I narrow my eyes.Don’t smile.
I’m not going to smile.
Fuck him.
…Shit. I smiled.
“Nah,” I say, jerking my chin back toward the bed. “She told me she was stressed about that big head–ass baby you’re about to bring into this world. Look at her now—damn near dead.”
I hear movement behind me, but Elliot’s already there, leaning in first.
“You two still can’t be in the same room without fussing, huh?” she says weakly.
“Mommy,” Elliot calls out.
He still calls hermommy?
“Hey Mom,” I say, bending down to press a kiss to her forehead.
“It’s good to see you two in the same room,” she says, before she coughs twice.
“Mom, take it easy. You need your rest.”
“I need my boys,” she says softly.
And the thought makes my heart ache. I immediately begin to wonder if the distance between us, the three of us, the fractured family fractured her heart. Did we do this? Did I do this by refusing to forgive?
I’m halfway to saying something—anything—that might resemble an olive branch when the door opens again. Vanessa steps in first, tentative. Then the doctor comes in behind her.
Awkward. Party of five.
“Oh, good,” Dr. Warren says brightly. He’s been my mom’s doctor for years now. “You’re awake.” He pauses, scanning the room, clearly doing a mental inventory against hospital policy. “I’ll allow it for now, but we’re going to need to limit visitors. Family only.”
I hate myself a little for the petty satisfaction that sparks in my chest. The implication is clear. Vanessa doesn’t belong here.
I roll my eyes at myself for it.
Grow up, Bear.
Dr. Warren moves closer, professional and gentle. He explains that the damage to her heart was minimal. That the event was caught in time. That she’ll need medication, monitoring, and rest. But, ultimately, she’s going to be okay.
Relief crashes through me so hard I have to grip the side of the bed.
I speak up immediately. “I’ll make sure she takes it easy. I’ll be here, every step.”
“Actually,” Elliot steps in, “I’ll handle it.”
I turn, surprised. He doesn’t look at me at first, he looks at mom.
“I’ve already been going by,” he adds. “Once a week. Reading to her.”
My head snaps to my mom, then back to him. “You’ve been doing what, now?”
Our mother smiles, tired but she’s amused. Happy. “He reads terribly,” she admits. “But the books are good so I don’t mind.”
I raise a brow. Suspicious. “And what kind of books, exactly?”
Mom grins. “The nasty kind.”
