“Go take your shower, and brush your teeth.” He laughs and kisses me. “Then I want to give you one of your Christmas presents.”
The hot shower feels wonderful. I ache in the most intimate places, and think for a second about really milking out my discomfort to tease Dane. I decide to go easy on him, though, when I step out and see the casual set of pants and shelf-tank he’s left on the counter for me. Silky and light pink, the new clothes glide over my body and I smile to myself, thinking about how good he is to me; but I damn near tear up when I see the two pain relievers and glass of OJ. This man—if I told people the things he does for me, they’d think I was making him up.
Steam billows out as I open the door and walk back into the bedroom, scrubbing a towel through my damp hair.
“Come here, baby,” he says to me, sitting in the overstuffed chair in the corner.
“Thank you.” I smile as I saunter to him, motioning to my new outfit.
“You’re very welcome, beautiful. They look lovely.”
I climb onto his lap and wait impatiently for...I don’t know.
“Promise me you’ll let me finish before you react, and that you will try to remember, no matter your initial instinct, that anything I ever do is because I love you. I want to take care of you, in every single way. I want to be the one you come to when you need or want something, when you’re hurt, sad, scared...anything. Even if it’s me that pisses you off, I want it to be me you scream at about it.” He reaches behind the chair and pulls out a folder; not a present. “Promise me,” he reiterates.
“You’re scaring me,” I whisper.
“Laney, you are my forever, and we can’t move forward until we clear up the past. I would never put you in a bad spot, I of course checked things out first, and feel sure this is something you need to know. I will help you every single step of the way, baby.” He hands me the folder and moves his arms tightly around my waist.
I open it, hands trembling with the anticipation of the unknown. The first thing that catches my eye is a picture of my mother; I’d know her anywhere. I quickly slam the folder shut and jerk my eyes to Dane. “What is this?!”
“It’s your mom, Laney. It’s important that you know; I didn’t just set out to find your mom, get in your business. It started as my desire to keep you safe and it led here,” he grabs my hand and squeezes, his eyes full of doubt. “You told me about the stalker and it worried me, badly. You got flowers on your birthday—”
“Those were from Evan,” I interrupt, agitation in my voice.
“You got another delivery, while you were out. I had Tate open the card, I admit it, and I didn’t like the message. So,” he lets out a shaky breath, “I did some digging. Sometimes money comes in handy, like when you’re trying to track down a stalker. I only did it to keep you safe, Laney, I swear to you. I had only the best intentions.”
I believe him, but I still feel somewhat violated. “You and Tate had no right to open the card,” I huff.
“You’re absolutely right, and for that you should probably be angry, but I’m not sorry I did.”
No response jumps off my tongue, so I simply give him the “go on” big eyes.
“Your stalker is not a stalker at all,” he pauses, taking both my hands in his and rubbing my wrists with his thumbs, “it’s your mother. You told me the gifts and things popped up sporadically, yes?” I nod, the word mother still knocking around in my head. “I’m guessing at big moments for you; moments a mother would also think were a big deal.”
Holidays, birthdays, prom, starting college...yes, contact was almost always on a milestone. “She kept up with you, Laney. She’s watched you grow up as much as possible, from afar.”
Barely able to comprehend, I stand and begin to pace the room. So many questions and different emotions are flowing through me right now that I can’t organize my thoughts. I concentrate on breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth and raise my hands behind my head.
“Laney, your mom, she’s not evil, nor does she not love you, she’s just not well. I’m not supposed to know this, but I had to find out, for you.” He’s moved to me now, hands bracing my shoulders. “She’s schizophrenic, Laney.”
“What? I mean, how?” I’m sputtering incoherently, more thinking out loud than actually asking a question.