Truth Be Told (Blackbridge Security 4)

“Wh-What? Let’s go. Which hospital? How long ago? You should’ve—”

“Tinley told me to make sure you get home safe. She wants us to wait for her there.”

“No! We need to go. Nanny would want me there.”

“Your mom needs to know you’re safe at home. She’ll be under less stress if we do what she asks,” I hedge, hoping he’ll remember the numerous conversations we’ve had over meals since that first one about helping his mom out more.

“I just…” He sighs. “Okay.”

Without asking, I stop by his favorite burger joint and pick up lunch. He may not be in the mood to eat now because he’s worried, but it’ll be there for him when he’s ready. Once at the house, I scoop up the package on the front porch, knowing from reading the label that it’s the two sets of cleats I had delivered for him, and place it on the kitchen table once we’re inside. Alex doesn’t ask about it, so I don’t offer any information. Right now doesn’t seem like the time to tell him that I got his shoe size from Tinley and bought them even though he turned me down.

“Has she texted?” he asks, coming into the room after a quick shower.

He looks younger than his actual age with his messy wet head and pink in his cheeks. He has a light sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of his nose like his mother, and I focus on them for a second before responding.

“Not yet.”

“Can you text her?”

“Sure,” I tell him after a long pause as I pull my cell phone from my pocket.

Knowing what she’s dealing with I don’t want to bother her, but I also don’t want Alex to worry more than he already is.

I fire off a text letting her know that we made it home, but I don’t include anything else.

“I’ll let you know when she texts back.”

He gives me a weak smile, sitting on the opposite side of the table from me. I pass him his food before unwrapping my own. It tastes like sawdust on my tongue, but I eat it anyway, once again trying to lead by example without giving him direction he may take as me bossing him around.

Alex unwraps his sandwich, eating slowly as he gets lost in thought before just giving up and throwing the rest in the trash. As if he’s anxious and can’t sit still, he moves around the kitchen straightening things and cleaning. I join him in wiping down the appliances and even dusting the pictures on the walls. The house is nearly spotless already, but we don’t mention the lack of need for the chores as we do them anyway.

Once the kitchen is up to his standard, we move on to the living room and hallway, sitting on the floor and scrubbing baseboards after he explains he didn’t get to this part of his punishment for getting in trouble a few weeks ago.

I catch him looking at the door to Brooke’s room more than once, but he doesn’t open up about how he’s feeling.

We’re five minutes into cleaning the bathroom when we hear Tinley’s car pull up in the driveway.

Alex drops his scrub brush, the clank of it in the tub echoing all around us and rushes out of the room. I catch him at the end of the hall, touching him for the very first time with a light grip on his shoulders.

“Let’s give her a minute to get inside. I imagine she’s had a very hard day.”

I expect an argument, or at least for him to jerk away from me, but he blinks up at me, mere inches from being able to look me directly in the eye, and nods.

We’re standing, me at his back with my hands on his tense shoulders, when Tinley opens the front door.

She’s a fucking wreck. Her hair is disheveled like she’s been running worried hands through it all day. Her eyes are swollen and puffy. Her lips set in a hard line.

Alex sees it all too, and it only takes one quick look at her before he pulls away and runs into her arms. He’s intuitive, knowing the news she’s going to share is bad. The kid has been dealt so many blows, I’d bet he’s been expecting terrible news since before we left the ballfield.

“How’s Nanny?” he asks when he pulls away.

It’s clear Tinley is reluctant to let him go, but she gives him space. My own arms itch to fill the void between them, but I keep my feet locked in place wondering if I should leave and give them privacy or stay to offer any help I can in this situation.

“Did you win your game?”

“Mom,” Alex groans. “Just tell me.”

She turns, guiding him to sit on the sofa. The sound of my strong boy clearing his throat to shove down his own emotions makes the backs of my own eyes burn.