Page 28 of Catching His Runaway

With a sigh, I figure there’s no point in dragging this on any longer. The only thing to do is take on another day.

* * *

Tommy doesn’t bring up what happened, or express any reasons why he got angry. He’s got a talent at brewing all these thoughts in his head, but never letting any slip out.

I guess that means no more kisses or light petting anymore. Probably better that way. There are more important things to deal with. Issues to finally face.

It’s already been almost a week and a half since my capture. I might be able to avoid Santino whenever I can, but it’s not fair for me to talk to Urzo so casually when there is still someone I haven’t even run into.

My hands are feeling more clammy than I’d like, and I hate how nervous I feel as I pace in front of the door hiding my mother’s personal library. Every time we’ve drifted by to pass the time, a weight has grown in my stomach as I tell myself the same thing.

Now’s the time to face her.

As soon as the words enter my mind, I run away like a coward. It’s terrible.

This time will be different.

“Listen, I get that you want to follow Santino’s orders like they’re law, but for just once, can you cut me a little slack?” Looking behind me, I find Tommy resting against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. Hard to start panicking about my family issues when I’m taking in the way his shirt is squeezing his biceps.

Today, he’s wearingjeans. My mind is still a mess, struggling to separate what is real and what isn’t. I can’t be thinking about how badly I want his hands on me when I go face my mother.

“We’re on the second floor, and I don’t think I’ll make it down this time. I’m not as agile as I once was,” I try to joke, but he doesn’t laugh. Can’t even try to crack a smile. When I turn toward him and close the space between us, I take in the curve of his lips. “I’d like to talk to her alone, if possible. I think I’ve let you see more than enough of my emotional side as it is.”

Expecting him to immediately say no, to shut me down before I can even try to persuade him to use the heart in his chest and see where I’m coming from, his eyes flick away to look at the door. Moving to scratch the back of his neck, he cracks it like he’s as uncomfortable as I am.

“Twenty minutes. Don’t make me regret it.”

My lips part in surprise, and it takes a few seconds for his words to catch up to my mind. Before I can stop the smile that forms on my lips, I’m reaching out to grab his free hand. Squeezing his three fingers, my heart lurches in my throat. “Thank you.”

Not just for giving me space, but for being willing to put even a sprinkle of trust in me again. It shouldn’t mean anything to me, but after our rough first meeting after all of these years, this feels like a large step of progress.

Catching my actions, I pull away and turn away. The tingles that are bouncing around in my stomach are more preferred over the heavy rock that normally sits in there.

I can do this.

Wiping my clammy palms against my pants, my fingers have a small tremble to them as I grip the handle. Taking in a deep breath, I straighten my shoulders and push open the door before I can chicken out.

The smell of worn pages hits me at first, thanks to the hundreds of books she has lined up on the shelves. Most of them are romance. My father wasn’t much of a reader, but he’d flipped through a few books on sailing and some on cars whenever he wanted to spend some time with me.

When I was a kid, my parents claimed the leather couch like it was their own island. Every other room in this home didn’t exist when they were tucked away in here. He’d watch her read, and at the time, I didn’t understand why he’d do something so boring. Older and wiser now, the answer is simple. Love.

Now, when I look at the leather couch, half of it is empty. My mother sits by her lonesome, flipping through another one of her books, one I’m sure she’s already read once or twice before. She lifts her gaze, and just like that, we’re left staring at each other.

Is she feeling as much of a statue as I am? She’s never been the type to let her nerves get to her.

She’s a smart woman. I’m sure Santino has filled her in on the little details. If he knows what I told Tommy, then I’m sure she knows that information as well.

I’m not her sweet, innocent daughter anymore. In her eyes, I’m ruined.

When my mother closes her book after tucking a slip of paper inside to mark her place, one of her hands settles on the cover while the other pats the seat next to her.

Her eyes are aged, supported by new lines and wrinkles. There isn’t an ounce of disgust behind them. Instead, the last thing I expected to see is happiness. Maybe a little longing, too, and it makes my chest ache.

My legs don’t want to move, and my knees threaten to shake when I try to take a single step.

Don’t run away.

If I do, I’m sure Tommy will toss me right back inside out of pure frustration.

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