AllFreeNovel
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(played by the award-winning Meredith Wade)
Raising Ryder: Episode82
My lungs go on strike as the Mustang eats the miles between Dallas and Southlake. Between me and Mom. Between holding onto secrets and finally telling someone the truth.
I crank down Eminem’sLose Yourselfon the Mustang’s speakers and check out my girl decorating the passenger seat. Brown boots curve around her calves, leather ties crisscross over the V down the front of her shirt, and a pair of incredibly lucky jeans hug her hips.
My inner caveboy replays our kiss, and I’m reliving Jess’s silky hair spread over the bed, my palm sliding over the warm skin at the dip of her waist, and the softness of her mouth.
These are the thoughts that keep my foot on the pedal, the car on the highway, and me from completely losing my shit.
I exit the next ramp and head for the outer edge of Southlake, sliding a quick sideways glance toward Jess. “Thanks for coming.” I take her hand.
“You’re welcome.” Her easy smile reminds me she has no idea what she’s getting into.
All I’d told her was that I hadn’t seen my mom in a while. Without grilling me, Jess nodded, slipped on her boots, and followed me to the parking garage. Reason number fifty-two why I’m into her.
We reach the thick, iron gates of The Oasis a century before I’m ready, and Jess stares out the window. This place is a lot to take in with its estate-like stucco buildings, golf-course lawn, patches of giant oaks, and the fancy pond trying to impersonate a lake.
Her gaze moves toward the gates as if she’s searching for a sign that will tell her where we are. She won’t find one. “This is where your mom lives?”
“For the last thirteen weeks, three days.” I rub my fist against what feels like a pair of spurred cowboy boots two-stepping across my chest.
Pulling up to the guard station outside the gates, I reluctantly give up Jess’s hand to roll down my window and pass the gray-uniformed guy the replacement card I stashed in my console.
“Enjoy your visit, Mr. Wade.” The guard releases the gate and returns my card—which I stuff into my pocket—his smile way too Starbucks.
“Sure.” I’m gonna enjoy my visit. Like I’d enjoy a tall, whipped macchiato sprinkled with glass shards.
I drive through the gates, past the wide circular drive, and park behind the main building.
Those spurred boots puncture the walls of my chest, shred my lungs until I can’t get any air. Doesn’t matter that my window is rolled down. Doesn’t matter that I know I’m not suffocating. Because it sure as shit feels like I’m dying.
I shove my door open, stumble out of the car, push it closed. Turning to brace my hands on the roof, I hang my head and try to breathe, struggling to keep it together.
The passenger door slams, and Jess skirts around the back of the car, her boots walking into my line of vision. “Gabe?” Her tone tiptoes a delicate line of tact—as if she knows this place is bad, but she’s not sure why. She touches my arm and whispers, “Is your mom in rehab?”
My muscles turn to steel.
Sort of?
Not really?
I wish?
Choosing none of the above, I turn and lean against my door, counting on the metal frame to keep me standing. I have to tell her. I know I do. But saying it out loud makes it real. Digging the white plastic card from my pocket, I set it in Jess’s palm, closing her fingers around it. The small print at the bottom will say what I can’t.
Like I’ve handed her a ticking bomb, she opens her hand a finger at a time. “The Oasis. A Memory Care Center.” Her confusion and shock seem to mix equally. “For—?”
“People with advanced dementia.” Holding my voice steady takes an exhausting amount of effort. “And Alzheimer’s.” I clear my clogged-up throat.
“Alzheimer’s.” Jess says the word as if it’s a foreign language on her tongue, the way if feels on mine. “Your mom’s not old.” Her voice fills with shock.
“Forty-three.” My head spins. Before I pass out in front of Jess, I force my lungs to expand, fill with air, release. Then do it again.
“I don’t understand,” she says.
“I’ve given up trying.” I press back against the car. “It’s early onset. Comes with a list of shitty symptoms guaranteed to screw her over faster than the regular kind.” Any control I had over my voice bottoms out and bounces off the ground. “Nobody knows jack about why she got it. Hers isn’t even genetic.” Which means at least Coley and I aren’t guaranteed a ticket to Mom’s hell.
