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“Mom?” I asked and watched her jump.
Turning to face me, she laughed and pressed a hand to her chest. “You scared the hell out of me, Nev. Damn, I guess I’ve gotten so used to you not being home that I forgot for a second. Sorry, sweetheart. Do you need something?”
“For you tell me what’s wrong,” I told her, not buying for a second that she’d forgotten I was in the house.
Her smile died, and she turned back to dinner. “Nothing’s wrong, silly.”
“Mom.”
“Okay, maybe I’m feeling my age because tomorrow I will actually have an eighteen-year-old child.” She laughed again, but I could easily hear the strain in it.
“Seriously, Mom. Since when do you worry about your age?” I knew she was lying, but for the moment, I would let her pretend. If she didn’t want to tell me, then maybe Daddy would let me know what was wrong with her.
“It’s a new development.” Mom played it off with a wave of her hand. “I’ve realized that with one child out in the world finding herself, the others will soon follow. And then all too soon, it will just be me and your father in this huge house with no babies to care for.”
There was real sadness in her voice now, and it made my heart clench for her. “Relax, Mom. I’m sure by the time Damien is out of the house, at least one of us will have given you grandkids to spoil.”
She shot me a wicked grin over her shoulder. “Maybe sooner than expected if you and Braxton figure yourselves out.”
“Mom…” I whined even as the thought produced the most unusual feeling of rightness I’d ever experienced. “Please do not say shit like th
at in front of Daddy.”
Laughing, she bent and pulled a pan of crusty garlic bread out of the oven. “Go set the table. It’s us and Dad for dinner, and he just called to say he was on his way. Should be here in less than twenty minutes.”
Doing as I was told, I grabbed the plates and silverware and set the kitchen table since it was just the three of us. There was a huge table that could potentially seat fifty in the gigantic dining room that we only ever used when we had family dinners with our extended family. But that didn’t happen often, so the dining room table was more often than not an arts and crafts table that Mom and Arella constantly had covered.
By the time Mom had placed a bowl of salad on the table, I heard the front door open.
Surprised that he hadn’t come in through the garage, I took off running and threw myself into Daddy’s arms the second I saw him. He let out a pained groan as I squeezed him, and I laughed, thinking he was playing around.
Until I looked up at his face and saw his skin was gray, and even though he was grinning down at me, he couldn’t hide the pain in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I hurriedly apologized. “I didn’t mean to be so rough.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he assured me, kissing the top of my head and giving me a squeeze in return. “I’ve missed you so damn much.”
“Dray, dinner is ready,” Mom called out.
“Coming, Angel.” Tossing one arm around my shoulders, he guided me back into the kitchen. “Let me wash my hands, and we can eat.”
I took my place and picked up my napkin while Mom dished out the spaghetti onto each of our plates. As Daddy joined us at the table, he kissed her temple, telling her he loved and missed her. She leaned into the touch of his lips, and before she closed her eyes, I thought I saw a sheen of tears in her honey-brown eyes.
But when she opened them again, it was gone, making me wonder if I’d imagined it.
“How did work go today?” she asked as she took her place at the table and reached for the salad dressing.
“We finally decided on what sound we wanted to go with for that song Nik and I have been working on all week,” Daddy told her before stuffing his mouth full with spaghetti. “It sounds wicked.”
I listened to them talk as I ate, watching them both. But the longer dinner went on, the more tension I could feel radiating from both of my parents. It set my nerves on edge, and I began to watch them even more closely.
That’s when I started noticing the changes in Daddy. There were bruises on his right forearm, which surprised me because I couldn’t ever remember him having a bruise on him. It took longer to notice the weight loss because it was subtle, but eventually, I did.
And that was when I noticed the slight discoloration of his eyes. They had a yellow tinge to them.
“Are you sick?” I blurted out, unable to stop the words.
Mom’s fork made a loud clank as it hit her plate, her fingers having lost their hold on it as soon as I opened my mouth. Daddy’s eyes met mine, and I read the answer there even as he reached over and covered Mom’s shaking hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
