Page 62 of Lycan Prey
“So what will it be?” she asks, popping her hip. I growl, not wanting to hurt her guards, and she knows it. My father laughs harder behind me.
“Just remember who picks your nursing home, old man!” I remind him, which shuts him up.
“What nursing home? I am immortal!” he scoffs.
“I’ll have one made just to take you!” I quip, and he scrunches his face.
“At least I’ll get dessert!” He huffs behind me, and my mother leans to the side to glare at him around me. She thenstraightens and looks at me expectantly for an answer. I press my lips in a line. This woman!
“They better have gloves,” I snap at her before storming off toward the kitchen.
“Beneath the sink, son,” she calls after me.
• • •
Two hours later
My hands resemble prunes by the time I’m done. It’s like they used every dish in the kitchen to cook dinner tonight. Once finished, and my mother gave the nod of approval, I immediately left, knowing I needed to tuck Max into bed.
Walking upstairs, I move toward his room when I hear the murmur of voices. I linger in the dimly lit hallway, just a few paces from Max’s bedroom door, my heart thrumming a guilty beat against my ribs, knowing I wasn’t there for bath time or to tuck him in. The light from within spills out across the floor, and the hushed voices of Bree and my son reach my ears. Bree is reading to him, it appears. When the book ends, I’m about to walk in and kiss him goodnight when I hear his voice.
“Are you going to tuck me in every night?” Max’s innocent question floats out, and the hope in his tone is like a punch in the gut.
“Don’t I anyway until your father comes?”
“No, I mean…” Max’s voice trails off.
“I’ll tuck in you whenever you’d like,” Bree replies, her voice soft.
“No, I mean like Dad.”
“What do you mean?”
“Dad usually reads to me…”
“What’s wrong?” Bree asks him.
“As my mom… you could be my mom,” Max’s words are a whisper, but they detonate inside me with the force of an explosion.
I can’t see them, but I picture Bree’s gentle and kind face as she sits on the edge of his small bed, the way her hands must smooth the covers. My fingers curl into fists at my sides; I’m frozen here in the hallway, trapped between wanting to rush in and reclaim my place and telling him he only has one mother and the knowledge that Max deserves all the love he can get.
“Max,” she starts cautiously, “do you remember your mother?”
There’s a pause, filled only by the sound of my own ragged breathing.
“No,” he admits, so quietly I almost don’t catch it. “Is that bad?”
“Of course not,” Bree assures him. “But... is that what you’re asking? If I’m your mother now?”
“Can you be?” His voice is hopeful yet uncertain.
“Max, I care about you a lot,” Bree says, the weight of her words palpable even through the wooden barrier of a door between us. “But I can’t replace her. Your dad loved your mom very much, and it might make him sad if we pretend I’m someone I’m not.”
I press my forehead against the cool wall, closing my eyes against the sting of unshed tears at the thought of my late wife. Bree’s refusal is right, respectful even, but it twists something fierce inside my chest. The ghost of my wife seems to stand beside me, like I can feel her trying to calm me, even as another part of me yearns for Max to have the maternal love he’s been missing.
“Do you not want to be my mom?” he asks.
“No, Max, it’s not that. It’s… complicated,” Bree responds, her voice filled with tension and pain I’ve never heard before. She pauses, and I can almost hear her collecting her thoughts. “Oh, sweet Max,” she sighs. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just… I can’t replace your mom. It wouldn’t be fair to you or your dad. But, what I can promise you is that I will look after you, care for you, and love you like my own… as long as your father and you are okay with that.”
