All the Little Truths (English Prep 3)

My chest burned with the sudden thought of her doing the opposite.

Holy shit. What if she took him back and that was what she wanted to talk to me about?

My foot slammed on the brakes, the containers of food flying forward, but I blocked them with my arm.

“Oh no, we can just talk when you’re here. I think it’s better if you just see for yourself.”

“Mom,” I forced her name between my teeth, trying to sound casual. “Dad’s not there, is he?”

She gasped. “No. Of course not. I wouldn’t trick you like that. Although, I do feel that you should talk to him eventually.”

No can do.

Relief had me pressing on the gas again. “I’m almost home. I’ll see you in a sec.”

Once I pulled up into my driveway and cut my engine, I glanced to Madeline’s window. I knew she’d be home tonight. Her light was on, as usual, but her window was open. I squinted before looking down at my busted knuckle and then shook my head.

Not my problem. Last night was another lapse in my sanity, but I was back. I was no longer concerned about Madeline. I did my public duty, and now she could deal with her shit all by herself like she wanted.

I didn’t allow myself to look at her window again as I rounded the front steps to the porch. The smell of brownies wafted around as I pulled open our front door, carrying the takeout. I strode into the kitchen and walked over to my mom, placing a swift kiss on her cheek. “Hey, Mom. Smells like I’m back in the sixth grade when you made brownies to soften the blow of telling me we were moving.” Another time she tried using brownies to help me cope.

Her cheeks rose as she pushed her hair out of her face. “It worked, didn’t it?”

A guttural laugh came from my throat. “A little.” That and the fact that our new neighbor was hot as hell. Too bad she turned out the way that she did. Madeline was still hot, though—one of the many reasons I had a hard time being in the same room as her.

“I know why you’re making brownies tonight—at least, I hope I know.”

My mom’s hazel eyes were glossy as she looked away. “We should talk about your father and the future.” She sighed, placing the knife for the brownies on the counter. “But we need to discuss something else first.”

I stood up a little taller, concerned. “What’s wrong, Mom? Did Dad threaten you or something?”

Her tiny smile calmed me. “You’re such a good boy, Eric. So protective over me.”

My brows crowded. “I’m not a boy, but of course I’m protective over you. You’re my mom.”

She shook her head softly, edging toward the stairs. “No, my sweet son, you just have this fierce protectiveness inside of you that begs to be released. I’ve seen it over the years. With me, your friends, for those that you love.”

I snickered, following her up the stairs. “There’s not much I love, Mom. You and a few friends. That’s all.”

She laughed softly and shook her head again. We were standing outside my bedroom door now, and I was one hundred percent confused. “What’s going on?” I glanced at my bedroom door and then back to her.

“You tell me.”

My mom opened the door quietly and pushed it forward. My bedside lamp was bathing my room in a soft glow, and when I looked at my bed, my expression fell. What the hell? Madeline?

There she was, curled up on her side on top of my covers, spreading her flowery scent all over my shit. My pillow was likely engulfed with the smell of her shampoo. Madeline looked so small and fragile lying there. Her arms were wrapped around her middle, her knees tucked up to her chin. She was in the fetal position with her hair pulled up in a high ponytail. Her soft, heart-shaped face that often resembled a stoic statue was soft and relaxed. If I looked hard enough, I could probably see the line of dainty freckles on her nose.

“What is she doing here?” I asked, looking back at my mom.

Her eyes were wide as she shrugged. “I found her asleep in your bed when I brought in some clean clothes.”

I didn’t detect any resentment from my mom. Only curiosity. But that didn’t stop me from feeling guilty. I was sure that Madeline, the daughter of the woman my dad fucked, was the last person my mom wanted to find in my bedroom. God. I felt like shit.

“Give me a second, and she’ll go home. I have no clue why she’s here.”

I hesitated for a moment, almost feeling bad that I was about to wake her. I knew she rarely slept, and she looked so incredibly peaceful. No. Fucking no. Madeline didn’t get to make me feel this way. She was always fucking with my head.

I took one step in my room, but my arm was tugged, pulling me backwards. My mom shut the door quietly.