Don't Hate the Player...Hate the Game(21)

“Yeah, Mr. Whitfield isn’t too thrilled with us, so I’m not sure how well we’re gonna be able to ‘sit-up’ with Jake tonight,” I replied.

Jason shook his head. “Well, everybody’s pretty exhausted and overwrought, so it’s probably good it got canceled.” He shuddered as he looked at Jake’s ashes. “Well, maybe not because of that.”

I exhaled a defeated breath. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

As I strode across the parking lot, I shook my head. God, could this day get any worse? Not to mention I still had to make it through the funeral in the morning. I fought my gag reflex at the very thought.

When I got home, the house was dark. I knew Mom had delivered two babies the night before, so she’d probably crashed early. I eased open the door in from the garage, trying to be as quiet as I could, so I wouldn’t wake her up.

Suddenly, I heard music. Mood music. I noticed candlelight flickering in the living room.

I skidded to a stop in the living room doorway. “Holy shit!” I cried.

There on the couch in all their na**d glory was my mom and Greg. I turned around and tried to flee, but instead, I ran face first into the antique armoire. “Fuck!” I cried.

“Noah!” my mother screamed. With my back turned, I heard her scurry to grab the throw off the back of the couch to cover up.

At the sound of a thump, I figured Greg had fallen off the couch. I heard him furiously throwing on his pants. As soon as I heard a zipper, I whirled around.

“Mom, what in the hell are you doing?” I demanded, even though I was fully aware of what she was doing.

“I-I thought you were going to be s-siting up with Jake tonight, and it was one of the few night Greg and I were both off,” she stammered. Even through the dim light, I could see her face was flushed with embarrassment.

“Yeah, well, sitting up turned into a fiasco, and I decided to come home.”

I glanced over at Greg who refused to meet my gaze. I snorted. “Sorry to have interrupted. I’m going upstairs to bed now, and I promise I won’t be coming back downstairs until hell freezes over!”

Without another word from my mother or Greg, I whirled around and stormed up the stairs. I rushed into my room and slammed the door. Slowly, I slid down the frame and into the floor.

I fell asleep on the floor in my clothes.

***

Chapter Seven

The next morning I woke up to a gentle rapping at my door. “Noah, it’s eight o’clock. If you’re not up, you better get a move on, sweetie,” Mom’s muffled voice urged.

I opened my eyes, and then I immediately snapped them shut. I couldn’t believe today was my best friend’s funeral. If that wasn’t bad enough, my mind raced with the prospect of having to sing. I covered my eyes with my arm and let the emotions wash over me.

The events of the previous night played over and over in my mind. I couldn’t forget the image of Jake’s urn smashed on the funeral home floor. Nor could I forget the image of Mom and Greg getting busy on our couch. Damn, I loved that couch, too. Now I’d never be able to sit on it again.

No son should ever have to imagine his mother ha**ng s*x least of all see it. Yeah, I know she’s only thirty-five, and she has needs and all, but seriously. I didn’t know how I was going to look at her in the same way. I mean, all my life it’s just been the two of us against the world. I had the sneaky suspicion that Greg was hell-bent on wedging his ass into our family—our little alliance against the world.

I slowly rolled into a sitting position and sniffed the air appreciatively. Something smelled good downstairs. My stomach growled. I decided to wait on my shower until after I got something to eat.

When I got into the kitchen, there was quite a spread of food on the table. It wasn’t surprising that Mom had made my favorite breakfast of French toast. I peered around the kitchen for Greg, but I didn’t see him.

I caught her gaze and raised my eyebrows. The moment I did, pain shot through my forehead. “Ow!”

Mom hurried over to me. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” She reached out to touch my eyebrow, but I flinched away from her. Her face fell.

I realized right then I could continue acting like a prick because of what I’d seen last night, or I could be a little more adult about it and move on. Deep down, I knew today was gonna be a bitch, and I’d need her—you know to get through it.

“Sorry,” I mumbled.

“You’ve gotta cut place above your eyebrow.” The moment the words left her lips, she blushed. I knew she realized how I’d gotten the cut. It’d come from running into the armoire to escape the sexcapade in the living room.

“Yeah, well, why don’t you fix it, Dr. Sullivan?” I said, trying to change the subject.

She smiled weakly and nodded. Then she hurried into the pantry for her medical kit. When she came back, she motioned for me to have a seat. I eased down in one of the kitchen chairs she got to work. Suddenly, I was laughing.

Mom jerked her hand away and gave me an odd look. “What’s so funny?”

“Remember all the times Jake got “hurt” while he was over here? I swear, there wasn’t a time he didn’t come over to play when we were little that he didn’t end up with some wimpy little cut or scrape that he needed you to ‘make better’.”