Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Mase
My mind is distracted with thoughts of swirling gray eyes as I push Mom’s wheelchair down the hall toward her room after a short walk outside to get some fresh air.
I had planned to offer Jayne a ride home last night when I found myself outside the club she works at, thinking she might say yes after what had happened the night before.
But one look at the stubborn set of her lips had told me she wasn’t going to accept the offer, so I didn’t bother asking. But there was no fucking way I was going to let her walk home by herself, especially not after what she told me about that balding loser.
I was already concerned about her safety when I thought it was just a random incident, but knowing he had targeted her and waited for her to arrive home sent my protective nature into overdrive.
Jayne is a fucking mystery to me, an enigma wrapped in a pretty exterior. I can’t understand why she’s choosing to work where she does, or why she insists on not accepting help when it’s offered.
What I do know is that there’s a tug, a pull that reaches deep inside my murky insides, like her broken soul is calling to mine.
We reach my mother’s room, and before I’m able to step around the wheelchair to open the door, one of the nurses who was just transferred to this floor quickly rushes over to open it for us. “Here, let me get that.”
I’ve seen her around a few times, and she’s always a little too eager and overly friendly. I prefer Tatiana.
“Thanks so much . . .”
“Heidi,” the nurse supplies, flipping her mahogany locks over her shoulder and smiling.
“Thanks, Heidi.” I push Mom’s wheelchair through her door, then go to shut it on a lingering Heidi.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” she says quickly, craning her head to see through the space in the door as I give her a polite smile and close it in front of her face.
Turning back to my mom, I lift the blanket off her lap and begin folding it.
“I think that one might have a crush on you.”
I grunt in response as I remove her jacket and hang both hers and mine up. “Isn’t it unprofessional to flirt with a resident’s son while you’re working?” Leaning down, I place one arm under her knees and another around her back. “Bed or chair?”
“Bed, please.”
I lift her light frame, carrying her to the bed and laying her down on the mattress, then prop her up with some pillows to make sure she’s comfortable.
Mom no longer has use of her legs, and she finds it hard to move her arms most days, but she still manages to move them in small gestures.
Her hand lands on top of mine while I’m pulling the blanket up. “She can’t help it if my son is the most handsome and kindest man in here.”
“Hmm.” I reach for the remote on her side table, turning on the TV before handing it to her and avoiding her gaze.
“You don’t agree?”
Lips pursing, I fix the blanket at her feet, the news playing on the TV in the background. “Well, I’ve barely said two words to her. She doesn’t know me at all.”
I take a seat on the chair close to Mom’s bed, and her warm brown eyes brush over my face, not looking away. “You haven’t let anyone get close to you in years, Mase.”
“Why do I need someone close to me?”
She sighs. “I know you don’t like talking about it, but Mase, you’ve never had a girlfriend.”
I reach for a water bottle and twist the top off, completely uncomfortable with this conversation. Mom seems to have two settings these days: one where she’s happy to talk about anything else in the world, or this one, where she focuses entirely on me and my lack of companionship.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“You’ve never even told me about a girl you might be interested in,” she says, ignoring my comment.
I tip the bottle of water and swallow some down my parched throat.
“At one point, I thought it might have been because you liked men, and it’s okay if you did, but I haven’t seen you look at any, and you don’t hang around any guys, either. At least not since high school.”
Water splutters out of my mouth as I choke. “Jesus, Mom. I don’t like men.”
Her eyes soften further. “I just worry about you.”
“Because I don’t have a girlfriend or boyfriend?” I ask, wiping my sleeve over my wet chin.
“Because you don’t have anyone.”
“I have you.” I stand, walking over to her window. Mom’s room has a view of a small courtyard that gets filled with plants and flowers come springtime. It’s cloudy today, so the space looks gloomy, but at least it’s not snowing.
“That’s different. I’m your mother, and I’m not always going to be around.”
Spinning to face her again, I fold my arms across my chest. “Where is this coming from?”
She looks so frail laying there in bed, gray hair starting to streak her temples while lines are making shallow grooves around her eyes. But I know there is a strong woman underneath who has fought through a lot in her life.
Mom has surprised many of her doctors and is doing quite well considering.
Her eyes drift past me to the window, a faraway look on her face. “I worry that I messed you up with my issues.”
My heart pinches and I return to the side of her bed, sitting on the edge. “You didn’t, Mom. None of it is because of you. I’m . . .” Fucked up? Not normal? “I’m just not looking for anyone right now.”
“You’re twenty-eight, honey. It’s not that I think you should be married with kids already. But as I said, you’ve never had anyone. You haven’t let anyone close since you were thirteen. I just don’t want you to be lonely.”
“I’m not.”
I’ve convinced myself of that over the years. Convinced myself that I’m happy with my solitary life. Because someone like me—
“Are you sure? I know you spend time helping others—helping women—especially after what happened with Jacob.” I turn away at that, my jaw clenching.
“And it’s a beautiful thing you do; it really is, Mase.
But I hope it’s not because you’re trying to fix something you didn’t do.
” She lays her hand on my leg. “Just filling your life with everything but friendships and relationships. You put everyone else first, but never yourself.”
Sucking in a deep breath through my nose, I rest my hand on top of hers and squeeze, forcing a smile. “I’m fine, Mom. I am.” She doesn’t look convinced, and she opens her mouth as if to say something else, but then she gives a resigned look which tells me she’ll drop it for now.
I wonder what she’d think about me reconnecting with Jayne. I know Mom wouldn’t think twice about me fighting off those men for her the other night, but would she question my motives? Would she think it’s weird that I feel the need to help Jayne, or would she be justified in her thinking?
After a while, I say goodbye, then drop by the women’s shelter on my way home to check if there are any newcomers who’d like to come for a class, all while thinking about my mom’s words.
*~*~*~*~*
Once I’m back home, I walk into the kitchen to get started on pulling out ingredients but then pause, gripping the edge of the counter while staring aimlessly over it into the living room.
It’s true that my apartment is quiet and . . . empty. Christmas is coming up, and I won’t have a tree or any decorations up because I figure there’s no point if no one else is going to see. I’ll go spend some time with Mom on Christmas day, but that’s about it for the holidays.
But would I call myself lonely? I’m usually too busy to think about it.
I guess that’s not entirely true. It’s at those times that I find myself texting Neil or calling Mom.
And she knows that.
Shaking my head, I pull out my phone, but instead of texting anyone, I put some music on to fill the quiet and try to clear away some of these unwanted thoughts, then it’s back to making dinner.
Several hours later, after eating and showering, I’m lying on my bed, plucking the strings of my guitar while thoughts of Jayne float into my mind. I should just leave her alone. She doesn’t want or need someone like me in her life. And as she said, she’s been getting by without me all this time.
But getting by isn’t living; it’s surviving. And sometimes you can be in survival mode for so long that you don’t even realize it until someone lifts some of the burden and you suddenly feel like you can breathe again.
Plus, just thinking of the trip she makes home after work each night, and the possibility of more men, like the one who was kicked out of the club, following her or attempting something has me wrapping my hand around the neck of my guitar.
No. I can’t fucking let that happen.
So, instead of being in bed at one a.m., fast asleep, I’m drinking a coffee, getting ready to head back to the club to wait for Jayne to finish.