Echoes of Silence (Unquiet Mind Book 1) (13 page)

I nodded. “Although she’s trying to keep it on the down low. She didn’t count on my keen skills of observation.” I paused. “Or my insomnia, meaning I caught her sneaking across the street,” I corrected myself.

There was a weird energy to the following silence. “Insomnia?” he repeated in concern. There was a pause. “Across the street?” Killian repeated my words in a clipped tone.

“Yep.”

“To Bull’s?” he clarified.

“One in the same.”

“Shit,” he muttered, disbelief evident in his tone.

“Why is that so surprising?” I asked. “Granted, he and Mom aren’t exactly the most compatible, considering he is almost mute, and I’m surprised her vocal chords haven’t given out by how much she talks. Still, he’s a man and my mom’s a catch,” I said a little defensively.

Killian rubbed my arms. “It’s not your mom,” he reassured me. “It’s Bull and, well, any woman,” he said vaguely.

“What? Is he gay or something?” I asked, not believing that for a second. Apart from the little fact of Mom’s midnight visit where they were not likely to be playing checkers, there was the way Zane looked at her. Granted, I didn’t have much experience in that area, or any, prior to arriving in Amber, but I knew that was not how a gay man looked at a woman. That was how a very straight man looked at a woman. Kind of how Killian looked at me.

Killian barked out a laugh before he quickly silenced it. “No, it’s not that. It’s....” He trailed off.

I perked up. “It’s just what?”

Killian shook his head and kissed my nose lightly. “Nothing, Freckles.”

I frowned, sensing there was more to this particular story, but the nose kiss did a lot to distract me.

“Tomorrow night,” he murmured, his mouth close to mine.

“Yeah, tomorrow night,” I breathed.

The moment was held in some kind of beautiful limbo that seemed to last forever and for no time at all at the same time.

Killian pressed his mouth to mine, his lips moving gently as he kissed me lazily, gently, as if I was made of glass.

“Get some sleep,” he commanded softly.

Yeah, like that was going to happen. I was going to inspect my entire wardrobe for date attire then most likely have a nervous breakdown over the fact I’d never been on a date before and the prospect of telling my mom.

“Okay,” I whispered.

Killian kissed my forehead and he stayed in that spot, and I realized he was waiting for me to go into the house. I regretfully extracted myself from his warm presence and wandered to the house. I stole a glance over my shoulder.

“Night,” I called softly.

“Sweet dreams, Freckles.”

My prediction leaving Killian last night proved correct. I stayed awake another couple of hours after he left. First, it was because it seemed like my body had been zapped with electricity and I needed to find an outlet—excuse the pun. So I had scribbled into my notebook, tried to read, then did some yoga. I had done all this floating on a wave of happiness with a small edge of dread at finally telling my mom. I wasn’t nervous about what she’d say. She was my mom; she was cool. Although she may not like me dating, she’d never forbid it. I was absolutely terrified that she’d immediately hate Killian for what she thought he was. What he projected to the world. The smoking, motorcycle-riding, devil-may-care attitude that came with this persona he’d built to keep the world out. He may have seemed like your quintessential—disgustingly attractive—bad boy on the surface, but he was so much more than that. I needed Mom to see beyond the surface. See what I saw. Her approval meant everything to me.

So sleep was lost until the early hours when my mind had quieted enough to drift off with music playing in my ears.

My adrenaline roller coaster had obviously taken its toll on me when I woke up near noon the next day. I managed to yank myself out of bed and dreams of Killian to stumble to the coffee pot, then the living room.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” Mom greeted, glancing up from the TV, smiling.

Still half asleep, I didn’t respond. I snuggled up to her on the sofa, just needing to hug my mom. Her arm went around me and we both watched the TV, content in silence. My sleep-addled mind realized these moments would become few and far between. I was growing up. Hugs with my mom weren’t the only kind of affection I was coming to know. I was discovering a different kind, the kind that turned you into a woman. It was a melancholy thought, the final farewell to the last of my childhood.

“Your body finally realized that it’s a teenager and can’t get up at 6:00 a.m. after a night on stage,” Mom observed.

I sipped my coffee, out of necessity and to stall while my thoughts settled. The last morning hugs with Mom wasn’t the only things that signified the passageway into womanhood. It was the secrets. The fact Mom was oblivious to the reasons for my lack of sleep, for my late rising.

“I’m not planning on commencing said lifestyle until I learn how to function without eight hours of sleep,” I said finally, moving my mind away from such serious thoughts on such little amounts of caffeine.

“As long as coffee is the only substance you abuse to get you through lack of sleep, that’s fine with me,” Mom said, running her fingers through my hair.

“Okay, should I throw out the cocaine that I scored on Friday night?” I asked seriously.

Mom pretended to ponder. “Just leave it on the nightstand,” she said finally.

I sipped my coffee, smiling. We might be saying good-bye to some things, but our sarcastic banter was something we’d have forever, regardless of our ages.

Mom’s hands continued running through my curls. “Got something to talk to you about, kid,” she said, her voice lacking any previous humor.

I glanced up at her. She was serious, her face slightly nervous. I knew exactly what this subject was going to be. “Does it start with a Z and end with an ‘ane?” I asked.

Surprise flickered over Mom’s face. “You’ve got more brains than I give you credit for, doll face,” she teased.

I tapped my head. “Not just a hat rack.” That and I caught her in the act. I reasoned I would’ve had a less concrete instinct on the subject of the two of them, but I still would’ve noticed. “Mom, it’s like totally obvious. Even the guys in the band saw it,” I explained. “I saw it way before that.”

Mom’s eyebrows raised and she chewed her lip uncertainly. Nice to know where I got that particular habit from. “And you’re not mad? Don’t have questions?”

The uncertainty in her voice had me sitting up and placing my coffee down so I could give her my full attention. “Mad?” I repeated in disbelief. “No way, I’m ecstatic! You deserve someone, Mom. You’ve had years of bringing me up, working your butt off to give us this.” I gestured around our eclectically designed living room. I glanced back at her. “I was always worried you didn’t have someone. Now I get it.
u
You were waiting for the right person. Zane’s your person,” I told her with confidence. Maybe I felt confidence because I had an inkling of what it was like to find your person. As crazy as it was, my age, our limited amount of time together, none of it mattered. Killian was my person.

Mom looked at me with twinkling eyes; then she shook her head. But not to my statement, to some internal thought. “Yeah, kid, he’s my person,” she murmured. She clutched my hands. “But you’re my one and only, you know that, right? My main person. No one ever knocks you off that spot,” she promised.

I blinked away any prickling of tears at her words to roll my eyes. “Well, duh. I’m like the most amazing daughter ever. Even a hot biker couldn’t knock me off that spot,” I responded. “Plus, I’m your meal ticket for when you retire. You need to stay on my good side.” I smiled at her, happiness radiating from me at the fact she’d finally told me, the fact my mom finally had her person. The thought of her revealing her secret made the issue of my date with Killian that more pressing. I swallowed that. Mom needed to have some time digesting what just happened.

I stood up. “Got homework to do,” I declared, which was actually correct. I’d neglected it for far too long. I needed to get it done before... tonight. I glanced at Mom and my eyes prickled once more. I’d never realized how badly I wanted this for her, this happiness, this feeling. Maybe I never realized it because I never understood what she’d been missing out on the years she spent bringing me up, working her ass off. Now, I knew.

“Glad you’re happy, Mom,” I told her quietly.

She smiled. “Was always happy, kid,” she replied firmly.

I thought on it a second. She was right. She was always smiling, laughing, content. Happy. But there was a different kind of happiness that came with what I guessed she and Zane had. I winked at her and quickly left the room. I felt like skipping. I’d always been happy too. Mom gave me a beautiful life. We may not have had material things, sometimes it was a struggle, I knew, but it was a good life. We had Ava and Steve, and we had each other. Now we got more. I sat down at my desk and got started on my calculus homework with a huge smile on my face.

****

It was time. Calculus was done. English Lit was done. Even biology was done. My room was cleaned. I’d procrastinated enough. Almost my entire afternoon was spent doing it. I’d taken a break to go and chat to Amy, Rosie, and Lucy, women who were not only exceptionally beautiful but super nice too. Amy was married to Brock, and I was pretty sure Rosie was Cade’s sister. That was another thing that made me happy, Mom having friends connected to Zane and the Sons of Templar. Amber seemed to have welcomed us with open arms.

I just needed to bite the bullet.

I dragged my feet to the living room and leaned against the doorjamb, watching Mom fold laundry for a second before I built up the courage to speak.

“Mom?” I said finally, in a small voice.

She glanced up at me. “I’ll give you a hundred dollars right here and now if you agree to fold the laundry for the remainder of your time living at home,” she said seriously.

I screwed up my nose, happy for the respite from my intended topic. “That’s like one hundred dollars over two years. That’s like... fifty bucks a year.” I raised my eyebrow. “That’s slave labor. Even Cinderella would have gotten more pocket money than that,” I informed her, sitting down on the sofa.

“Cinderella got fancy shoes and a prince for a husband out of the deal,” she shot back.

“So in addition to the hundred dollars, you’re going to wave a magic wand to get me horrifically uncomfortable shoes and a prince for a husband?” I clarified.

Mom shook her head. “Of course not. I don’t need a wand to give you horrifically uncomfortable shoes. Just check out my closet. Fashion is pain,” she declared. “And on the prince front, I don’t doubt your ability to snag one of your own, though you better hurry up. All the good ones are getting snaffled up,” she teased.

I swallowed, my throat was sandpaper. Mom had unintentionally veered us back to my dreaded topic.

“What’s up, sweetie?” she asked. She knew me too well.

Just do it.
“I was wondering…” I dragged out the words, twisting my hands together. I glanced up at Mom and took a breath. “Well, I’ve got a date,” I said quickly, my whole body sagging with relief as soon as I spoke the words.

Mom seemed to sink back in relief too. “So no tattoo?” she asked weirdly.

I gave her a look of horror. How could Mom get a tattoo out of that? “Of course not. I’m only sixteen.”

Now that she seemed to be comforted by my lack of ink, she grinned. “Thanks for reminding me. I would have forgotten otherwise.”

I needed to make sure we didn’t veer off track like we did so often. “So the date, it’s okay with you?” I clarified.

“Of course it’s not okay with me,” she replied, and my stomach dropped. “I’d rather you become a spinster and lived with me until you were old and wrinkly, but I knew it was a long shot,” she continued, quelling my panic. “So I guess it’s okay as long as you’re home by ten and don’t get frisky.” Her tone was light, but I knew Mom was serious about that particular detail. “So who’s the lucky guy?” she asked with a smile.

My heart pounded even thinking about him.

“Killian,” I told her, smiling. I couldn’t help myself. Since telling Mom we were going on a date, it was real. Like properly real. I had a strange yearning to cartwheel across the room. I suppressed the urge, mainly because of the way my Mom’s face dropped a smidgeon.

That fear came back at the look on her face. The fear that she wouldn’t like Killian. Such a thing would likely split me in two.

“He’s not taking you on his motorcycle, is he?” she asked, with an edge to her voice.

I patted Mom’s hand in an effort to reassure her. “No, Mom, he knows your rule. He’s got a car.”

My efforts to reassure her seemed to backfire. Mom raised her eyebrows in suspicion. “A car and a motorcycle? How does a teenage kid afford that?”

I bristled at what was thinly veiled by her words. “He didn’t steal them, if that’s what you’re saying,” I snapped, feeling protective over Killian and irrationally annoyed at Mom immediately pigeonholing him.

She held her hands up in mock surrender. “I didn’t say anything of the sort.”

“That’s what you were thinking,” I retorted sharply. “He built the car from the ground up with his dad, and Cade gave him the motorcycle to do up when it was a pile of junk,” I explained, needing Mom to know the context, to know there was more to him than what she thought.

Again, my efforts went awry.

“You know a lot about the kid for someone who hasn’t been on a date with him,” she teased with a raised brow.

My mouth suddenly went dry once more, with guilt. “Yes, because we talked first. Had actual conversations. Became friends. Isn’t that what you taught me to do?” I asked defensively, mostly to hide my guilt over the fact we’d already surpassed the “friend” stage.

“Take a chill pill, dude. I was only teasing,” Mom said with a grin. “Let’s move along to the most important question.”

I eyed her skeptically, waiting for more attacks on Killian’s character. Or waiting for the question “Where do you buy a shotgun?”

“What?” I asked finally.

Mom grinned. “What are you wearing?”

****

“Okay, out,” I commanded, directing Mom to the door.

She had the audacity to look offended. “What? Why?” she whined.

“Because you are absolutely no help,” I informed her, with my hand on my hip.

She put her hand on her chest. “I take that as a personal affront, an attack on my very character. My fashion prowess is highly sought after, and you’re getting it for free and trying to get rid of me? Well, I never!”

I regarded her. “Your fashion prowess may be sought after, but you keep asking to borrow things instead of actually helping me pick an outfit,” I pointed out.

“You should take it as a compliment. You’ve got great taste and a highly covetable wardrobe. Comes from your mother, of course.”

I held back a smile. “Out,” I commanded.