Page 29 of Run to Me

I scan the area around her and squat down to pick up the pieces of a broken plate. One piece has a spot of blood on it. “I’ll get the first aid kit,” I say, laying the shards on the counter.

Neither of us speaks while I patch the cut on her hand. It’s been years since my mother has touched me or I’ve touched her. Her skin’s cold, and I’m concerned the arctic temperatures inside the house exacerbate her condition—whatever it may be.

Vera remains in the same spot after I put everything away and sweep up the dish fragments. “You can go now.”

“Do you need help getting up? Can you walk?” I lean the broom against the refrigerator to deal with later.

“I’m fine,” she insists without looking at me.

Her stubbornness masks her wounded pride, so I pray to the universe for patience and offer my help again. “Don’t you need to get ready for work? Maybe you should call in sick tonight. Where’s your phone?”

I search the countertops and table for her phone, but it’s not there. Vera picks at her fresh bandage, refusing to cooperate or meet my gaze.

An exasperated sigh escapes me. “I don’t have time for this, Vera. Tell me what you need me to do, then I’ll do it and go.”

The promise of my departure puts her at ease, which is just sad. For some reason, she’s upset with me seeing her like this. It’s obvious she needs help, but she won’t accept it from me.

Her head falls against the cabinet. “Call Jensen or Lucy.”

“Lucy?” I ask, the confusion evident in my tone.

“She’s a nurse.”

“Yeah, I know who she is. I didn’t realize you did.”

Angry eyes meet mine head-on, the impact as blunt and powerful as her next words. “You’re never around long enough to learn anything about me.”

My jaw hits the floor, and my temper hits the ceiling. What is she implying here? Is she honestly saying I’m to blame for our lack of a relationship? After years of her ignoring me, she has the audacity to accuse me of being negligent. The nerve. For the first time in my life, I lose my shit and yell at my mother.

“Are you serious right now? I’m never around? You ignored me my entire childhood. All you cared about was your precious son and his football career. You’ve never shown a lick of interest in me, and you wonder why I never stick around? God, you really are⁠—”

Strong arms surround me and lift me off the ground. I kick against the barrier at my back, already knowing who it is.

“Put me down!” I shout.

Jensen hauls me toward the front door. “You’re yelling at a scared woman who’s lying helpless on the floor. Think about what you’re doing.” His calm voice caresses my ear, only pissing me off further.

“Fuck you, Jensen. Put me down!” I struggle against him, attempting to jab him with an elbow, but he holds firm.

“Shh. You’re okay, birdie,” he soothes. “I’ve got you.”

“What are you—? Don’t you fucking shush me, asshole!” I buck wildly, growling in frustration because he has the upper hand physically. “Let me go!”

He sits on the refurbished bench—the one where we ended—with me in his lap. “Let it out.”

“What?”

It’s then I realize I’m crying. God, I’ve cried more in the last three months than I have in my entire life. What is wrong with me?

“You’re okay,” he says, rocking back and forth like I’m a baby in his arms.

“Who cares if she’s scared? What about me? She never cared about my feelings.”

“I know, but you’re not her, Maisy.” He brushes the curls from my face. “Don’t let her drag you down to her level.”

I stare at his tattooed forearm pressing down on my thighs, keeping me in place. “What did I ever do to her? Other than being born, which I never asked for.”

“Listen to me.” He pinches my chin, bringing us eye to eye, and I shrink under the intensity of his gaze—bright enough to overpower the breadth of the sunny March sky. “You’re a gift she doesn’t deserve.”