Don't Let Go(75)

“Did it hurt?”
“Massively.”
He laughed. “Why’d you do it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe your story about your brother. Maybe some things I’ve been thinking about my own mother.” I looked at the empty doorway where she’d just exited. “I just know something has to change.”

? ? ?

We spent the next few hours catching up on twenty-six years. I told him his birth story—the one Becca described with such flare. I told him about Noah and me, and my parents, and Noah’s dad. About the animosity and the drama. Spent some detail on my mother—as fun as that was—and I showed him the pictures I’d found after Noah returned to town. We made plans with Nana Mae to maybe hook up the next morning, at which point I hoped he’d get a different perspective on my mom. I just couldn’t go there, yet.
“Wow,” he said, flipping over a particularly good depiction in the pile of a squirrel stuck in a tree. “I never knew about any deal for a trust fund,” he said. “My mom showed it to me when I turned twenty-one, said that my biological family had set it up. Honestly, I didn’t give it a lot of thought. I just left it there.”
“Well, it’s not going anywhere.”
He looked down at what was essentially his life in pictures. “I guess my mom had secrets, too,” he said. “Maybe all parents do. Do you?” he added.
I smiled sadly. “Not anymore.”
“What does Becca like to do?” he said, the turn of subject taking me off guard.
“Um—she writes,” I said. “Carries a notebook with her everywhere. Other than that, she’s attached to her phone twenty-four-seven.”
“Do you mind if I go spend a few minutes with her before Noah comes?” he asked.
It was endearing and hurl-worthy at the same time, because I’d managed to forget that Noah was coming.
“Sure,” I said, grabbing our glasses and heading to the sink. “Good luck!”
“Well, then again, I’m a boy,” he said. “Am I allowed up there?”
I wheeled around to give him a look, and he started laughing, pointing at me.
“I wondered what your mom look would be,” he said. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
I bit my lip and instantly dialed back whatever might be glowing in neon across my face. “Boy, I’ll bet you were fun,” I said, tossing a dishrag at him.
He laughed and ducked and headed up the stairs, as I stood there and soaked in the five-second normal mother-and-son moment we’d kind of just shared. My chest tightened up and my eyes filled, and I blinked it all away while I rinsed our glasses and put them in the dishwasher.

? ? ?

When the doorbell rang an hour later, Harley and I both jumped. It had taken me probably forty-five minutes of that to relax and quit peering up the stairway and finally sit down with a book. Not that a single word had registered with me. Harley was in my lap—or part of her was—and the tension had started to unknot itself.
At the sound of Noah arriving, however, I felt my neck turn back into an intricate web. I could make some chiropractor very wealthy. Especially with the added fun of Harley using my torso as a springboard.
“Jesus,” I groaned as she pushed off and I took my time getting up.
On the one hand, it was nerve-wracking with the two of them up there talking about things I didn’t know. I’d been ready for Seth to come down for thirty minutes. And God, what a control freak I was!
But on the other hand, Noah coming meant he had to leave, and I could spend weeks living off the joy of that afternoon. Something I never, ever thought I’d do—hang out with my son.
Noah coming also meant Noah was coming. And would be standing outside my door looking like—I opened the door—yep, looking just like that.
Hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, over clothes that I now knew packaged a dream body, warm and solid. A hooded gaze that absorbed me just as well in my green sweater dress and bare feet.
Shit, he looked like sex dipped in chocolate.
Harley must have entertained that thought as well, because she went straight for his crotch.
“Hey,” he said, deflecting her like a pro.
“Hey.”
I knew he was thinking about the last time he’d walked through that door. Two days ago. God, that was only two days ago?
“Is he ready to go?”
I laughed nervously, the moment striking me as one of many of Hayden picking up Becca when she was younger.
“Yeah, Dad, he probably is,” I said, holding the door open and standing aside so I could smell him as he walked by. Multitasking. “He’s been upstairs with Becca for an hour. Hopefully he’s still in one piece.”
“How did she react?” he asked, his eyes falling to the rug of sin.
“Oh, it depends on the day, evidently,” I said, willing to do a jig just to get his eyes off that spot. “Possibly the hour.”
Then he turned to me, pinning me with that look of his, and I was thinking the rug wasn’t so bad. I could hear my blood move. His hand came up within inches of my face, and then snapped down, his fingers closing in. He stepped closer and fought his hand again like he couldn’t stand not to touch me.
“S-so—how’s Shayna?” I slurred like I was having a stroke, which wasn’t completely out of the question.
He blinked but otherwise didn’t look away. “She’s fine. This how it’s gonna be for the rest of our lives?” He pointed between us. “This?”
“Yes,” I said. Sort of. Or I mouthed it, really. But as closely as he was watching my mouth, I was pretty sure he caught it.