Smolder (Wildwood 2)

That didn’t sound like his mother. “Has she been to the doctor? And has she complained to you?”

“Not really. She brushes me off when I ask if anything’s wrong. I didn’t even realize this was going on until Holden told me.”

Holden. Lane could’ve figured that their baby brother would be the one to notice considering he still spent a lot of time at their childhood home. Despite practically living with his girlfriend, Kirsten, Holden was still very much a mama’s boy. And he had no problem admitting it either.

“What did Holden say?”

“He called me last week worried about her. Wanted to know if I could somehow convince her that she needed to see a doctor. He thinks we have a lot in common since we both have vaginas.” Wren rolled her eyes.

Lane was glad he had nothing in his mouth at that moment because he would’ve spit milk-soaked cereal all over the floor. Real mature of him, he knew. “Did he literally say that?”

“No, but he implied it. I took her to breakfast a few days ago and talked to her, but she ignored my questions. Then I tried to talk to her about it again yesterday and she blew me off. Said I worried too much and that she was feeling fine.” Wren hesitated, looking concerned. “I don’t believe she’s feeling fine. Something’s up. I think she’s hiding something.”

“But what?” He set the bowl on the kitchen counter, his appetite forgotten. “What could she be hiding?”

“I don’t know if hiding is the right word. More like . . . she’s in denial

? Like she won’t acknowledge that she’s not feeling well. That if she can pretend everything’s okay, everything will be okay.” Another hesitation from Wren, this one a little longer. “Sort of how she behaved when she and dad had all their trouble.”

Right. When their father had cheated on their mother and she’d pretended that it never happened. Shit had eventually hit the fan and their parents had suffered through some rocky times, but she’d stood by her husband. They’d all encouraged her to leave their dad at one time or another, with the exception of Holden.

His name was fitting; he was always encouraging everyone to hold out just a little bit longer.

“I was hoping I could convince you to talk to Mom. Like, physically go over to the house and see her.” Wren’s expression turned grave. “You need to see her, Lane. She looks miserable. Dark circles under her eyes, her clothes hanging off her, and she seems . . . lost. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“Maybe she’s just stressed out,” Lane started but Wren shook her head, making him clamp his lips shut.

“It’s not stress. There’s something more. I just can’t put my finger on it. Please go see her. I know you’re off for the next few days.”

Wren was probably overreacting as she was known to do, but he’d go see Mom just to placate her. “I’ll call her later this afternoon and ask if I can come over.”

“You shouldn’t even warn her,” Wren said as she rose to her feet. “Just . . . stop by. Catch her so she’s not prepared for your visit. So you can see her in her most natural state.”

“You make her sound like an animal at a zoo. ‘Observe the mother in her most natural habitat,’ ” Lane joked, his smile dying when he saw the glassy sheen to his sister’s eyes.

“I’m serious, Lane. Something’s wrong with her. You’ll know what I’m talking about when you see her.” She sniffed and shook her head, pasting a phony smile on her face. “I should go. Let you go catch up on your sleep or whatever it is you do when you’re off for a few days. You’ll call me after you go see her?”

“Yeah. I’ll call you.” He walked Wren to the front door, locking it firmly once she left. He ran a hand through his hair as he made his way to the bathroom and took a quick shower. Tossed and turned as he lay in bed twenty minutes later, unable to get Wren’s words out of his mind.

Their mother was the glue that kept the Gallagher family together. If something was wrong with her . . .

He didn’t know what they’d do.

“I DON’T KNOW how you do that,” Wren muttered when Delilah plopped down in the chair behind her desk that sat opposite Wren’s.

Delilah wiped her sweaty face with a towel she kept expressly for that purpose. “How I do what?”

“Dance like that. I’d collapse within the first five minutes.” Wren shook her head when Delilah laughed. “I’m serious. You keep up with those teenagers like it’s no big deal. You dance circles around them.”

“It’s my favorite class. Hands down.”

When she’d added the hip-hop class to the studio schedule, the response had been overwhelmingly positive. She’d had so many students sign up, she’d ended up dividing the girls by skill and age. Now she led three hip-hop classes every week, and they were by far the best exercise she received out of all the classes she gave.

With more dancers taking classes and becoming more skilled came more possibilities. She’d been contemplating creating a competition team for a while now, and she planned on putting a small one together before school started.

“Well, you’re really good at it.” Wren shot her a look. “But you’re covered in sweat.”

“Good for the soul.” Delilah wiped her face again. “What are you doing here so late anyway?” Some of the girls from her hip-hop three class were still in the studio, but the minute they were gone, Delilah planned on locking up and going home. Wren rarely stayed this late.