Page 98 of Broken Dreams

“Seriously, if you need anything, let us know,” Jed says. “Morris texted and said he may stay overnight to watch his newest patient.”

“He mentioned that,” Duncan says. “Thank you for everything. Ready to see your mom, Quinn?”

I nod, feeling nervous, turning to wave to Jed and Adira. They aren’t the least bit upset, clearly understanding my anxious energy.

They get into their vehicle as we begin to walk toward the house, and Duncan catches a glimpse of my tear-ravaged face.

“I need to hug you,” he rumbles, holding out his hand to me. Linus easily lets me go, not so discreetly pushing me in his direction. I’m desperate for the touch of one of my alphas, and Duncan lifts me into his arms so I can wrap myself around him like a koala.

“I had a really bad feeling on our way over to the Hughes house,” Callum confesses, wrapping his arm around Linus’ shoulders. We both were unsettled by the change, and I can tell they understand that. “The front gate was shut even though Ayla said she’d leave it open for us.”

“So we jumped the side fence,” Duncan continues, pushing the door open for us to enter. “Everything about it was so fucking off. Callum’s spidey senses were tingling, so we started calling out for your mom, Quinn.”

“I never thought I’d see her like that,” Callum sighs, shutting the door behind us all. “She was hospitalized shortly after you were taken, and she was never the same after. I wish I’d pushed more to see her.”

“Instead, we’d see her at events, and she’d just flit around the room like a ghost,” Duncan grunts. “Morris has got her on an IV, and she’s laying on the couch. We were lucky we found her when we did, because I was able to get her to vomit up the pills and the booze.”

My mom never drinks. What the fuck?

Nodding to show I understand, I walk through the house until I remember I don’t have my tablet. Stopping suddenly, I lift my hand and pretend to write on the air.

“Fuck, yeah, that’s right. There’s one in the living room. I’m just going to order a bunch and leave them in the rooms you’re in the most, just in case,” he decides.

Gazing up at him in exasperation, I shake my head. That’s really not necessary.

“I don’t want to worry that you can’t say what you need to,” he says as if it’s for selfish reasons.

Yeah, I very much doubt that.

Forcing my feet to move, I walk into the living room, my gaze on the blanket covered body on the couch. My mother’s blue eyes, that remind me so much of mine, meet me and I notice the things that have changed in the past twenty years. Her blonde hair is streaked with some gray, and she’s thinner than I remember. There’s a sadness that hangs around her, like the ghosts of the past won’t let her go.

There’s no sign of Morris, but my mother appears to be comfortable for now.

Mom, I mouth. I’m not hallucinating, this isn’t the little girl inside of me yearning to make this true.

She’s really here.

The IV pole stands behind her, the wires hanging down to where the cannula is placed in her vein to rehydrate her and help with the after effects of the suicide attempt. I’m scared to touch her.

It’s a ridiculous thought, but still one that floats through my mind until she whispers, “My daughter. Quinnie.”

That’s probably where Callum got the nickname, my mom’s been calling me that my entire life. It’s when her free arm reaches for me that I break, moving quickly toward her, dropping to my knees to carefully hug her. God, she feels so damn fragile. I want to fucking kill my father.

Sitting up after practically laying across her and enjoying the feeling of her hand rubbing my back, I wipe away the stray tears that fall down my cheeks. Almost blindly, I find the tablet by my knee, glad I didn’t crush it.

I want his head,I write, angrily sliding it across the table to where my pack is crouching by it. I don’t know how long they’ve been there, it appears that they’ve just been sitting in silence with me.

“Quinnie,” Mom murmurs, grabbing my attention as I turn back to her. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

Her fingers move to touch my hair, and I remember the knives in them. Quickly, I catch her hand, biting my lip.

“The pins in her hair are sharp,” Linus says gently. “She doesn’t want you to cut yourself.”

“So smart,” Mom murmurs in approval as I release her hand. She goes back to running her fingers carefully through my much shorter curls, humming to herself. “I love this color on you. It reminds me of happiness.”

God, I think I’m going to float away from all the tears flowing. All I can do is stare at her, reminding myself this is real. I’ll have to continue doing it until I can believe it.

“I’ll get out of your hair soon,” she says. “You’re building a new life, you don’t need me around.”

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