Page 100 of Reckless: Chaos

But maybe that was the lesson all along. To just jump.

See, I know there will never be asafe houseor a place where I can view the drive without Sterling knowing. No, he made damn sure of that. But maybe that’s his weakness—his need for absolute control, for perfect systems. Because he left me one blindspot, one path he’d never expect.

Right under his fucking nose. In his own goddamn building.

Wiping my palms down my black cargo pants for the tenth time, I pull out the drive and sit back in the cooling car, turning it over and over in my hand. My chest aches as a memory surfaces—one I’ve kept locked away until this exact moment.

“Do you have plans this week?”

Such a simple question. Such an ordinary moment. And yet it’s the one that haunts me—my mother in her hospice bed, asking about my weekend like we had all the time in the world. Like death wasn’t already claiming its territory in yellowed skin and brittle bones.

We always wonder what life would be like without those we love. But we don’t experience it. Hell, we don’t want to experience it and we don’t want to imagine a life without those we love.

But here we are, in a fucking hospice room, my mother actively dying, and she’s asking me about plans this weekend.

“Well. I think I might throw a party.”Don’t cry, don’t fucking cry.

“That sounds lovely.” My mom blinks her brown eyes at me, her freckles swallowed by the jaundice of her skin. If I imagine hard enough, I can picture her red hair spread across her pillows. And her smile not full of pain because her red hair means the pain meds don’t work as well.

“Irish wake.” She adds, smiling at me. “Do not mourn me in a church.” She makes a gagging sound.

I nearly choke on my own tears. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Don’t let them not serve you either.” She gets serious for a moment. “Get drunk. Get laid.”

“Mom.” I cackle even as tears run down my face. There’s no stopping them now. They flow just as fast as her laughter.

“I mean it.” She grips my hand, her strength still punishing despite the life slowly leaving her. The same strength that let her raise me alone, that kept us moving, kept us safe. Kept us free.

“Mom,” I lick my lips, about to ask something I probably already know the answer to. “Do you want me to call him?”

We both know who I’m talking about. Dad. Dear old dad. The bastard.

“Ew, no.” She shudders, wrinkling up her face. “Never. He doesn’t deserve to know about my life. Or yours for that matter.”

I sigh. I never get anything out of her regarding my father. All she ever gave me was his name. And now, sitting outside his tower, I understand why she held that secret so close.

“Go grab something for me, would you?” She pats my hand. “In my shoe.”

“Your shoe?” I wipe away the tears and walk to her closet, grab her shoes, and hand them over.

She adjusts in her bed, only grabbing one shoe and letting the other fall to the floor. “Now.” She reaches in, pulling out a folded up letter on yellowing paper. “I wrote this the day you graced this world.”

My heart stops and I slump back in my chair, my eyes on her. “What...”

She goes to hand it over and waits until I grab it, clarity washing over her features one last time. “Only open it if you absolutely have to know. If the truth becomes more important than the mystery.”

I wrinkle my brow and hold the letter to my chest, not daring to open it.

“Now come nap with me, I’m tired.” She yawns as I crawl into bed with her and snuggle with my mom one more time. “I love you lady bug.”

As she scratches my head, I fall asleep in her arms one last time.

Because that was the last time I felt her arms around me.

The last time she told me she loved me.

The last nap.

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