Clearing my throat, I stepped off the stair. “Morning.”
I smoothed down my wrinkled shirt. The same shirt I had been wearing last night.
Talk about awkward.
She glanced up at me from over her reading glasses, as if she could see every single secret I’d ever kept from her. Knowing my mother, she probably could.
“Do you want coffee?”
I shook my head, recognizing the tone in her voice.
“Good.” Her gaze shifted back to her book. “Sit.”
It was a soft command, but a command nonetheless.
Slowly, I walked to the living room and sat down on the couch. “Have you seen Skye this morning?”
Mom closed her book. “No, I haven’t.” She laid the book down in her lap and grabbed for her coffee again. She let out a sigh as she studied me. “Do you know what you’re doing, hon?”
My skin heated as I looked away. Last night, I hadn’t planned it. I hadn’t even entertained the possibility in my mind that I’d spend another night like that with Skye. It felt like it had come out of nowhere.
But maybe it had been there, all this time. This wanting, this need, to be with her.
I shook my head and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “No, not really,” I admitted, feeling both embarrassed and uncertain.
Mom sipped her coffee. The quiet of the house pressed in on us, a stark contrast to last night when it had been bursting with noise and life.
“You’ve both been through so much,” she said, almost to herself in contemplation. “Both of your pasts and tragedy have been woven together. It’s only natural that you’d be drawn together again.”
My shoulders slumped. I hung my head. “I’m scared.”
The confession came from a place deep inside myself. A place I didn’t feel comfortable sharing with most people, but my mother had always been safe for me.
She patted my shoulder, her touch warm and comforting. “Of course you are, sweetheart. You’d be foolish if you weren’t, and I didn’t raise an ignorant man.”
I shook my head, staring down at the floor. “I’m not so sure about that.” Ifeltignorant. Like a fool who had fallen into the same trap. Who never learned from past pain.
Her grip tightened on my shoulder. “Fox.” She said my name with grace and love. “I know who you are. I have watched you grow from a curious, smart child who felt everything so deeply, to a man who has accomplished more than I’d ever dreamed. You and your brothers help people every day. You use your gifts, your intelligence, to save people and make them feel safe.” Her voice seemed to soften as she said, “But you still feel incredibly deeply. You have just learned to hide it better.”
I loosed a breath. “I don’t feel like I can save anyone…”
I loved what I did. I loved using my skills to help people and work with my brothers. Maybe it was something more, too. Maybe it was penance, in a way, for not being able to save the people I loved most. For not being able to save my little sister…for losing the woman I loved most by not protecting her.
“It’s not up to you,” Mom said.
I let that sink in, but didn’t understand what she was trying to say. I tilted my head up and glanced at her. Her expression was sad, but maybe a little proud, too.
“Trust me.” Her voice tightened. “I know what it’s like to feel helpless when your world is being taken away from you.” Pain flared in her eyes. “But it’s not my fault that I lost my daughter—our Thea.”
My heart constricted, but I couldn’t say anything.
“And it wasn’t my job to save her, because it’s not my fault that she was taken.” She shrugged, like it was an inevitable reality. “I don’t know why horrible things happen. But I do have control over the way I live my life going forward. I cannot let guilt slowly kill me. Because it would, if I let it.” Her face hardened with resolve.
I stared at her in awe, not sure why it stunned me to hear those words. It was a reminder of how damn strong my mother was.
Now that she gave it words, I felt it in my chest. The guilt, the overwhelming helplessness, had been there for so many years.
So was the lingering fear. Fear of losing everyone else I loved.
