Chapter 10 #2
Mrs. Stalinski doesn’t protest as Stone leans her into his powerful body. I’m fully aware of the weight she’s lost and how frail she’s become, but next to her tall, powerful, and incredibly fit son, she turns into a broken bird.
A rock lodges in my throat. Swallowing it down, I open the cabinet above the fridge and pick out her necessary meds. I get her a glass of water and hand everything to her, which she takes without protest.
“There,” she says. “Once these babies hit, I’ll be snoozing and snoring, and you two can bicker long into the night.”
A note of pain laces her tone, and I immediately wish there was a bedroom on the first floor so she wouldn’t have to navigate the stairs. I assumed it would have to happen eventually, but with the way this clinical trial is progressing, it might be sooner than anybody imagined.
Stone solves the problem for me when he lifts his mother into his arms.
“William!” she protests. “You do not need to carry me like a darned baby. Put me down this instant.”
“Not a chance,” Stone says, his face grim. The muscles in his jaw pop and undulate, holding a frustrated roar prisoner.
Without glancing in my direction, he strides out of the kitchen and to the stairs, Mrs. Stalinski batting him on the shoulder and demanding to be released the entire way.
I should leave them to it. Mrs. Stalinski is in expert hands with Stone, but there is a pull to follow them I can’t ignore.
Maybe she’ll need me , I rationalize as I pad behind them in my socks. Or needs help in the bathroom. She won’t want Stone for that.
All things Mrs. Stalinski could probably do for herself, but I’m staying overnight as her nurse.
Not as her friend or Stone’s ex-girlfriend.
The dinner allowed the three of us to dismiss my role for a time, but cancer never likes to be overlooked.
It’ll push itself back into the spotlight at every turn.
When I reach Mrs. Stalinski’s bedroom door, Stone is laying his mother gently on the bed and pulling the duvet over her. His fingers shake as he does it, the blue veins down his forearms bulging.
It’s been so long since I’ve seen him in person, yet I can spot his battle to keep himself under control a mile away.
I come up behind him. “Let me. It’s why I’m here.”
Stone glances at me with his expression a mixture of guilt and relief. Relief that there is someone in the vicinity who knows exactly what to do, and guilt that he doesn’t want to, or can’t, do it.
“Thanks.” His throat bobs. He moves away.
“Allow us ladies to get prepared for bed,” Mrs. Stalinski says, her eyelids drooping. The fentanyl patch works fast. “Go clean the kitchen, since you made such a mess of it.”
“I thought the rule was the chef cooks, the gluttons clean.” Stone tries for a joke, though it falters around the edges.
“In this instance, the winner humbly accepts their win and tidies up after themselves,” Mrs. Stalinski slurs.
Her head lolls to one side. A wrenching keen comes from my left, and I realize it’s Stone, the moan leaking through his tightly closed lips. His eyes are a sheen of blue. His pulse beats so hard, I can see it fluttering like a dying butterfly in his neck.
“Go,” I whisper, squeezing his arm. It’s warm, firm, and with a familiar, downy softness. “I’ll make sure she’s sleeping peacefully.”
Stone’s jaw works. He won’t tear his gaze from his mother.
“Thank you,” he grits out, and then he’s gone.
With the image of Stone’s agony battling with my nurse’s to-do list, I help Mrs. Stalinski take off her clothes and have her use the bedpan before putting on her pajamas, since she’s in no condition to walk.
She slurs her thanks and at some points smacks at my arms feebly, demanding that she can do this all herself until the pain killers take over and she falls asleep.
Mrs. Stalinski is snoring softly by the time I ensure the baby monitor I brought with me is working on her side table so she can call for me at night if she needs.
Even though it would take a zombie Apocalypse to wake her, I tiptoe down the stairs and follow the sounds of clattering dishes and a running faucet at full power.
“Need any help?” I ask, entering the kitchen.
Stone’s so busy slamming dishes into the sink and spraying the hell out of them, he doesn’t hear.
“Hey. Stone,” I try again.
The muscles under his T-shirt flit under his skin like rapidly blinking eyes.
I walk up behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder.
He whirls with such speed that I yelp, and I’m met with fire.
Heated cheeks, rippling skin, molten eyes.
“Hey.” I cup both his arms. “Take a breath. It’s okay.”
“It’s not fucking okay!” he roars. Spit flies into my face. His voice shatters my soul, but I don’t flinch.
I get a glimpse of the old Stone. My William. I’m thankful he still exists, but hate the situation that’s brought it out of him.
“You’re right. That’s a stupid thing people say when they can’t think of anything else to make you feel better,” I say.
I surprise him with those words. His arms go slack in my hands. I still haven’t let him go. I don’t think I could if I tried.
Stone’s softening should’ve come as a warning, but I’m just as keyed up as he is, just as heartbroken. It’s why I’m not prepared when he cups my face and yanks me to his lips with a desperate, blazing desperation.
It’s such a familiar pain that I submit to his lips without thinking about fighting.
His full mouth sucks on mine, his tongue as silky and skilled as I remember, tasting like a home-cooked meal.
My hands slide around his neck. My body softens against the hard lines of his chest, and with arms that could crush my bones as seamlessly as he shattered my heart, he lifts me until my legs wrap around his waist and we topple against the fridge, kissing each other like we’re both dying.
His hands travel to my ass, squeezing through the thin material of my scrubs and dipping into my crease, prodding and spreading my wetness into my clothes.
The cooling slickness of my need is enough to wake me out of this pointless dream. Pulling my mouth from his, I fight to get down, pushing against his chest and saying, “No, we need to stop. We can’t do this.”
Stone complies, likely as taken aback by our actions as I am, dropping my legs and retreating while wiping his palm against his mouth.
He smells me on his hands. Stone’s pupils dilate the moment his pointer finger slides under his nostrils. I internally command myself not to react. Not to fall to my knees, pull out his dick, and smell him, too. And lick him, taste him, have him like I used to.
“I apologize.” Stone’s tone is hoarse. “That was totally unacceptable.”
I cross my arms and press my back into the stove. “You’re dealing with unimaginable pain. It’s only been twenty-four hours.”
“You’re too compassionate.” Stone laughs tonelessly. “My grief is no excuse to fuck you on my mother’s kitchen counter.”
The words send another gush of need between my legs. Having rough sex with Stone would be a healing ointment that I’d love to rub all over me until it stops working. And something like that always requires repeat uses. Stone is the most addictive drug I’ve ever come across.
I press my thighs together. “I’ll give you one hall pass. That’s it.”
Stone offers a half smile. “It won’t happen again.”
We should go back to tidying the kitchen, but both of us continue standing in the middle of the room, staring at each other.
Remembering the agony that sounded out of him brings me closer. I reach up, pressing my hands on his shoulders and squeezing.
Stone lowers his head, his eyes searing into mine. “The way you’ve been there for her … I’m angry you didn’t tell me and frustrated with her for keeping something like this a secret for so long, but … Fuck, you got this handled. And for that, I’m thankful.”
My hands slide down his arms, but he catches them in his before I let him go.
“No thanks needed,” I say, but it’s on autopilot. So many people thank me for what seems to me to be the right thing to do, but maybe that’s because I’m just too close to see that not everybody would want to do this.
“No. You’re going to listen to me say it. She needs you. I need you. You’re here because neither of us can live without you right now, and I?—”
“Stone, stop.”
“—I didn’t leave this town in the best of ways?—”
“I said stop.” I try to pull my hands from his, but he holds them strong. “Don’t go there. Please.”
“But I have to. For too long, I’ve let you go without an explanation, made you hate me, and despite all that, you’ve dropped everything to take care of my mother.”
“I said don’t .” Seething, I yank out of his grip.
Now I own the fire.
Stone blinks at me..
“You don’t get to thank me for taking care of your mother after what happened between us, like it shouldn’t be the case that your scorned ex-girlfriend wants to help her.
Despite what you think, I have not gone through life as your ex, telling everyone that I dated a famous billionaire who dumped me—though God knows, the whole town knows that, anyway.
I’m doing this because I love your mother.
I love her. She was there for me during the years I needed someone, and I would do anything for her.
It has nothing to do with you. And it’s selfish, so selfish of you to think that I’ve overcome bitterness toward you in order to be there for her. ”
“Noa.” Stone lifts his hands in surrender. “I was just trying to say thank you.”
“Yeah, well.” I blink back frustrated tears. “It should be pretty damned obvious that I want nothing from you. Gratitude being the least of it.”
Stone shakes his head then looks to the side, as if he can find answers through the window. “You know, for someone who insists I mean nothing to her, you’re sure passionate about it.”
“ I was pregnant! ” I shriek.
The vehemence surprises even me. I jerk all the way to my toes. My heart’s on fire and the flames char my throat and singe my eyes.
Stone takes a deep breath, his hands still out like he could ever soothe the ache in my chest. “I know, Noa. I was a dumb kid and if I could go back, I would.”
“You left me,” I somehow garble out through my rapidly closing throat. “You left me to deal with it, all without a goodbye.”
“No. I had a plan, but then it?—”
I slam up my hand. “Not another word. If you say one more thing about this, I swear to God I will smack you and I won’t be able to stop.”
My fingers tremble in the air. They blur through my tears along with his stricken, confused, handsome face.
The world washes into watercolor until I lower my arm and sprint from the room, leaving him no further space to smear his butter over the burn.