Billie Rose
The crash sent me bolt upright in bed, heart pounding as my gaze shot around the room.
I tried to find the source of the noise, the source of the terror that had sent me to sudden alertness, but it was dark and I was alone and—
I tossed the blankets back, stood, my temple and eye and cheek aching from my time in the jail cell—and my quickly learned from mistake of making eye contact with the wrong person. That had earned me a tray launched between the cell’s bars and me…not dodging quickly enough.
Ibuprofen would be my friend.
As soon as I figured out what had awoken me and where the hell Joel was.
I flicked on the light, seeing—yup—that the room was empty.
I bent, just to double check, felt that the other side of the bed was cold, as was his pillow.
And then my heart began pounding for a completely different reason. Maybe he’d left. Maybe he’d left me—
“Stop,” I whispered.
This was his house.
He wouldn’t leave me.
If anything, he would be the one to order me out.
“Stop,” I whispered again, more fully this time, turning away from the sight of that empty bed that had my bile rising in my throat, burning the back of it, sending my mind down a line of thinking I was almost desperate to cut off…
Turning away and nearly killing myself on a pile of our belongings on the floor.
Clothes and shoes tangled together.
My slacks and flats. Joel’s jeans and boots.
Not a mess from the police searching our home.
Just the two of us being lazy and not putting our shit together.
And that sight—that normalcy—settled my pulse, eased some of the worry, allowed me to swallow, to soothe that burn in the back of my throat.
Stop. Think.
Don’t react.
Don’t run off.
Fight for what you want.
I wanted my life with Joel.
I wanted—
The bedroom door crashed open and I jumped, nearly tripping over the tangle of clothes and shoes again as I whipped toward it and saw Joel standing wild-eyed on the threshold.
“Rosie baby,” he began and I took a step toward him, not nearly this time, but tripping, tumbling forward, watching the hardwood floor whip up toward my face, bracing.
Joel was there, catching me, drawing me against him.
Scooping me up like I weighed nothing.
And I knew—to him—I didn’t.
Not my actual body mass, but also the weight of my responsibilities, the weight of what was barreling down on me with the arrest and charges and recall and petitions that had clogged up my desk, bogged down my job.
With my job that had me up at all hours and pulled away from him countless times.
And he’d never complained.
Because he respected what I did.
Because his job was important to him too.
Because—
I hadn’t really processed we were moving, that he’d carried me from the room—mostly because I was having a realization that I was heading back down a path I’d struggled to traverse in the first place—thinking I had no value, that my only worth was what was good for the town, for the people. That I was my job and only my job.
How long had it taken for Joel to disabuse me of that notion?
Too fucking long.
And I’d fought too hard to get to a place where I viewed myself differently to go back now.
So…
Fuck that. I was not going back.
I’d had my little freak-out, my little bit of time to have my pity party.
That was done.
I was figuring out what in the fuck all was going on with my father and the job and me being fucking handcuffed and hauled away to jail and—
I started, thankful that Joel was holding me because the sight in the family room was one I would have never predicted, because if I’d been standing on my own two feet, I probably would have tripped again, would have needed to be saved from face planting into the hardwood a second time.
But that wasn’t an issue.
Because I was still in Joel’s arms, still cradled against his chest.
He slowly lowered me to my feet, hands remaining on my hips for a moment, steadying me.
But I only needed him for that moment.
After that, my brain caught up with the rest of my body, and I was rushing forward, moving toward the woman standing in our family room.
With bare feet.
In a threadbare nightgown that showed exactly how thin she’d become—something I’d failed to notice since I’d been so deliberately keeping her at a distance, shielding myself from the pain of her presence.
Her hair, that had once been blonde like mine, but was now more silver than anything, was tucked up in a bonnet she swore protected her curls.
It did.
I just could never be bothered to take the time to put one on.
The nightgown didn’t cover her arms and it ended below her knees…and there were those bare feet again.
I finally snapped out of my stupor, moved to the mudroom, to our jackets—obliquely noticing they were back on the hooks, that the space was spotless, coupling that with Joel’s side of the bed being cold and knowing my sweet, awesome man had been busy while I was sleeping.
Taking care of me.
Protecting me.
I glanced at Joel, who met my eyes with a blank stare until I flicked my gaze around the room then back to his.
He shrugged.
I narrowed my eyes.
We’d be having a talking to later.
Right now, I was avoiding.
Again.
Because I didn’t want to deal with any of this—not the arrest or what my father was involved in, and what it meant for me.
And I didn’t want to deal with the woman standing in my living room.
The history was too big, too heavy.
Too overwhelming and smothering and—
Avoiding.
Again.
I exhaled, gripped the jacket a little tighter…
And I walked over, slung it over…
My mother’s shoulders.