“Put it down! It’s mine!”
“Okay, okay. See? I put it back.” I rest Tubby back on her bed and try to keep my voice calm. “It’s okay. It’s me, Stefan, remember? Your son. I won’t hurt you.”
She shakes her head, her eyes wide. “No. No! No! Mikey! You look like him! Stay back!” I grind my teeth, remembering the tattoos on my stepfather’s arms. “I don’t know you. I don’t know you! Get out!”
“Ma, please.”
“No! No! Get out! I don’t know you!” She jerkily moves to her dresser, throwing things in my direction. A bottle of lotion, her deodorant, her body shaking. “Don’t come near me! I’m tired of you hitting me. Sick and tired, you hear me!?”
My chest feels tight. She’s having a hallucination induced by a memory. Memories of her husband hurting her. Fuck. I back away, keeping my distance like I was instructed to do by her doctors. Her face contorts into pure fear; she’s looking at me like I’m a wild animal when just minutes before, she was calm, smiling, listening to Bible verses. Now she looks at me as if she wasn’t just holding the daisies I bought her, smelling them and smiling. The recognition of me as her son is gone.
Moving to the door, I press the help button on the wall. Seconds later, two nurses and an orderly come in. I watch as they take over, using calm voices, trying to distract her with other things to help lower her anxiety. I watch helplessly, knowing there isn’t much I can do. They are the experts in this.
When she doesn’t relax and continues crying and shaking her head, one of the nurses turns to me. “I’m sorry, Dr. Hayes, but you may have to leave. Something is triggering her and it may take a while for her to calm down.”
Me.I’m what’s triggering her.
“Maybe we can try again next week. I’ll have the doctor reach out to you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I murmur. The last time she got this bad was months ago. I thought I was making headway with her. Getting her to accept my presence is tricky. Her Dementia is unpredictable, a seesaw of aggression, irritability, and withdrawal.
Walking out, the weight of the world on my shoulders, I head to the exit when the nurse and receptionist named Judy stops me.
“Thank you, Dr. Hayes. You made our day. The pastries were great.”
My body freezes. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I process what the nurse said. “I’m glad you enjoyed them. Sorry, I didn’t bring them in with me,” I lie.
“No worries. We know how it can be with your mom. Do you want to take the rest with you? You got us way too many.” When she hands me the pastry box from across the street, rage flows through my body.
Nodding to them, I keep my face impassive, hoping the fury doesn’t show. I walk outside along the street until I find a garbage can, dumping the rest of the donuts in the trash. The pastry shop is right across the street, in full view of my bike. It’s not my real bike, thankfully. When I come to visit my mother, I try to be as nondescript and unobtrusive as possible. But it seems like I may have missed being followed.
The pastries feel intentional. More evidence that I’m being tracked. Days after someone was poking around my cabin, a random gift was sent to my mother’s residence. I don’t like it. Someone knows. Someone knows about her, and that’s the last thing I wanted.
Chapter 39
July
“How’s your mother?”
I pause the tattoo machine on Jace’s back. His question brings me out of my concentration. The outline of his daughter’s newborn footprints is not my typical, but when he reached out, I told him it was fine because what the fuck else was I supposed to say?Sorry, I can’t do it because I ate your sister’s pussy, and I want to do it again.
She’s being targeted by the gang I’ve hunted for the last decade.“Good.” I go back to the tattoo.
“You’re talkative today.”
I hear the humor in his voice, but I don’t take the bait, not in the mood. Too much shit has been going on, and as much as I appreciate him and everything he’s done, I’m barely able to concentrate on the crap going on with the Legion, the Mestizos, and my obsession with his sister.
“How’s everything at the shop?”
I wipe away the black ink and then clean the area so I can add more shading for the design. “Good.”
“And how’s my sister been?”
The fucking tremble in my usually steady hand pisses me off. Just her name and my body reacts. Never, not in all my years of killing, have I felt tremors in my hands. Not when I was slicing throats or cutting through layers of fat and tissue have I hesitated, but the thought of her and I’m shaking. Shit.
I twist on my stool and set down the tattoo machine. Jace’s question isn’t happenstance. I look back at him, the confirmation is in his hardened gaze. He knows something, senses something. I know she wouldn’t run to her brother about what we did. It’s not her style, but I see something in his eyes that tells me he’s picked up the energy between us.
Not ready to answer him, I clean up the design and smear the color-retaining gel over the new tattoo, then cover it with a clear bandage. I should have been able to finish it easily, but when thinking about Camryn, nothing is easy. I can’t fucking tattoo right now.
