It was close to three in the morning when I finally found a few hours of sleep, and then I rose at the butt-crack of dawn, disturbing a disgruntled Rhage. I let the coffee percolate as I showered, leaving my hair to air dry while I grabbed a can of a fancy food for him since I felt bad for waking him early.
Rhage appeared to accept my offer of apology by shoving his entire whiskered face into the bowl. Cringing, I watched him, knowing he was going to smell like fake fish or whatever was in that food.
Taking my cup of coffee with me, I curled up against the arm of the couch, trying not to think about Brock holding me in his lap last night as I picked up my phone. It was early, but I knew my mom would be up.
She answered on the second ring and immediately assumed the sky was falling. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” That wasn’t necessarily a lie. “I know it’s early, but I . . . I talked to Brock last night.”
There was a beat of silence as I sipped my coffee, and then she said, “Well, hon, I assume you talk to him quite frequently now.”
Lowering my mug, I rolled my eyes at her blatant obtuseness. “Mom, he told me you’ve been telling him everything about me over the last couple of years.”
“I haven’t been telling him everything,” she responded blithely. “That’s an exaggeration.”
“Is that really all you have to say?” Needing more caffeine to deal with this conversation, I took another drink. “Why didn’t you say anything? He said he told you not to, but Mom, come on.”
“I didn’t think it was wise to tell you that he was asking about you,” she replied.
“Why? Because you thought if I knew he was asking about me that I was going to be obsessed with him?”
“Obsessed? Honey, hold on a second. Your father is about to come in here, and I don’t think he needs to hear this conversation,” she said, and I raised a brow as I chugged my coffee. “Okay,” she said with a heavy sigh, and I figured she was in the sunroom, surrounded by various plants. Mom had a true green thumb while I was the black death to greenery. “Why in the world would I think you’d be obsessed with Brock?”
“Mom,” I groaned. “Come on. You have eyes.”
“Yes. I have two functional eyes. You had a crush on the boy growing up, Jillian.”
A crush didn’t truly represent what I had felt for him, but whatever.
“I didn’t tell you about him because you made it clear more than once that you didn’t want anything to do with him.”
Finishing off my coffee, I rose to get a refill and passed Rhage, who was sitting by the coffee table, licking his paw. “If you knew that, then why would you tell him anything?”
“Because he cared about you—he’s never stopped caring about you. Because he was a part of your life for over a decade, and he’s family to us,” she answered as I poured myself a new cup. “Jillian, I’m sorry if you feel like I shouldn’t have talked to him, but when he asked about you, it was always coming from a good place.”
Turning, I leaned against the counter and curiosity got the best of me. “What . . . what was he asking about me?” I knew what Brock had told me, but there was a small part of me that needed to hear Mom validate it.
“He always wanted to know that you were okay. That’s where most of his questions were leading. How you were doing at Shepherd. When you dropped out, he wanted to know what you were planning to do. He’d asked if you had friends,” she said, and I exhaled sharply at the bitter burn in the back of my throat. “I think he needed to know that you were okay and you weren’t alone.”
Pressing my lips together as I held the phone to my left ear, I slowly shook my head. Truthfully, I wasn’t mad at her. I got why he asked about me. I’d cut him off and out of my life with a rusty butter knife. I got why she told him. Brock had become like a son to her.
“So what were you two doing having this conversation on a Saturday night?” Mom asked slyly. “Because I’m sure you weren’t at work.”
“He hijacked a date I had last night.”
“He did what?” She let out a surprised laugh.
I sighed. “You remember the guy I was telling you about? Grady? Well, I was on another date and Brock showed up and basically ruined it.”
“Oh no,” Mom murmured, but it was too subdued. Like I could practically see her grinning from ear to ear.
“Well, he didn’t really ruin it. I mean, if I was being honest—”
“And you should be.”
Wrinkling my nose, I folded an arm across my waist. “Anyway, Grady is nice but . . . it wasn’t going to work out anyway.”
“Of course not,” she replied.
“What does that mean?”
“Let me ask you a question, Jillian. Why are you asking me about Brock? Besides the fact that he told you he was obviously still thinking about you all these years?”
I shifted my weight from one foot to the next. “Because . . . because he came over last night and—”
“Did you two have sex?”
“Oh my God, Mom!” I shrieked, startling Rhage and causing him to jump like one of those Halloween spook cats.
“What?”
“What?” I repeated dumbly. “Okay, like I don’t want you ever asking me that again. Ever.”
She sighed heavily in my ear. “It’s human nature, Jilly. Your father and I have a very active—”
“Stop. Please stop.” I threw up a little in my mouth. “I don’t want to hear any of that.”