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Back in my apartment, Mom makes a soft sound in her throat. “Come on. Come sit with me.”
Pivoting on my feet, I watch as she takes a seat on my bed, patting the rumpled, unmade covers, paying no mind to the mess—or smell.
I swallow thickly, and go join her. “Where’s Dad?”
“He’s home. Had to catch up on some work.”
I nod at that, sucking in my cheeks.
“Mason’s back in rehab,” she tells me gently.
“I know.”
Will told me. Apparently, he re-admitted himself back to New Horizons the following morning. I was…surprised. I figured he’d just go to a meeting or something. It’s not like he went off the rails or anything, but I guess for an addict, one drunken night is enough.
“Did something happen between you two?”
My head snaps around before I can stop myself, gaze widening.
Mom arches a brow, and leans back a little, inhaling deeply. “Okay.”
“No.”
She frowns, brows slamming down over her warm brown eyes. “No?”
I shake my head rapid-fire. “Nothing happened,” I lie. “Nothing except he just…he…”
Mom tilts her head when I struggle to get the words out, watching me patiently.
My swallow goes down like glass. “Izzy’s dead,” I whisper, plummeting the room to silence, with the exception of my thundering pulse.
Mom blinks a couple times, and I wince, looking away before I can see the devastation ripple across her face. I wrap my arms tighter around myself and hang my head.
“He…he finally accepted it,” I whisper.
A long moment passes before she speaks.
“I see.”
Working my jaw around, I rub my knees together through my joggers.
An arm hesitantly, then more firmly, comes down around my shoulders. When she tugs me to her chest, I go willingly, a full-body exhale leaking out of me. I screw my eyes shut, just focusing on breathing in her familiar scent—lavender. It smells like home. Real home. Not of a place, but of a time.
A home I can never go back to.
“You can cry, you know,” she says.
I shake my head.
“Why not?”
My voice comes out razor-thin, nearly inaudible, “I’ll never stop.”
Without a word, she holds me tighter to her, chin resting on my head. And I’m suddenly not a grown ass adult anymore, living on his own, but that anxious kid I once was, clinging to his mom after I’d got sent home early from school.
Minutes pass where neither of us say anything.
I’m vaguely aware of my phone buzzing with a notification, and a glance over shows it’s a text from Will. Mom’s gaze must follow, because she says, “You’ve got some great friends.”
