Chapter Eleven
James had been a wreck all week.
No one outside of him would know it—he continued with conversation, nods, and well-placed laughs as he floated through. His work didn’t suffer. He could autopilot like the best of them. But two things were taking a wrecking ball to his peace.
First, Nolan’s date with Franco was coming up. The guy was free to date. More than free. James had told him that he wasn’t an option. And yet, his gut churned every time he thought about someone else getting Nolan’s focus. About the quiet nights they shared at the house disrupted.
He couldn’t have it both ways. He knew that. Yet he couldn’t help how his heart beat faster around the man. How Nolan had become a touchstone in a short amount of time.
Yet, he grappled with the guilt these thoughts brought.
The doorbell rang.
The second reason for this week’s tension had just arrived.
He straightened his posture and walked to the door. When he opened it, the sight socked him in the gut. “Hey, Momma.”
His mother, Adeola Walker, was a take-no-shit nurse who’d raised him alone after his father passed away when he was seven, and he’d never met a better person.
She stood there with her yellow-and-white striped shirt and matching pants, with dangling black earrings, looking as fierce and as kind as ever.
“James, get right over here and give me a hug.”
He closed the distance between them and held her tight to his chest. She smelled like honey and cinnamon, and he basked in the familiarity.
When Andrew had first died, his mother had come in for the whole week.
She hadn’t pushed him to talk, just made meals and helped clean.
She was a solid presence he’d sorely needed.
She’d said was that Auntie Chima had done the same for her when his father passed. That support came in all different ways.
“Missed you,” he said.
She arched her brow. “You’ve been back home for a few months now, and it’s taking me visiting to see you?”
Ouch. Fair. He’d avoided his mother for a reason though. Around her, he couldn’t escape the past. She’d never remarried, and part of him recognized that for his future. She never said she felt lonely—she spent a lot of time with the family—but she’d never been able to replace his father.
The idea of that future for him…his stomach bottomed out.
He wanted to put himself out there so badly, but would that make him a monster?
“Well, I’ll do better,” he said. “Let me get you something to drink.”
He gestured her in and shut the door behind her. She soaked in the house, her eyes darting in every direction.
“This is gorgeous,” she said. “You said you’re renting?”
“The house belongs to my roommate, Nolan,” James said. “He’s a friend.”
His mother cast him a sharp look, the sort that pierced right through him. This was why he’d avoided her. She saw through him better than anyone else. “Is he a nice boy?”
James ran his palm over his shorn hair. “Yeah, Momma. He’s sweet.”
“Well, good,” she said. “When do I get to meet him?”
“Give it some time,” he said, passing her a look back.
Her grin broke out, and together, they walked into the kitchen.
James set about getting her rose tea prepared.
He’d bought the kind she liked in preparation for her visit.
Nolan was out most of the day with extra work at Whipped, so he hadn’t needed to worry about causing too much disruption.
He’d set everything back in its proper place once his mother left.
“Do you have plans for next week?” she asked.
Of course, that was why she’d reached out. Andrew’s birthday was next week, and the anniversary would guaranteed hit him like a sack of bricks. He’d planned to drown himself in work and avoid mentioning a thing to anyone. Completely healthy behavior.
The kettle whistled, and he busied himself with preparing her tea rather than responding, despite her gaze pressed in on him. Her presence was so achingly familiar, but the past had a way of dragging him down, to the point he was drowning, barely able to breathe.
“Avoidance isn’t a plan, James Charles Walker,” his mother said.
He passed her a mug of tea and kept one for himself. “Want to head to the living room?”
“If you’ll talk with me, sure,” she said. “Otherwise, I’ll stay planted right here.”
He swallowed hard, a lump in his throat. “Yeah, I’ll talk.”
A year ago, the grief was all-consuming, and the changes were so disorienting that he wasn’t sure where he’d land.
He’d been taking care of their house and the day-to-day tasks while Andrew’s health had been declining, so he was functional—at least externally.
Internally, he felt as if the path he’d been walking along had abruptly ended.
He settled on the couch, and his mom took the other seat, facing him. Her braids were elegantly pulled back into a bun, and her dark eyes were probing and insightful. She sipped her tea and waited.
“Fine, my plan was to pull some overtime,” he muttered.
“Mm,” she responded. “Thought I taught you better.”
The woman could slice right to the core of the issue. He heaved a sigh. “I’ve got a few friends I could reach out to, same with my roommate.”
“This roommate of yours, is he handsome?” she asked before sipping at her tea again.
He hadn’t missed the delicate edge in her tone. Of course she’d be furious if he moved on from his ex-husband. She’d spent years honoring her vows, long after his father had passed, and here he was, already with wandering eyes a year later.
“He’s kind,” James said, giving her a firm look. “Now, enough about me. Fill me in on how the shifts at the hospital have been.” He settled into the seat, prepared for her stories. If there was one thing Adeola Walker knew, it was how to tell a damn good story.
***
His mother stayed for hours, regaling him with tale after tale from the emergency room, from a questionable rubber duck found in someone’s anal cavity to a man with Cotard’s syndrome who believed his organs were rotting.
“All right,” she said, pushing up from her seat. “My aching bones need to shuffle on home.”
“You drove, right?” he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder and walking her to the door.
“Of course. You think I’m still some spry young thing?”
“You look that way to me,” James said, his voice warm.
She jabbed him in the side with an elbow. “None of that, charmer. You sound just like your father. Know how he picked this old woman up? Saw me at the market, and he said—”
“Never thought angels shopped down here with us mortals,” James and his mother said simultaneously.
He’d heard the story a million times, but he enjoyed it, loving the way those memories stitched together the tapestry of what he had of his father apart from threadbare memories.
He’d also inherited his father’s looks and serious temperament, his favorite silver cuff links, and a recipe for pepper pork stew.
His heart ached. How long until all he had of Andrew were sense memories and old stories?
“Take care, Momma,” he said, and he kissed her on the temple. “I’ll come visit soon.”
“You’d better,” she said, throwing a hand in the air.
James closed the door and then set to tidying up the house, making sure items were in their designated places.
Nolan had done him a favor by writing down all the information at one point, and honestly, he appreciated the man’s thoroughness.
He lost himself in the task as his eyes began to sting.
As his heart throbbed with persistent grief that was sometimes impossible to avoid.
“Babe, your mother could scare God into submission.”
Andrew’s tone had been warm, ever affectionate.
Momma loved him dearly, and he’d brought someone into her life who ended up leaving as if the Walker family were stuck in a curse doomed to repeat.
After Andrew passed, his mom and dad, who’d been amiable and friendly, had retreated.
James hadn’t tried to pursue. If they were lost in their own grief, he didn’t blame them for keeping their distance.
He snagged a beer from the fridge, the glass bottle cool against his palm, and then he sagged into the couch. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding himself together by stitches until Adeola Walker strode into his house, a living reminder of how they now shared the experience of being widowers.
That hadn’t been a bond he’d ever wanted to share.
His whole body ached like a wrung-out rag, and his eyes pricked with tears begging to escape. He forced them back, though the sob throbbed in his chest unbidden. He swallowed that down too.
The front door creaked open, and he froze.
Fuck. He had a roommate. He couldn’t break down in the main areas as if this were his home.
“James?” Nolan’s voice sounded. “Why’s it so dark in here?”
He tipped back a swig of beer, the taste crisp on his lips, and he attempted to collect himself so he wasn’t a total wreck.
Nolan appeared around the corner, a dim lamp on in this room. He’d relied on the daylight pouring through the windows before, but night fast approached, the skyline turning shades of gray.
“You okay?”
Two words, and they lobbed a wrecking ball to whatever control he’d managed.
The sob escaped.
James leaned forward, clutching his chest as claws dug in. He didn’t know how to remove them, or if it was even possible.
Nolan crouched by the couch he slumped into. “What can I do?”
James stared at the ceiling, wishing he had an answer. “Fuck, I don’t know. Nothing takes away this pain.”
Nolan chewed his lower lip, then he settled on his knees next to James. “Touch me or don’t, but I’ll just be here with you.”