Chapter 33
REID
“Mom?”
The word barely reached the far side of the break room.
Noah stood beside me with the walking pole angled against the floor. His fingers had tightened around its cork handle until the knuckles blanched. For several seconds, he seemed to forget the room contained chairs.
Diane Bennett looked at him without rising.
Age had thinned her face since the last time I saw her, but it had not softened it. Her silvering hair was cut close around her ears. She wore a camel-colored coat buttoned to the throat and held her handbag upright in her lap as though expecting someone to steal it.
Her gaze traveled from Noah’s scar to the pole and then to me.
“You look healthier than I expected.”
Noah’s mouth parted.
That was what she had brought after four months of silence.
Not thank God.
Not I’m sorry.
An assessment.
I heard Owen shift behind us. Caleb stood near the workshop door, deliberately close enough to intervene.
Noah took one step into the room.
“What are you doing here?”
“I came to see my son.”
“You knew where I was.”
“Leah said you needed time.”
“I was in intensive care.”
Diane’s lips compressed.
“I was told you were unconscious.”
“And after?”
Her gaze flicked toward me.
I knew that look. She had used it years ago whenever she wanted to make Noah’s choices sound like something I had done to him.
“I wasn’t sure I would be welcome.”
“You weren’t sure,” Noah repeated.
His speech remained clear, but his responses had begun to slow.
I touched the base of his neck.
He leaned into my hand for half a breath, then moved toward the table.
“Sit with me,” he said.
I looked at him.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Not across the room.
Not standing guard at the door.
Beside him.
I pulled out the chair next to his. Noah lowered himself carefully, keeping the pole against his leg. I sat close enough that our knees touched.
Diane watched the movement.
Her expression tightened.
“So you’re still living here.”
“This is my home.”
“With him.”
“With Reid.”
The distinction mattered.
Diane placed her bag on the table.
“I understand you don’t remember everything.”
“No.”
“Then perhaps this is an opportunity to put old disagreements behind us.”
I felt Noah go still beside me.
“What disagreements?”
She glanced at me again.
“He knows.”
“Noah asked you.”
My voice came colder than I intended.
Her eyes narrowed.
“This is between me and my son.”
“My partner is staying.”
Noah’s answer came quietly.
Diane looked at him.
“Partner.”
“Yes.”
“You always were quick to attach yourself.”
I moved before I could stop myself.
Noah’s hand closed around my forearm.
Not restraining.
Reminding.
I looked at him.
His face had gone pale.
I sat back.
Diane noticed and seemed pleased.
“I don’t remember the last time I saw you,” Noah said. “Reid told me it went badly.”
“He sees everything through his own bias.”
“What happened?”
“We argued.”
“About?”
“You were angry.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
She sighed as if he were being unreasonable.
“You had become distant. Leah had filled your head with complaints about family, and he encouraged you to cut everyone off.”
I laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
Noah’s grip on my arm tightened.
“Did you say things about us?”
Diane’s gaze settled on the table.
“I was upset.”
“What things?”
“I don’t see how digging through every ugly conversation helps your recovery.”
Noah’s breathing changed.
“Did you call me sick?”
She did not answer.
“Did you tell Reid he had ruined me?”
Her jaw tightened.
“I was trying to make you understand what your choices had cost the family.”
The room seemed to narrow.
Noah looked at me.
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t tell me all of it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you had enough pain.”
Diane gave a sharp, disapproving sound.
“There. He decides what you can handle.”
I turned on her.
“He sat in a hospital bed asking why his mother had not called. I was not going to answer with every cruel thing you ever said.”
“You always make yourself the hero.”
“No,” Noah said.
His voice had gone lower.
Diane looked at him.
“He doesn’t.”
Her expression faltered.
“I’m the one who doesn’t remember. That doesn’t make him dishonest.”
“I didn’t come to fight.”
“Why did you come?”
“I told you.”
“No. You said you came to see me.”
He leaned forward slightly.
“Why now?”
Silence spread across the table.
From the workshop came the low cycling hum of the ventilation system. Rain touched the metal roof in soft, irregular taps.
Diane picked at one edge of her handbag.
“I saw the newspaper.”
My entire body became cold.
Noah’s eye closed briefly.
“The article.”
“Yes.”
“You saw I survived.”
“Of course I knew you survived.”
“You saw the settlement mentioned.”
Her face hardened.
“I saw that you had received financial help.”
There it was.
Not even disguised well.
Noah stared at her.
“What do you need?”
Diane drew herself upright.
“I did not say I needed anything.”
“Then say you don’t.”
“I came because I thought perhaps we could be family again.”
“Without me being gay?”
Her lips thinned.
“This is exactly what I meant. Everything becomes confrontation.”
Noah put one hand flat on the table.
“You came because of money.”
“I came because I am your mother.”
“You were my mother when I was in surgery.”
Diane flinched.
Noah continued.
“You were my mother when Leah called and told you I might die.”
“She was hysterical.”
“She was telling the truth.”
“I had no way of knowing what condition you were in.”
“You could have asked.”
Her eyes moved to the scar again.
“I assumed he would handle it.”
The contempt she packed into the pronoun struck me like a slap.
Noah heard it too.
“Reid did handle it.”
His voice shook.
“He slept in the hospital. He learned how to move me without hurting my hip. He told me who I was when I woke up. He brought me home when I didn’t know him.”
Diane looked away.
“He paid bills. Talked to doctors. Kept my job alive. Stayed when I couldn’t promise him anything.”
Noah’s hand moved until it found mine.
“You didn’t send a message.”
“I didn’t think you wanted one.”
“I wanted my mother.”
The words silenced the room.
Diane’s mouth moved, but no answer came.
Noah looked down at our joined hands.
“I don’t now.”
Something changed in her face.
Her performance of concern finally cracked.
“You have no idea what I sacrificed for you.”
I felt Noah’s pulse jump against my fingers.
Diane leaned forward.
“I raised two children alone for years. I worked when I was ill. I went without so you had clothes and school trips and all the expensive equipment you insisted you needed.”
“I was a child.”
“You were never an easy child.”
Noah recoiled as if she had touched him.
“You were stubborn,” she continued. “Always dissatisfied. Always determined to embarrass me.”
“Stop.”
My voice made the glass in the office door seem to vibrate.
Diane turned toward me.
“You stay out of this.”
“You do not speak to him like that.”
“He needs to hear reality from someone who isn’t trying to get his hands on four hundred thousand dollars.”
Noah held his breath.
Caleb moved into the doorway.
Owen swore under his breath.
I rose.
The chair scraped across the floor.
“My hands are nowhere near that money.”
Diane stood too.
“You expect me to believe you? He can barely walk. He admits he can’t remember his own accounts. Who signs his papers? Who speaks to the bank?”
“He does.”
“He lives in your apartment and works in your business.”
“Our apartment,” Noah said.
Diane ignored him.
“He is vulnerable, and you have made yourself indispensable.”
I stepped around the table.
Caleb caught my shoulder.
“Reid.”
I wanted to put her through the wall.
Instead, I stopped.
Noah remained seated.
His face had turned gray.
“Mom.”
The word came strangely.
Too careful.
Diane looked down at him.
“I only want to make certain you’re protected.”
“Protected from Reid.”
“From anyone who might take advantage.”
Noah’s fingers fumbled against the pole.
He tried to rise.
I moved toward him.
He lifted one hand.
“No.”
I stopped.
He stood on his own.
The pole slipped against the tile, and he corrected it with a sharp movement that made his hip buckle.
His hand caught the table.
“Don’t call me vulnerable like I’m not here.”
Diane folded her arms.
“You have a brain injury. Someone needs to be sensible.”
“I am sensible.”
“You threw away your relationship with your family for him.”
“I don’t remember doing that.”
Her expression shifted toward triumph.
“But I believe I had reasons.”
The triumph vanished.
Noah’s breath became too fast.
I could see each inhale lifting his shoulders.
“Sit down,” I said softly.
“No.”
“Your head?”
“Fine.”
It wasn’t.
His right eyelid had begun to droop.
Diane picked up her handbag.
“This is pointless if you won’t listen. I drove six hours because my mortgage has fallen behind and your aunt refuses to help. I thought, after everything I did for you, you might at least—”
Noah stared.
There was no shock now.
Only a deep, exhausted understanding.
“You came to collect.”
“I came to ask my son for help.”
“You came after the paper told you I had money.”
“It is not unreasonable for family to support one another.”
“No.”
The word was quiet.
Diane blinked.
“What?”
“No.”
Her face hardened.
“You haven’t even heard the amount.”
“I don’t need to.”
“You owe me more than that.”
The walking pole struck the floor.
Not thrown.
Dropped.
Noah gripped the table with both hands.
“I owe you nothing for not abandoning me when I was eight.”
His voice rose.
“I owe you nothing for food or rent or school.”
“You selfish—”
“No.”
The second refusal cracked through the room.
Noah’s whole body shook.
“I won’t pay you to pretend you love me.”
Diane stepped back.
“I did not say—”
“You didn’t have to.”
He pointed toward the workshop.
“Leave.”
She stared at him.
“You are not thinking clearly.”
“Leave.”
“I should speak to an attorney about whether you’re competent to manage—”
The ceramic mug beside Noah’s hand shattered against the floor.
He had swept it away without seeming to notice.
Coffee spread across the tile.
Diane flinched.
Noah did too.
The sound jolted through him like an electrical surge.
All expression left his face.