Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Stone
W hen I’m standing in the living room, forced to watch Noa walk to the front door, I realize my genuine mistake in returning to Falcon Haven.
Her.
Her , and how badly I want her again.
I could’ve been honest about why I was here and the temper that had gotten the best of me—a temper she is well familiar with, but I’d laughed and made her believe I don’t care.
My mother’s terminal cancer almost, almost , brought tears to my eyes.
It’s the first time I’ve felt wetness on my face in a decade and my chest aches like I’ve been stabbed.
My mother’s dying. Ma thinks I’ve returned because my vast resources discovered the truth she was trying to hide from me.Noa believed the same.
The last thing I want to do is confess that I’ve been too busy, made too much money, for me to keep track of the goings-on in Falcon Haven.
I picture the way Noa braced herself as I stepped into my mother’s home, like her little body wanted to tackle me for my absence and was doing me a favor by holding herself back.
Her scent. Her fucking scent hits my nostrils again, and I nearly fall to my knees.
Smell is the greatest memory there is, and that mixture of vanilla and citrus recalls hiding under the bleachers after school and kissing her until both our bodies were imprinted into the dirt.
Taking her to the Mercantile and swiping strawberry milkshake on her face before licking it off.
The soundtrack of her laughter in my ears.
It brings back innocence. Freedom. The weightless future a sixteen-year-old envisions for themself.
I cut her off in the hallway.
Reaching past Noa, I open the front door a little too hard, nearly hitting her shoulder.
She leaps back in time, glaring at me through her lashes but stepping outside all the same.
Serves me right for trying to be a gentleman after training to be a raider for so long. I wasn’t trying to, but now I wish I didn’t dim that sparkle in her eyes.
“I assume you still want me here at six tomorrow morning? Or am I fired?” Noa waits for my response before descending the porch steps.“You’re good at that sort of thing, aren’t you?”
She asks it nonchalantly, but I notice how she works her jaw while I stare at her, one hand on the open door.
“You’re not fired.”
Noa’s face tightens like she wanted more from me than that. A rise, a spurt of insult, anything. She must sense pity in my voice, instead.
“You don’t have to keep me because you feel bad. I have other patients.” But her face darts to the window into the living room. Where Ma’s sitting.
Noa had months to reconcile her favorite English teacher with a devastating diagnosis.
She’s been there for Ma in ways I haven’t.
It isn’t fair, but I resent her for it. We have our history, but if she didn’t see me around and wondered about it, she’s impetuous enough to have alerted me, even if she hates me.
An unnatural cold envelops my body at the thought. Numbing and therapeutic as I stand across from a woman who haunts me, despises me, and still has me all at the same time.
“You have a routine with Ma.” I being to swing the door shut. “See you at six.”
I break our stare-off before I can register any wounded look on her face, firmly clicking the door closed.
“That went well.”
Ma’s wry tone comes through the hallway.
“How’d you expect it to go?” I ask.
Ma reclines on the couch, her thin body almost boneless with exhaustion and purple bags under her eyes. It’s frightening how much weight she’s lost.
“Don’t be doing that.” Her snippiness matches mine.
“Doing what?” I round to the bar cart in the dining room, needing a refill. Or three.
“Look at me all pitiful, like I’m a wounded deer you spotted on the road.”
The decanter’s lid clinks as I lift it off.
“I don’t think that.” I glance over my shoulder. “Because then I’d have to shoot you in a ditch to end your misery.”
My lips uptick at Ma’s snort. It’s nice that I can still make her laugh. My mother is the only person who handles my dark, mostly unnoticed humor.
Well, her and—someone else.
I look at the front door. Swallow more burning liquid.
“Still, I don’t need my grown son to stare at me like I’m already dead.” Ma grunts as she shifts to get more comfortable. “This is a bad spell, is all. I have good days, too. I’ve found the clinical trial to be so much easier on my body than chemo.”
“What clinical trial?” My focus zeroes in on her. I return to the living room with a full glass and take a seat on the sofa chair.
Her eyes slit at the suspicion in my tone. “Before you get on your high city horse, it’s being done by a well-respected oncologist and has Dr. Silver’s full approval. Even better, all it requires is a few pills a day.”
“Except for the mild concern that you could be on the placebo and not the actual drug.”
“Your sarcasm is noted.” Ma shrugs. “The mind is a great healer, too, and so long as I believe I’m taking a cure, it’s been better for me.”
“Ma, that’s not realistic.”
“Does it look like I appreciate reality at the moment?” Her arched brow mimics mine. “You didn’t see me on chemo?—”
“Because you didn’t allow me to.”
Ma levels me with a weighted look, the type with the full knowledge of what she did and has no regrets. “The trial is for a few months. Then if it doesn’t work, I go back on chemo.”
“And during those months, the cancer will have time to grow.”
Ma’s lashes lower as she sighs. “Honeybear, it’s been growing. It’s in my lower spine, my hips, and parts of my skull.”
With each body part she lists, I inwardly recoil. But her skull … “Jesus. Ma.”
She opens her arms. “C’mere, baby.”
I refuse to break down. I’m too big and too grown of a man to curl up on a mamma’s lap, but I sure can sit next to her and bury her in my arms.
I do just that, cradling her head under my chin and marveling at our switch in roles. She used to do this for me during my nightmares as a child.I can barely remember that time, yet at this moment it’s as vivid as the feel of her bones under her skin.
“Were you ever going to tell me?” I ask over the top of her head.
She squeezes my waist. “I was. I promise you. I didn’t know when, or how, but maybe you coming home right this moment is a gift. I’m glad you’re here. I want you to know that.”
I close my eyes. “I am, too.”
Even if my return is for the wrong reasons.
She wraps her arms around my torso, pulling me in as tight as she can. “And now that my surprising news is out of the way, let’s talk about you and your penchant for whipping around people and furniture in public like you’ve regressed into toddler form.”
I play dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You think your own mamma isn’t aware of what’s going on with you?”
To clear the guilty phlegm out of my throat, I answer, “I thought you didn’t read the tabloids.”
“I don’t, but my cribbage group sure does. Maisy Hitchins being at the forefront.”
“That fucking family,” I grunt.
Ma smacks my arm. “I’ll allow you a few f-words because you’re upset, but you watch your language.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Besides, she’s just the messenger. You’re the problem and returning to town with your tail between your legs, no less. You must’ve really done it this time, huh?”
I pull away to grant space between us, though the last thing I want is to be scolded by my mother. She may be reduced in size, but her glare sure isn’t. “I may have crossed the line slightly.”
Ma clucks with disapproval. “Then we have some work to do.”
“You don’t have to do anything. This is my mess. You rest.”
“Oh, please.” Ma waves me off. “I’d love to be a part of your redemption tour. You can start by getting in some work around here.”
I scan the room. Her floral fabric sofa furniture is spotless, as is the glass coffee table in front of us. No finger smears on the windows, and the fan above is devoid of any dust bunnies on its blades.
“It looks like your weekly cleaners do a fine job.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less from Jean and Nelson. They do wonderful work outside with my lawn and garden, too.”
I pull my head back so I can study her better. “I see no problem.”
“I’m not talking about my home, hon.”
“Then I need more information.”
“You remember that Carter boy, the one who was always beating up the neighborhood kids?” she hedges.
“I do.” I draw out the words as my mind works to recall past events. “He should be about eighteen now. Took over my detention record at Falcon Haven high.”
“That’s right.”
“And he has to do with this because…”
“He quit his job at Talon Ranch to pursue a wrestling scholarship at Duke.”
“Is that right?” My surprise is honest. I figured that boy would be doing jail time by now.
“Turned his life right around. We’re all proud of him.”
“Well. Good for him.”
“But Rome’s having a heck of a time filling in his role, what with all the kids back in school.”
My right eye twitches, not entirely enjoying where this conversation is going. “Ma, I am not a stable hand.”
“Not anymore, but you were quite the skilled worker as a boy.” She pats me lightly on the arm, then rubs it.
Her go-to manipulation tactic. “It wouldn’t be permanent, and you could do with some honest work now that you’re aiming to get away from all that destructive behavior.
” She adds sweetly, “That’s what you’re doing here, aren’t you? Re-writing your reputation?”
“I was thinking I’d spend more time with my mother, actually.”
“You can do that, too, honey.” She pats me again, like she’s placating a riled stallion. “This would only be part-time. A few hours in the morning.”
“Not that I’m entertaining this idea at all , but how early are we talking about?”
“About four, so you can help haul in the feed to the Merc store.”
I pause. “The only four o’clock I know is the one where the janitor staff tells me to leave so they can clean my office.”
“Mm-hmm. And how has your all-night working been going for you?”
I stand, pacing away. “You’re not psychoanalyzing me. Not now, when I’ve only recently been told about your health, endured a lecture from Aaron, and given a ridiculous amount of ammunition to Ravynn.”
“That girl.” Ma curls her lip. I smile grimly at her immediate repulsion of my one-week regret. “Not that I’m about to use her as a valid defense to your current behavior.”
My lips thin.
“You’d be doing Rome—and Maisy—a great service, and she’s been a wonderful friend to me during this horrible time.”
Ma folds her hands into her lap, allowing the meaning of her words to sink in.
My vision narrows. “You’re using your cancer to get me to do this.”
“I sure as heck am.”
“That is worse than cruel.”
“Hush, now.” She pats my hand, then uses my thigh to push to her feet. “Noa made an excellent lasagna for this evening and I’m hankering for a meal after sleeping for most of the day.”
I sigh, squeezing her hand before helping her into a stand. “Lead the way.”
The cushions don’t shift as Ma rises. It takes a second to collect my heart from the bottom of the well my stomach has become. But I do.
I offer Ma my elbow. “Is her lasagna as delicious as I remember?”
As delicious as her body?
“Better.” Ma leans her head on my upper arm as we head to the kitchen. “She adds this thing she calls a rue now.”
“Lovely.”
Out of all the Michelin starred restaurants I’ve eaten at, courting clients and regaling politicians, I always thought of her. Wondering if the next dish to grace my table was from Noa, and if she was happy, happier, without me.
Years ago, Noa’s meals used to fix any difficulties occurring in my life.
I kiss the top of Ma’s head, praying that fact still holds.