Beneath the Fallen Stars

My heart stops beating in my chest and plummets south while my feet start moving, hurrying to the place she just exited. When I hit the sidewalk outside, I find her only a few businesses down the walk. “Mom!”

She stops and turns around.

“Why don’t you come inside? You can sit at the bar while I finish closing up, and then come upstairs. I was planning to make some canned soup.”

“Oh, no, I can’t,” Mom insists, shaking her head. “I can’t impose on you, Shayne.” Then she starts doing something I’ve never witnessed in all my twenty-three years on this earth. She starts to cry. “I’ve been a horrible mother to you.”

I don’t argue. I can’t. She’s not wrong, but clearly, she needs a little assistance, and if I’m being honest, I want to help her. If she’s sober, drug-free, and has left Bull, maybe she’s ready to change her life. I know coming here wasn’t easy for her. We don’t have a good relationship or an okay one at that. For years, I’ve resented her—hated her even.

So why am I inviting her into my life right now?

Because of hope.

I can’t help but hope she’s a different person than she was before, and maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for us too.

Seeing Ford with his family only reiterated the fact I don’t have one. At least not in the traditional sense of loving, caring parents, and maybe a part of me craves what he has.

Am I setting myself up for heartache?

Probably.

That’s why I’ll guard myself when she’s here, only offering enough help to get her through the detox and break-up part, and then she’s on her way. She can find a job, pay her own bills, and finally become an upstanding part of society.

There is hope for her.

But she has to want it.

I pull two bowls of chicken noodle soup from the microwave and set them at the two-seater table in my kitchen.

“That smells amazing,” Mom says, grinning at the yellow broth and noodles.

“It’s just canned soup,” I state.

“I know,” she starts, grabbing her spoon, “but I haven’t had much in the last few days.” She takes a small slurp of hot broth.

“Much? To eat?” My stomach growls for food but gurgles at the same time with uncertainty.

She shrugs. “I stayed one night with a friend, and I ate spaghetti with her. It was good, but I didn’t want to impose, so last night I slept in my car.”

I swallow hard. “You slept in your car?”

She waves off my concern. “It’s fine. Not the first time, unfortunately. In fact, when Bull was in prison two years ago, I lived in my car for about six months.”

I push my soup away, suddenly not hungry.

“Enough about me though, tell me what’s happening with you?”

I clear my throat, trying to buy myself a little more time. How much do I want to give away about my life? About Ford?

“Well, I’m working a lot, and it’s going well. And… I met someone,” I whisper.

“Really? Tell me about him? Is he from here?”

“No, he’s in the army. He was in town a while back with Chad. They’re friends.”

“Wow,” she says, her eyes full of excitement, “that’s terrific. Can I meet him?”

Even if he wasn’t in the military, that’s a big no. She’s not exactly the bring-a-guy-home kinda mom. In fact, she’s not really a mom except on paper. “He lives on base.”

“So it’s a long-distance thing then, huh? Well, be careful. Long-distance relationships rarely work out, especially for a military man. Many think with their dicks, not their heads,” she states, taking bigger bites of the soup now that it’s cooled off a little.

Funny, when I consider her statement, it’s not the thought of Ford cheating on me that catches my attention. Even in such a short amount of time, he’s become one of the few people I have faith in. I trust him completely.

I can’t help but think of what Ford would say right now. Well, actually, I’m pretty sure I know exactly what he’d say, and it wouldn’t be good. He’s not a fan of hers, and I imagine me telling him I allowed her to come up to my apartment would probably worry him.

And he’d be right.

It’s not smart.

I know this.

Yet, here I am, sitting at my kitchen table with her, because I want her to be different. I want our situation to be normal, to be what most everyone else has, including Ford. So even though he wouldn’t like of this, especially since he’s not here with me, I’m sure he’d understand.

At least, I hope.

Right now, that’s all I have.

Chapter 27

Ford

It’s Friday night, and it’s been a long-ass week. Not only has it been a long week, I haven’t talked to Shayne since Monday. We keep missing each other at our opportune times to talk, and it’s making me cranky as fuck. Her text messages tell me that she’s okay, but I want to talk to her, to hear her voice, and be my own judge.