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“I’ll find you someone.”
That was to be expected, so I don’t fight him on it. “Thank you.”
“I’ll text you the info tonight.” He glances towards his bedroom where Mum is and then looks back at me. “Don’t stay too long; she’s exhausted.”
It appears he’s finished with this conversation and getting rea
dy to leave, but I’ve got one other thing to discuss. “What’s the go with Fury showing up at my place like he did this morning?”
King has this way with us kids where he wants to protect us, but he refuses to give us much information that could potentially help us look out for ourselves. Mum says it’s his way of trying to protect us from any club stuff that might turn out to be dangerous, and I understand that, but as I’m getting older, I feel like he needs to start sharing more. So when he doesn’t give me an answer to my question, but instead says, “Don’t worry about that. I’m taking care of it,” I’m annoyed.
“That doesn’t answer my question, though,” I challenge. From the way his eyes tighten, I know he’s less than impressed with me. “Please tell me what’s going on. I need to know if I should be taking more precautions or watching out more than usual.”
He thinks about what I’ve said rather than simply brushing me off, and finally says, “I don’t know for sure yet what’s going on. As soon as I do, you’ll know too. Until then, I’ve got one of the boys watching you 24/7.”
My legs turn a little shaky and my throat goes dry as I realise I actually expected him to tell me something different. Maybe that it was a false alarm or that he’d already sorted the problem out. In the time since he’s been a part of our lives, the club has dealt with stuff that threatened it, but not once has it come to family having to be watched around the clock.
Swallowing my fear, I say, “Thank you for telling me.” My words come out a little shakily and he notices, his features shifting into a frown.
“We’ll protect you,” he says, his tone determined, his belief absolute. “I don’t want you to worry about this shit.”
“Uh, that’s a little hard.” My mind is already racing with worry.
His eyes search mine, full of concern, and I’m reminded of what a good father he’s been to me since he became a part of our family. “Zara,” he starts, but something stops him and he rakes his fingers through his hair before going on, “Fuck, this is what I didn’t want to happen. This is why I don’t tell you shit unless you absolutely need to know. I’m handling this and will make sure you are safe. That’s what you need to focus on.”
Mum calls out from the bedroom, interrupting us. “Zara, can you please get me the hot water bottle?”
“I’ll get it,” King says to me. “You go spend some time with her. And Zara?”
“Yes?”
His voice drops low. “She misses you.”
Oh God, if anyone in my life can pierce guilt straight through me, it’s King. He doesn’t bring the big guns out very often, but over the years he’s done it a few times when Mum and I have been in a bad place.
I’ve pulled away since the night I was mugged. Mum helped me through everything I had to do after that night, but my shame has made me withdraw from her. I know she doesn’t judge me for the choices I had to make, but still, I find it difficult some days to face her.
Nodding, I swallow hard again and say, “I miss her, too.”
“Only you can fix that.”
“I know. And trust me, I’m working on it.”
“Good.” With that, he leaves me in search of the hot water bottle.
I push all this away for now. I want to spend some time with Mum and then go home and have a long bath. I’m my mother’s daughter in more ways than one; meditating in the bath is how we both try to relax.
“Come sit here, baby,” she says softly, patting the bed.
I snuggle up against her, resting my head on her shoulder. The instant comfort I feel when her arm comes up and over my shoulder makes me question just why I’m staying away from her these days. King is so right; I do need to see a psychologist. I need to find my way back to those I love. I’ve spent months pushing them away when what I probably should be doing is pulling them close.
“I love you, Mum,” I whisper, tears not far away because my emotions are in disarray again.
She squeezes me. “I love you too, Zara.”
King brings the hot water bottle and after setting her up with it and making sure she’s okay, leaves us again. We lie together quietly for a long time. It’s maybe the most peaceful I’ve felt for months and I decide I really do need to come over and spend more time with her.
Mum breaks the silence when she says, “I think we’re having a boy.”
