Wild Sexy Love (Wild Sexy 4)

I swallowed. “How is he?”

“Not doing as well as when he’s around a certain someone.” Leonard coughed. “I mean you.”

I smiled. “I know who you meant.”

There was a small chuckle on his end. “Take care, dear.”

I made a call to the facility then made arrangements for my absence from the office. In about half an hour, I was in a hired car on my way to see Jason’s mother.

I wasn’t sure what to expect. My destination was a tree-lined estate with perfectly manicured lawns and a brick-lined building that could have passed for a family mansion. In the lobby, a young girl with a blonde ponytail and a white uniform took my name, and then after a short wait, she called an orderly, who led me to a balcony on an upper floor. It had a spectacular view of the gardens but was walled entirely with clear glass.

Sarah was seated in a soft-looking armchair, the only one around, staring out at the expanse of lawn, trees, and flowers. She turned to the door when I entered and looked me up and down.

Her expression was unfriendly, but I wasn’t fazed.

“You look good,” I said. She did look much better than the last time I’d seen her. He hair had a better luster, and her skin shone with health.

“You don’t.” She cocked her head to one side and peered at me. “What happened to you?”

I shrugged. “So, you finally got to talk to Jason.”

“I did. I gathered you didn’t bother to tell him the things I told you.”

“I was going to.”

“When?” She laughed mockingly. “You were too concerned about losing him to tell him something he needed to know.”

She was right, and it hurt. I swallowed my pain, taking a deep breath.

“Are you undergoing any treatment?” I asked.

She shrugged. “There is no treatment. I paint sometimes, and Jason comes to see me. One day, I won’t recognize him, and he’ll see what’s in store for him.”

There was something vicarious in the way she said it, like she enjoyed the idea of sharing this terrible legacy with someone.

I took a seat opposite her. “Have you considered that he’s not affected?”

She smiled at me. “You’re thinking wishfully. Spare yourself the hope. I know he is.”

“How?” I paused. “Why haven’t you tried to convince him to get tested?” She turned away and concentrated on something beyond the glass, so I leaned forward. “There’s a fifty percent chance—”

“I know all that.’ She waved me off. “There’s no need. I’ve got it. He’s got it. He’s my blood, and I’m the only one who understands what he’ll go through.”

“Is that what you need him to think?”

She glared. “What do you mean?”

“You wanted your son back, and now you’ve got him. You don’t care that he’s pushing away everyone he’s ever loved. You don’t care that he’s alone, feeling broken, afraid to find out if maybe he’s not going to suffer this…you just want him.”

“And why shouldn’t I have him?” she spat. “He’s my son.”

“You abandoned him.”

“I left him because I love him.”

“You left because you chose yourself and your pain over the people who needed you, and now you’re encouraging him to do the same.”

She got up. “I don’t expect you to understand. I’m his mother. You’re just a girl who thinks she’s special, but guess what? You’re nothing to him. He’s left you behind. Stop trying to fight it. You’re only embarrassing yourself.”