stone’s voice is strained. “Why?”
“Honey, since the moment you could speak gibberish, you were meant to take the world by storm. And by God, you have, and I am so proud of you. So damn proud. Why would I want my son, who’s finally made a name for himself and become an independent, successful man, to return to a town that so clearly strangled him as a child and watch his mother deteriorate? ”
“Because you’re my mother and I would never tolerate you suffering alone.”
“I’m not suffering, honey. I have my girlfriends, and my Friday night cribbage games—this evening notwithstanding—and my church on Sundays.
My community. The whole town’s come together to make sure I get by, and as much as I hate it, I’ve accepted the help.
Not to mention sweet Noa, who’s too young to be wasting her energy caring for elderly lost causes like me, yet here she is. I’m relying on her too much, I think.”
“Don’t make this about Noa.”
I tense against the wall.
“Why shouldn’t I? She had an entire future ahead of her, and she’s choosing to clip at my heels instead, cleaning up my waste and feeding me like a toddler.”
“It’s the job she chose. Don’t burden yourself with her decisions.”
There’s a sudden tightness on the surface of my chest. I rub the heel of my palm against the uncomfortable spot between my breasts, but it doesn’t go away. It only gets worse as Stone goes on.
“She was perfectly capable of escaping this town and making a name for herself, too.”
“She was dealt a crappy hand just as I have, honeybear. Go easier on her.”
A dismissive rumble escapes his throat. “Noa doesn’t concern me. You do. I’m angry you didn’t tell me. But I’ll put that aside because you’ve now become my number one priority. I’ll have Noa pack some things for you before she leaves, and then we’re driving to the airport.”
Mrs. Stalinski’s tone hardens. “Oh no we are not.”
Shoes clip against the tile as Stone no doubt prowls the room. “This isn’t negotiable. I’m taking you to California to see the best doctors and get the latest treatments and get away from this little town where the local doctor probably still uses leeches to cure blood infections.”
Leech therapy is still a valid form of medical treatment sometimes, but I’m not about to cut in despite the very real insult he’s lobbed in Falcon Haven’s medical community’s way—which includes me.
“I am thrilled with my doctor, and I’m not about to be forced into a city that I don’t know, in a home I’m uncomfortable in to be poked and prodded at until my son is satisfied that I’m enough of a lab rat to be granted innovative drugs that probably won’t cure me.”
Mrs. Stalinski’s voice grows stronger as she fights. I want to fist pump the air for her going up against Stone’s demands with such calm aplomb.
“I only want what’s best for you and I know for a fact it isn’t here.”
“Indeed, it is. This is my home. My serenity. The place I’m happy to die in.”
“Do not say that?—”
“Then don’t run circles around me pretending that my going to California would only delay the inevitable.
The cancer is in my bones, honey. You are the love of my life, and I hate hurting you this way, but my time has come, whether I see one of your famous doctors in Hollywood or remain with the comforts of Dr. Jeanine Silver and her drugs, which I assure you are the same medications I’d receive anywhere. ”
“You cannot. This isn’t the end. Ma…”
There it is. The plea of a little boy coming out of a hardened, grown man’s lips, begging for the truth to be a lie. The strangled hope for the Mom of the past to receive him into her arms and assure him this is all a bad dream.
I hold a hand to my lips.
The kettle’s electric whistle pierces the air, giving me a heart attack and cutting off any remaining conversation. Except for my scream.
Stone bursts into the hallway, his bloodshot eyes zeroing in and scanning me head to toe. “Are you all right?”
Cheeks burning, I rush to the stove and stop the damn kettle. Leave it to my inattention to ruin a crucial moment between mother and son so I could eavesdrop.
I feel rather than see Stone’s colossal form hovering in the kitchen. The back of my nape tingles under his scrutiny. It takes all the acting chops I have to go about pouring and steeping the tea as if he’s not there.
“Did you hear most of that?”
His gruff question makes my shoulders stiffen.