Chapter 25
Trevor
Ijudged Tucker a little for moving Ruth and Birdie into his house the way he did. Thought my brother had lost his fucking mind. Even when I believed their relationship was real, his eagerness to have them under the same roof baffled the fuck out of me.
I am completely and totally unbaffled now.
Honestly, I don’t know why he didn’t move them in sooner.
My baby brother did have company more than I ever have, but taking a random woman home for one night versus providing for a specific woman and her sister indefinitely? Those are two very different things.
And the difference between waking up alone in an empty house and waking up to a five-year-old waiting to grill you about how the remote on the television in their room works? That’s even more dramatic.
“Trevor,” Zara whisper-yells. “I can’t make my TV work.”
I dig the heel of one hand into my eye, trying to work myself a little more awake. “Do you always wake up this early?”
“Yes.” She waggles the remote in front of my face. “Can you help me?”
“Sure.” I take the device before it lands on my cornea. Sitting up with a yawn, I grab my cell from where it’s plugged in on my nightstand. “You know it’s five thirty in the morning, right?”
“I know how to tell time.” Her tone is indignant. “Maren taught me.”
“That sounds about right.” I usually sleep until six, but it looks like that’s not in the cards for this morning. “You’ve got a pretty good sister, you know that?”
“I know.” Zara shifts back a little as I fumble my way out of bed. “She’s a better mom than a lot of moms.”
“You can say that again.” I normally make my bed the second I’m out of it, but it won’t kill me to skip a morning. “You hungry for breakfast?”
“I already had breakfast.”
That makes me pause. “Yeah?” I look over her pajamas in search of a hint at what she consumed. “Where did you get breakfast?”
“Nana DeeDee brought it to me.” Zara swipes at a strand of hair that’s fallen from the braid Maren worked into her hair before bed. “Yesterday she showed me how to call her on my tablet, so I called her and told her I was hungry.”
I can see the whole interaction in my mind. Can one hundred percent envision my mother doing all of that and more.
And it has me laughing out loud.
Because Maren’s gonna lose her shit over it.
She’s real fucking skittish when it comes to letting people help her or relying on anyone else in any way. The woman is as independent as it gets. Hell, she was pissed when I hauled her ass out of a burning room, because she ‘would have figured something out’.
And that’s not really going to mesh well with my mother’s brand of affection. Which is likely why she’s focusing all of it on Zara.
Giving people who need her love the space to adjust isn’t easy for my mother. Waiting for Ruth to be ready to accept all she wanted to give her nearly drove my mom out of her mind. So it doesn’t surprise me she’s found a loophole in the system this time.
And Zara is one hell of a willing loophole.
I keep my steps slow as we make our way out of my room and down the hall. “What did Nana DeeDee bring you to eat?”
“She brought eggs with cheese, and bacon, and a hash brown.” Zara’s dark eyes slide my way as she pauses. “And maybe a cinnamon roll.”
I’m laughing again as we reach her room. “Sounds like she hooked you up with a pretty good breakfast.”
“It was yummy.” She grips the edge of the bed she slept in last night, using it for balance as she brings her eyes to mine. “Does she make you breakfast in the mornings?”
“No.” I use the remote switch on the television. “But she probably would if I asked her to.”
Zara squirms her way up onto the mattress. “She would?”
I can only imagine what my mother would bring if I told her I’d really love to have a good breakfast in the mornings before work. Possibly an entire buffet.
Honestly, I think she struggled a little when we all moved out.
Even though we’re all still living on the same property, it’s not the same.
Her entire life—both personal and professional—centered around her family.
How she took care of us. The home she provided.
The meals she made. Looking back, it probably felt like she lost her whole identity in the blink of an eye.
And that could explain why she’s taken to being a grandmother like a fish to water, soaking up any kids who accidentally end up in her pond.
“Why would she do that?” Zara’s little brow furrows as she looks me up and down. “You’re grown up.”
I’m so distracted by trying to find the cartoons Zara is partial to, that I don’t think before I speak. “Because that’s what moms do. They like to take care of their kids, even when they’re grown-ups.”
I’m facing away from Zara so the first clue I get that I’ve said something wrong is her sad little voice when she says, “Not my mom.”
Fuck me.
I spin away from the television, abandoning that task in favor of one that’s much more important.
Zara’s expression is downcast as I lower to sit on the foot of her bed. She gives me a little shrug. “My mom didn’t really want to take care of her kids like Nana DeeDee takes care of you.”
I’m in over my head on this, so all I can do is nod, hoping I find the right words. “I know. Your sister told me.”
“It makes me sad.” Zara fiddles with the blankets, the pink sparkles on her fingernails catching in the overhead light.
“I can imagine. I would feel pretty sad about not knowing my mom too.”
Zara’s brows pinch together. “I’m not sad for me. I’m sad for Maren.” Her little mouth presses into a flat line. “Maren takes good care of me, but nobody ever took care of her.”
“I know about that too.” And I fucking hate it. I fucking hate knowing that the person who should have protected her and loved her and kept her safe failed her on such an epic level.
Zara’s wide eyes hold mine, her expression guileless as she asks, “Are you going to take care of her?”
“Yes.” I don’t hesitate. I don’t have to.
It’s the easiest answer I’ve ever given.
I’ve taken care of Maren—whether she liked it or not—from the second she walked into McKinley Security Systems. First, it was simply because she was an employee, but that quickly shifted, and so did my motivations.
I started taking care of Maren because I wanted to. Because it seemed like she needed it.
Because I know even the most competent people sometimes need a little support.
Zara’s cute little face splits in a wide smile. “Good. Because I won’t be big enough to take care of her for a while.”
“Why are you two awake?”
Zara and I both turn to find Maren standing in the doorway.
“I wanted to watch television, so I asked Trevor to turn it on for me.”
Zara jumps into an explanation, which is good, because I’m not sure I could offer one.
Not with the way Maren is looking at me now.
Like she definitely just heard me tell Zara I would be taking care of her.
At least I’m assuming that’s what she heard, because it’s the only thing I can think of that would have her shooting daggers at me with her eyeballs.
“It’s a school day. We don’t have time to sit and watch television. Especially since we’re so far away from your school now.” Maren sighs. “Since you’re already up, we might as well have breakfast—”
“Nana DeeDee already brought me breakfast.”
The stabbing Maren is doing with her eyes gets more aggressive as she stares me down while repeating her sister’s words. “Nana DeeDee brought you breakfast?”
“Yup.” Zara is oblivious to her sister’s current state of discontent over this new information, which is likely why she continues on. “I had eggs and bacon and hash brown and a cinnamon roll.”
Maren closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she finally lifts her lids, a stiff smile manages its way onto her lips. “That was very nice of her.”
I knew there was nothing Maren wouldn’t do for her sister, but holding it together right now proves that to the nth degree.
I’m sure she’s going to rip into me the second we’re alone, and I can’t wait for it to happen.
But in spite of her own hangups and fears, she’s doing everything she can not to influence her sister or ruin her excitement over my mother’s obvious affection.
“Nana DeeDee is super nice.” Zara gives the television a longing look. “Since I already had breakfast, can I watch TV?”
Maren makes a general shrugging gesture with her hands. “Sure.” She turns away. “I need coffee.”
Quickly setting the television to Zara’s favorite channel, leaving her happily watching a bunch of ponies having brightly-colored adventures, I race after Maren. She’s going to need my help with the coffee maker, but I’m also a little excited to start this day off right.
With Maren yelling at me.
I practically skip down the steps nearly tripping and falling on my fucking face in my rush to find Maren.
To show her one more way I can take care of her, just like Zara asked me if I would.
I don’t expect her to accept my help, and I sure as hell know she wouldn’t believe me if I told her my intent, but I don’t mind showing her.
As many times as it takes. I didn’t get where I am in life by being the kind of man who backs down when things are difficult.
If anything, I seek out a challenge. Simply to prove I’m up for the task.
That’s likely why I seek Maren out now. Why I will seek her out again tomorrow. To prove I’m up for the task of showing her what it’s like to be taken care of.
But when I get downstairs and put my eyes on Maren, I question myself. Not my commitment—that’s still strong and well. My uncertainty lies in my ability. Because Maren doesn’t look angry or agitated. She’s not spitting mad or full of fire.
She looks… Afraid.
And that’s not an emotion I’ve ever seen on her face before. Not when she was facing certain death trapped by a fire. Not when she went toe to toe with Ruth’s ex. Not when her home was broken into and ransacked.
Only now. While she’s standing in my kitchen, perfectly safe, perfectly protected. Perfectly perfect.
“What am I supposed to tell her when this is all over?” She doesn’t wait for me to ask what’s wrong. Doesn’t make me guess why she’s upset, the way most people probably would. “She’s calling your mom Nana for God’s sake.”
I get where she’s coming from. I understand the concern. I also know it’s unwarranted.
But that’s not something I can explain to a woman who’s never had a family. A woman whose own mother steals from her on such a regular basis it’s an expected outcome. All I can do is wait for Maren to see what she’s too afraid to accept.
“My mother has wanted grandchildren for years. She’s developed a bad habit of claiming any kid who lingers too long as her own.” I carefully move closer, watching Maren for any sign I’m in danger of fucking this up. “I know it feels like a lot, but I promise it’s how my mom is with all kids.”
That’s a version of the truth. My mom does love all kids. She dotes on them and feeds them and loves the shit out of them.
She does not tell them to call her at five in the morning for breakfast, but that’s a conversation we can have another day.
“It’s not just that, Trevor.” Maren flails around, arms sweeping through the air as she gestures wildly at the house I failed to turn into a home no matter how much money I threw at it. “It’s everything. I can’t just…” She presses both hands to her head, eyes closing. “I just can’t.”
I hate seeing her like this. She’s not angry. She’s not fighting me. She’s not pushing my buttons or stabbing at me with well-crafted insults.
She’s lost. Stranded in the center of waters she’s never even seen from the road, let alone dipped her toe into.
And it’s up to me to teach her how to swim.
“No one is asking you to.” I step toward her, moving fast enough she can’t avoid me, and rest both hands on her shoulders. “There are no expectations here. Not from my mother, and sure as hell not from me.”
I know this isn’t permanent. I know she and Zara won’t want to stay with me forever. But that doesn’t mean I won’t always be there for them. That my mother won’t always consider Zara one of her own.
“You are here because this is where you’re safe. This is where you don’t have to worry about anyone coming to take more from you.” I meet her eyes, making sure she hears me. “And that includes my family.”
Maren rolls her eyes. “I’m not worried about your family taking anything from me.” She pulls in a deep breath, blowing it back out. “But I can’t have Zara getting used to living the way you do, because…”
“Because why?” I want her to say it. I want her to tell me she believes we’re going to go away. Leave the two of them on their own.
Because that’s not fucking happening.
She opens her mouth to tell me her vision of her truth when the latch on my front door opens. A second later, my mother’s voice calls out.
“Good morning.” She breezes down the hall and into the kitchen, looking bright-eyed and bushytailed, which makes sense considering she’s been awake long enough to bake an entire batch of cinnamon rolls.
“I brought Maren some breakfast. I figured this would be sort of a rough morning as everyone acclimates to the new living situation.” My mother plops a large insulated bag onto the counter and begins unloading containers.
“I did some meal prepping too, so all you’ll have to do for the next couple of days is warm things up. ”
I’m not at all surprised by this, but Maren seems to be.
She watches, eyes widening more and more as my mother lines plastic containers filled with breakfast bake, overnight oats, and wax paper wrapped sandwiches in front of her.
The options are topped off with a fresh pan of cinnamon rolls, a container of orange juice, and a pitcher of cold brew concentrate.
Clearly thrown off her game, Maren manages a quiet, thank you, as she takes it all in.
I love Maren when she’s loud and aggressive.
I enjoy her when she’s challenging and defiant.
But this new Maren—the one who’s uncertain and maybe a little afraid—has a part of me I’ve never acknowledged stirring to life.
The part of me that wants to pull her close and protect her.
Keep her safe while she acclimates to this new normal.
Slice anyone who tries to hurt her in half.
And that part of me is very unhappy it can’t do what it wants, because my mother’s watching me like a hawk, reading into every move I make and every word I say. I don’t want to get her hopes up. Not when I know how this is ultimately going to play out.
“That should be everything.” My mother claps her hands together after unloading a collection of dinners and a tray of brownies. “That should tide you over until Thursday. Then we can revisit.”
Maren’s brows lift. “What’s Thursday?”
“Family dinner night, of course.” My mother snatches the empty bag from the counter, immediately making a beeline for the door as she calls over one shoulder. “I’ll see you two then.”