“Oh, lord...what?” I put the phone on speaker so Brodie could hear, also.
“Your mother is in the hospital. Your stepfather called me, said he didn’t know where you were, and you weren’t responding to text messages. He figured I could get in touch with you.”
“What happened?” I was glad to be sitting. Mother and I had an abysmal relationship, but I loved her. Most of the surface issues between us were because of Paul. He demanded perfection. Southern graciousness in the form of polite, pretty women. He was a dick.
The other issues…they went a little deeper.
Shiloh was talking and with an effort I wrenched my thoughts away from Paul and back to my mother. “…broke into your house and attacked her.”
“Attacked! Where was Paul? Is the man in custody?”
“I don’t know! Paul wasn’t there, but I didn’t ask why. The guy ran when Savvi turned a shotgun on him, so the police are searching for him, but no luck yet.”
God bless Savvi. “Is she all right? My mother?”
“She has a head injury and had a stroke, Cotton. She’s in stable condition right now. I stayed with her for a little while last night. She kept saying ‘Em.’ I think she wants you.”
I looked up at Brodie, at the knowledge written in the clench of his jaw and fists. This was my fault.I had no doubt that Carson was sending me a message. He may not be able to get to me, but he had no compunction about using my family.
“Thank you, Shy. Can you visit her again for me? Tell her I love her. Tell her I’m sorry.”
“Of course. When do you think you’ll be back?”
“I honestly have no idea. Whenever this is settled.”
We said our goodbyes and hung up. Brodie sat down on the floor in front of the treadmill, his knees forming a cage on either side of mine.
I tried not to think about how close he was. “Are you thinking the same thing I am?”
“That it was Carson? Of course it was. It would be entirely too coincidental that someone breaks into your house and attacks your mother when there’s a hit on you, otherwise.” He paused and gave me an almost shamed look. “I expected something like this, to be honest. With me being on my own out here, though, I didn’t have any way to prevent it.”
I lowered my head to my knees. “I don’t know how to handle this, Brodie. That’s my mother.”
“You know he did it to get you back there, right? He’s getting desperate. His time to make something happen is running out, and Donegal is getting pissed.”
“I get that. But I can’t just sit here and let her get hurt in my place.”
Brodie squeezed my knees, sliding his palms down my calves and then back up to my hands to pull us both to our feet.“C’mon. Let’s go upstairs and cuddle.”
“Cuddle? That’s lame, Romeo.”
He smiled. “Let’s go upstairs and distract you, then.”
I allowed myself to be led up the stairs and into the living room, where we collapsed on the couch. He wrapped his arms around my waist where I lay atop him and I tucked my face into his chest. The sweat had cooled on both our bodies, leaving a dry film. “Ugh...wait. We need a shower.”
“While I like the way you think, I think we need to talk more than we need a shower. I don’t mind your stink.”
“What if I mind your stink? And talk about what?”
“You love my stink. You’re sniffing me even now.” I totally was, but I’d never admit it. “Your mother. Why you’re feeling so conflicted right now.”
I pulled away from him with a groan. “Why do I always have to talk about feelings…? I’m not feeling conflicted, Brodie. I’m upset that my mother was hurt. I really don’t think I need to talk about this at all.”
“I disagree. You’re upset that she was hurt, but you’re bothered by the fact that you don’t want to run right home and sit at her bedside.”
Hammer. Nail. Head.
I sat completely up, yanking down the hem of my shirt down where it had ridden up. “What are you, a fucking therapist? I don’t need this, Brodie.”
