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It takes ten minutes before I can summon the courage to get up, pull my hand from Cian’s, and approach her door.
My heart is in my throat as I step into the bedroom. It’s bland. All white walls, white sheets, and a petite, pale blonde woman sitting in the far right-hand corner, staring out into a garden with a large pad sitting on her lap. The book is closed, and she seems frozen, caught in a moment.
We don’t have the same blonde hair. Mine is a whiter shade to her gold, but I think we have the same chin and rosebud lips. We’re both slender and small as well. She’s an omega, so that’s not unexpected. Omegas are generally smaller than betas and alphas.
She’s fragile, sweet, and soft. And beautiful.
I’m not the least bit surprised an alpha would want to snatch her up and keep her for himself. Her scent, a sweet mint and candy apple, is faded. She looks younger than I was expecting, maybe in her twenties, even though I know she must be at least twenty years older. Her faded scent means she’s approaching forty, when an omega stops going through heats and becomes less fertile.
Except an alpha didn’t keep her for himself. He locked her away in this place for years. A man like that isn’t a man at all. He’s a monster.
A wave of anger floods my body. He stole her life from her. I realize then why I didn’t want to think of Sloane. Knowing what he did to me—to my mom—would make me angry, and I didn’t know what I would do with that anger. I still don’t.
I shake my head. Now isn’t the time for anger. It’s the time to see my mom. To speak to her. To touch her.
I part my lips, still hovering just inside the doorway, not sure what to call her.
Mom?
Olive?
Mother?
What name do you call the woman who gave birth to you, was stolen from you, and who you’ve found again? How do you greet her?
“Hi,” I say instead. One word and already I’m terrified I’ve said the wrong thing.
She’s been in this place for years and hasn’t spoken a word in all that time. I overheard some of Rune’s conversation from before. Not all, but some. One of the men was telling Rune she sits in the corner of her room or in the dining room, staring out into the garden. With her sketchpad. Always with her sketchpad.
I don’t want to overwhelm her, especially if she doesn’t even remember me.
She gives no sign she even knows I’m here.
I take another tiny step into the room, immediately panic, and back up into the hallway, breathing hard as I twist my fingers together.
“Cher?”
Rune is sitting beside Cian, his eyes locked on me. He nods toward the door. “She’ll want to see you. Go.”
“And if she doesn’t remember me?” I whisper. Because how could she? I don’t have even one memory of her. How could she have any of me?
Rune pushes himself to his feet and crosses over to me. He kisses my forehead. “Then you’ll remind her who you are, and you’ll go from there.”
He sounds less like a Cajun cook and more like a CEO, leaving not an ounce of doubt in my mind that it’s exactly how things are going to go. Maybe his confidence is what makes it so easy to want to believe him. With nerves still fizzing in my belly, I nod once, wipe my sweaty palms on the front of my jeans, and step into my mom’s room.
She shows no reaction, simply continuing to stare out at the garden.
The large white pad sitting on her knees pulls me closer when I would have turned around and left. Again. Does she like to sketch what she sees in the garden or something else instead?
I’d always wondered where my love of art and my ability came from. Before I know what she’s filled her sketchpad with, I think it came from her. Olive Deane.
After hesitating for a moment, I sink to the floor less than a foot away from her. Mostly because other than the single chair she occupies, the bed on the other side of the room, and the dresser alongside it, there are no other places to sit.
But it isn’t the only reason. I sit next to her because I want to be close to her.
“I’m Ever,” I say, holding off on giving her my full name in case it triggers a panic attack or scares her.
Silence.
