“I didn’t want to scare you,” she murmurs.
“You didn’t scare me,” I lie too easily. “I just needed to get you help.”
She looks at me for a long moment, her eyes clearer than I expect. “You’ve always taken care of me.”
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. “That’s not changing.”
She traces her thumb against my knuckle. “You look exhausted.”
“I’m fine.”
“You say that even when you’re breaking.”
Her words land too close to the truth, and I glance toward the window, trying to pull myself back together. The nurse steps out, giving us space.
Mom sighs softly. “You know… you’re allowed to have a life.”
I shake my head. “We’re not having that talk today. You just came out of surgery.”
She gives a faint smile, the kind that shows she won’t push it further—for now.
We sit like that for several minutes. Her thumb moves along my hand in a rhythm that reminds me of childhood.
The ache in my chest pulls tighter, but this time it doesn’t hurt. It warms instead. She’s alive. She’s here. That’s what matters.
Eventually, she drifts off again, breathing deep and even. I stay sitting, holding her hand, thumbing the inside of her wrist the way she did mine.
When I finally step out of the room, the hallway feels brighter. My shoulders loosen. My heartbeat calms. I stand there a moment, letting the hospital noise wash over me.
I’ll deal with the facility talk. I’ll deal with work. I’ll deal with everything else when it comes.
For now, I still have her.
I pull my phone out once more, not really expecting anything.
Norah still hasn’t replied.
But for the first time since last night, the silence doesn’t squeeze my lungs shut.
I take a slow breath, lean against the wall outside my mother’s room, and wait for permission to go back in, ready to stay as long as she needs me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Ryker
Chase’s voiceechoes through the old community hall as I lean over the blueprint sprawled across the folding table.
The place is a mess of stripped paneling, exposed insulation, and a scattering of tools that look like they’ve been tossed around by a storm.
Sawdust clings to the air. A couple of volunteers swing sledgehammers against the far wall, each hit landing with a sharp thud that shakes the floorboards.
Chase keeps talking about load-bearing beams and county permits, and I nod along even though my shoulders feel tight and my mind is somewhere else.
Last night. Norah’s face white with nausea, her voice trembling, the way she whispered my name like she wasn’t sure if she wanted comfort or space.
The way she pressed her forehead to my chest for one long moment, trusting me. The way I wanted her more than I wanted air and still didn’t touch her.
I rub the back of my neck. Chase doesn’t notice. He’s got a laser focus on demolition plans.
