Chapter 25 #2
“It was my pleasure. The least I could do after Judy offered up her son as a sacrifice to my ranch.”
I take the carrot he dangled and bite into it. “How’s Stone doing over there, anyway?”
“Fine. Good.” Rome tosses a tenderloin into the vacant freezer and moves to the wrapped brisket. “I think it’s been helpful for him to unleash his buried emotions.”
Rome doesn’t have to elaborate. Stone’s kept his feelings about his mother on such lockdown, the only thing stopping me from wondering how he hasn’t exploded is the fact that he can deal with a lot of his anger and distress through physical labor and sex.
Lots of sex.
“You help, too,” Rome says.
I blush as if he read my thoughts. “Huh?”
Rome straightens after throwing the last of the loins in.
His eyes crinkle with amusement. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the change in him over this month.
He started off snarly and prissy but came to work this week willing to finally listen to instructions and with a pep in his step.
If he keeps it up, I might even let him play with the big boy power tools. ”
“Oh, that has nothing to do with me.” I laugh uncomfortably.
Rome gives me a careful study. “Why do I feel like I’m flashing back twelve years to when you two were first getting together?”
“We’re not together.” I say it a little too defensively. “We’re just …”
Rome raises his hands in surrender. “That may well be, but whatever you’re doing, keep it up. It’s helping him, and knowing you the way I do, that’s helping you .”
Not being one for heart-to-hearts, Rome ends the conversation by spinning on his cowboy boots and clomping back inside. I doubt he’ll take them off throughout dinner. He doesn’t seem like a walk-around-in-socks kind of man.
Shaking my head in bemusement, I follow him, shutting the door and joining the small party in the living room.
I notice our new guest instantly, as he stands out more than Rome.
Some people are born to wear a suit, and this guy’s one of them.
Dressed in an expensive, tailored charcoal suit, with professionally styled golden-blond hair and eyes the color of brushed copper, he stands almost as tall as Stone and Rome, dwarfing all the females except for Carly who matches his height with her three-inch heels.
“You must be Mr. Golde,” I say, drawing closer with my hand held out.
He takes it, his hand warm, dry, and firm. “Aaron, please. And you must be the famous Noa.”
I tilt my head in confusion. “Famous? I don’t think so.”
“From what Stone tells me?—”
“Aaron.” Stone appears beside me, unclasping our handshake by pulling my arm back by the wrist. Gentle, but possessive and firm.
That stupid move of his. I squint at him in warning. “What have you told Aaron about me?”
“Nothing, and that’s the point. Noa is invisible to the public eye, isn’t she, Aar?”
His protectiveness is a pleasant surprise at the same time his calling me invisible is jarring. Aaron doesn’t give me any more time to process.
He placates Stone by saying, “Of course. Noa isn’t known to anyone but me. I only meant to say it’s a pleasure to meet Stone’s high school sweetheart, the one who got away. He talks about you with a certain wistfulness, a joie de vivre, I should say…”
“All right.” Stone grunts, turning me away by the shoulders. “That’s enough.”
Aaron laughs behind us. That short exchange gave me enough intel to understand the rare closeness Stone has with Aaron and that Aaron means nothing by it.
And that I’m disappointed he’s not serious is something to be cast aside, too.
I should be glad Stone has someone he can trust that much.
Stone leans close to my ear as we walk. “Everything okay with you?”
His breath tickles the small hairs around my temple. Quick and pleasurable. “Absolutely. I’m going to make sure everything’s ready in the kitchen. Why don’t you go check on your mom, see if she wants to come down and join us at the table?”
Stone nods, his hand straying up my back and squeezing the nape of my neck before releasing.
Fast and pleasing.
“Care to share?” Carly sidles up to me, following my line of sight. Her eyes narrow in suspicion.
“It’s nothing.” I make an about-face into the dining room. Not that Carly would stay where she is.
“Doesn’t look like nothing to me.”
Sighing, I focus on straightening the place settings.
Multicolored pumpkins decorate the maroon tablecloth, nestled in small bushels of straw.
Cream candles stand at varying heights, their flame reflecting off Mrs. Stalinski’s gold-rimmed China plates.
I’ve dimmed the small chandelier above, and while the sun sets, a soft glow encases the entire room.
It’s beautiful. Perfect. I wish Mrs. Stalinski could see it.
“Turning into Martha Stewart won’t get me off your case,” Carly says behind me.
“I’m figuring out what to say and how to say it.” I straighten the forks beside each plate unnecessarily.
“Are you sleeping with him? No, don’t answer that.” Carly peers closer, her proximity tingling against the side of my face. “You’re totally fucking him.”
“Okay, fine.” I throw my hands up and face her. “I am. And I’d love your support while I do it.”
Carly cocks a manicured auburn brow.
“You don’t have to say it,” I continue. “It’s not a good idea, since we have so much history and baggage.
He broke my heart and left me. But I’m older now, and I’d like to think wiser, too.
We need each other’s bodies to forget the harder parts of our lives, and it feels good , dammit.
This time, there’s no unbreakable connection.
No hope. I’m not in love with him anymore, which means it doesn’t hurt to use him for my pleasure. ”
It’s hard to catch my breath after that speech. Difficult to hear myself over my rampant heartbeat.
Carly takes my hands in her own. I expect a lecture to come, the requisite best friend insisting she must protect me from my demons.
Instead, she surprises me. “Noa, if it makes you happy, then that’s all I care about. I’m not here to judge.” Carly’s gaze darts past my shoulder, her eyes widening. “But …”
I stare at her, perplexed. “What?”
Her eyes come back to mine. “Stone’s behind you.”
My heart ratchets up my throat. I release my hands from hers. I have to face him, but I won’t lie and say my slow spin wasn’t painful. It takes extra effort to raise my head and see his expression and if he heard what I said.
“Stone, I?—”
“It doesn’t matter.”
His curt interjection eases my turn into his spotlight. But when I meet his gaze, my chest twinges with sick agony.
Worry lines frame his eyes and mouth. His blue eyes, as warm as a summer sky, have dulled into gray clouds.
Those lips of his, always ready for a quip or wry comment to release humor to make any situation better, are closed and flat.
Maisy stands next to him, her lips thin and white around the edges.
My attention returns to Stone. I’ve never seen him this closed off.
It makes me nauseous to think I caused it.
I step forward, wanting to grab his hand and assure myself he’s still warm.
I only said what I thought he’d want in this situation.
No strings, no involved hearts, just sex.
If I’d told Carly the truth, that Stone was curling under my skin again, and this time, I wasn’t confident I’d be able to cut him out, she’d surely give me the best friend demon speech.
I open my mouth to tell him all of this, hoping to reverse what new, deep cracks I’ve put in his expression when he recoils from my touch.
His scowl deepens. “Ma can’t come down. I can’t get her out of bed without her crying out in pain. I can’t do this. I can’t have a huge feast in her dining room with her in agony upstairs.”
I clasp my hands together. The backs of my eyes heat but clenching my teeth together and swallowing hard keeps the tears at bay. I nod, acknowledging his anguished revelation.
“I have an idea,” I say. It feels like I’m talking through the spaces in my teeth. “It’s something I did with my mom. Maybe Mrs. Stalinski will be up for it.”
Stone’s already shaking his head. “You’ve seen her. She can’t roll to her side without suffering.”
“Let me talk to her,” I say, too bright, too eager to escape what was once a warm, inviting, family-centered room.
I brush Carly’s shoulder during my escape, giving her a chance to glide her hand down my arm in support.
I’m thankful she’s here as much as I hate that we’re observed by a crowd.
Stone’s worked hard to keep his mother’s sickness out of the media, and it’s not that these carefully picked close friends would leak her condition to the press, but no one knew how badly she’s declining. Not even them.
It doesn’t matter anymore .
I sprint up the stairs and push Mrs. Stalinski’s door open. It’s about memories now, more for Stone than for Mrs. Stalinski, but benefiting them both.
“Mrs. Stalinski,” I whisper into the darkened room.
“Noa.” Her croaky voice comes from the vicinity of the bed. “How many times must I tell you to refer to me with less formality?”
I crack a smile. “The first time I met you outside of a school environment was as Stone’s girlfriend. It was terrifying, and I wanted to do anything to make you love me. It’s ingrained at this point. Unless you’d prefer ma’am?”
“You insolent child,” Mrs. Stalinski mutters, but I hear the smile in her voice. “Call me that and I’ll whack you with this lamp.”
“Speaking of, can I turn it on?”
Her voice becomes tired. “I suppose.”
I flick the switch, bathing her exhausted form in a golden hue.
Chronic pain has a way of leeching all life from a person.
But she lays above the covers in a festive tunic of gold, red, and white, with comfortable black leggings underneath.
She’s capped off her outfit with a matching scarf tied around her head to hide her thinning hair.
I note the blush she’s applied to her cheeks and the gloss on her lips.
Mrs. Stalinski was ready to come join the party. She wanted to. Now, she can’t, but I’m here to remedy that.
“How is it going downstairs?” she asks. “I hear Rome’s deep baritone and a posh, obnoxious male voice sounding suspiciously like Stone’s greedy sidekick.”
“Aaron?” I laugh. “Yes, he was the last one to arrive. Everybody’s here.”
“That’s good. It’s good for Stone to be surrounded by people he loves and trusts.”
“I agree.” I perch on the edge of the bed. “And you deserve the same.”
“Oh, honey.” Mrs. Stalinski lays her hand on mine. “I appreciate the effort and how hard you’ve worked for this—all because I asked you. But as much as I try, I cannot get out of this bed.”
“I know. Which is why I’ll bring everyone to you.”
Mrs. Stalinski stares at me in confusion.
“I saw TV tables in the garage when I was helping Rome put an entire butchered deer in your freezer.”
Mrs. Stalinski nods, unfazed by Rome’s gift. Rome’s and Stone’s antics and strange decisions have stretched long and wide into Mrs. Stalinski’s life.
“I’d love to bring the feast to you and all the people who love you. We can fit in this room, easy. If you’re up for it.”
Mrs. Stalinski scans the room with a frown. My heart sinks.
She won’t agree. It’s too much on her. I’m fully aware it’s a lot to ask and will deplete the little energy she has on reserve, but I’m not sure how many holidays she has left. And when it came to my mother, spending the holidays with me, her only family, was so important to her toward the end.
“Stone bought me this house because of the size of the main bedroom. Have I ever told you that?” she says.
I shake my head.
“I always thought this room was better served as a rich bitch’s ballroom. Send them in.”
My smile reaches my ears. In a burst of affection, I lean forward and kiss her cheek.
She uses my momentum by catching my hands, bringing them to her heart, and squeezing hard.
It stalls my retreat, and I look down into her watery eyes.
“Thank you for this, my dear. I love you. If I’ve never told you that, then that is my mistake.”
Now it takes clamping my teeth against my lips to keep from crying. I give a jerky nod, squeezing back and whispering, “I love you, too,” before departing and heading downstairs to tell everyone the change of plans.
Stone helps bring the necessary TV tables into Mrs. Stalinski’s room without a word. Aaron and Rome are happy to help, with Maisy joining in and Carly, Mae, and I transferring the plates upstairs.
Mae jokes she knew she worked at the Merc’s cafe for a reason when she balances four full dinner plates up at once. Carly agrees that the Merc’s wine cellar has given her the same experience as she carries four pinot noirs in her long arms.
The sisters’ banter travels all the way up the stairs and lightens the mood as we crowd in.
Stone carved the turkey downstairs and the cacophony that began in the kitchen as everyone shouted for their preferred cuts to be dropped on their plate traveled into Mrs. Stalinski’s bedroom with equal fervor.
Maisy and I teamed up and brought the table decorations into her room, too, decorating her vanity, side tables, and wardrobe.
I sit cross-legged on the bed beside Mrs. Stalinski, my plate balanced on my thighs. The rest form a half circle around the bed, Stone the closest to his mother and Aaron on the other side, nearest to me.
Conversation flows as Mrs. Stalinski picks at her plate, then nonchalantly pushes it aside, nestling it beside me.
Her appetite wasn’t the point of this dinner, and nobody says a thing as she folds her arms against her concave stomach and joins in on the conversation, her smile permanently in place.
Scrapes of cutlery against emptied plates soon join into the flow. Aaron makes what I hope he considers a joke when Carly stands up for seconds. He fast becomes one of Carly’s many victims under her lethal stare.
“City boys,” Mrs. Stalinski says. “They never learn.”
“Just for that,” Carly says to Aaron, “I’m stealing your cranberry crème br?lée.”
“Wait—there’s crème br?lée here?” Aaron truly appears perplexed that such a dessert would appear in a small town like this.
I laugh. Mae and Maisy join in, with Carly following (though Carly’s is more of an I’m making fun of you, stupid city boy laugh).
“Noa made it, and it’s fucking divine, so you better shut your freshly waxed mouth and respect my women,” Stone adds.
It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice over the others, and I look over at him in surprise.
He catches my eye and winks.
And just like that, my heart floats.
It’s okay. We’re okay.