Page 37 of Still Yours
Curious, I check my watch. 5:30. Stone must be heading to Talon ranch this morning. I take these quiet hours without Stone and where Mrs. Stalinski is still sleeping and go for a run, my cardio in tandem with the sunrise until I return and take a shower.
“You can face him,” I tell my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My hair is damp from a shower and my face freshly exfoliated and frowning. “You don’t care how he reacts anymore. He is who he is.”
My reflection nods along with me, expression highly unconvinced.
“Shit.” I rest my palms on the edge of the sink and lower my head.
What was I thinking, freaking out like that last night? I was like a popped balloon, fragments flying into his face as I screamed our past at him like he wasn’t a part of it.
Like he didn’t leave me, regardless.
It was ten years ago, and I confronted him like it was yesterday. I rub my forehead, then massage my temples to prevent a headache. Howmortifying.Now Stone will believe I’ve never moved on and clung to our high school relationship like Rose fromTitanic. Moving forward, but not.
“He isnotmy Jack,” I say firmly to the mirror, then spin away and get dressed.
“Noa?”
Mrs. Stalinski’s tenuous voice comes through the monitor at my bedside. I finish pulling on my shirt and answer by pressing theTALKbutton. “Be right there.”
I throw my wet hair into a high, messy bun as I head down the short hallway and into her room, knocking on the door.
“Morning,” I say softly, approaching her bed.
“Hi, dear. Mind opening the curtains?”
“Sure.”
I study the color on her cheeks before I round to the window and pull the curtains open. She looks better, more pink than white to her skin, and she’s greeted me with a smile.
“Can I get you some coffee?” I ask, returning to her side.
“I’d love some. Make yourself a cup, too, and sit with me. I’d like to talk to you about last night.”
Mrs. Stalinski must notice something in my answering expression, as much as I try to stifle the unease. She adds, “Nothing bad, child, but I’d like to explain my reasons for substituting my son in our restaurant plans without consulting you.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“Noa.” Mrs. Stalinski lowers her chin. “I’m cancerous, not senile. You’d be a saint not to despise me just a little for my surprise switcheroo.”
“You had your reasons.”
Mrs. Stalinski levels me with a look.
“Okay, fine. I dislike you alittlefor not discussing it with me first.”
“As I figured. Now, go make that coffee and we’ll talk more.”
She rests her arms on top of her covers, waiting expectantly.
I do as she asks, but I’m not looking forward to dissecting the subject of Stone any more than my over-anxious brain already has. I also don’t enjoy begrudging Mrs. Stalinski anything, so I stir creamer in both cups and resign myself to more Stone talk.
Jeez, even when he’s not here, he takes over my life.
I make myself comfortable in a sofa chair near Mrs. Stalinski’s bed, glad that she lifts her coffee to her lips first. It means I get a shot at nullifying the conversation before we dig any deeper.
“I’m sure you hope he and I will make amends. You also want to keep Stone out of trouble, and placing in ranch duties and cooking classes will ideally force him to stay busy while he’s here.”
Mrs. Stalinski’s cheeks lift over the rim. “You always were a smart girl. I’d like to add to your foregone conclusions about my motives, if I may.”
