His eyes widen a little.
“Are things bad?” I blurt out, shivering when his thumb strokes over my knuckles. “With your mom?”
“I told you, she’s not my mom.”
“But I’m sure she’d want you to call her that.”
There. You see? No
control over my mouth. Crap. I’d promised myself not to push him, especially not tonight, when he looks so sad, even less about something I can’t be sure about.
But he chews on the inside of his cheek, and nods. “She did. I mean, she told me many times to call her that, but I never did.”
“Why not?” I shift closer to him, until his muscled thigh is pressed to mine.
“Dunno. Never felt right. And she only took me in for the sake of Sebastian.”
I frown at him. “What do you mean?”
He’s still staring down at our entwined hands. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Rett…”
“Life is what it is. That’s what Connor would say.”
“Who is Connor?”
He jerks, those expressive eyes going round. “Fuck, forget I said that. All of it.” He’s panting, his face pale, and he’s scaring me a little. “What’s wrong with me today? I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it. I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” A strained laugh escapes him. “You got nothing to be sorry for. If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry. I know I should keep away from you, that it’s dangerous, but I can’t, and I…”
He doesn’t finish.
God, so many questions I want to ask him. With every word he says, I have ten questions more. Who is this Connor and why does he sound so important? Why does he think Becky Lowe took him in because of Sebastian, and is that linked to the promise he made her to look after him? Why does he think that everybody who takes him in dies?
And above all, why did he just say he can’t keep away from me?
He’s shivering harder now, gaze going distant again, and I push away my questions for another time. After all, I invited him here because I was worried about him, and he does look tired. Exhausted.
Though inviting him into my bed hadn’t been in the plans.
Still.
“You’ll be fine, Rett.”
He sort of shakes his head while nodding. “Yeah,” he says wheezing, and whatever happened today at the nursing home had to be bad.
I make a note to ask Mom if she knows anything about it, and realize I know next to nothing about Alzheimer’s. One more thing to investigate.
Anyway, I can’t stand seeing him like that anymore. Yanking my hand away, I stand up, turn and push on his chest.
“Lie down and let me take care of you.”
I expect him to make a smartass comment, or at the very least arch a brow at me, but he doesn’t. It’s a testament to how bad he must be feeling, that he lets me shove him down on the mattress, though the small frown on his face tells me he isn’t sure what’s going on.
Guess I’ve surprised him quite a lot today. Myself, too. In good ways, I hope, though there’s no way to tell just yet, but in any case…