19. Cody

SIXTEEN YEARS OLD

NINETEEN

"No, Cody, I can't accept this." His mother looked at the stack of cash he set in her hand, eyes wide, moisture making the brown pools swirl and swim.

His chest tightened in a fist. "You need it."

Grief puckered her brow while adoration spun through the tight clench of her expression. The love she had forever watched him with poured out of her like a sieve.

Still, she tried to argue. "You're sixteen. You're supposed to be off having fun. Playing sports. Being wild."

Cody grinned. "Don't worry about that, Ma. I'm sowing plenty of oats."

A soft huff puffed from her lips, and she tsked as she shook her head with tender reproach since the truly fun things were the ones she didn't relish hearing about. "Cody."

He grinned wider. "Only said it so you'd know I'm not lacking on the sweeter things in life."

"But that's the thing. I want you to be happy. To thrive."

Reaching out, he curled her hand around the money.

He'd taken that lawnmowing job he'd started at twelve and turned it into something that was actually producing. Working at least three hours after school each day and on the weekends. He'd told his mother he was saving for a car, and he'd bought an old beat-up pickup truck that would suffice.

The rest was for her.

For his sisters.

"I am thriving, Ma. And taking care of you…of Dakota and Kayla…that's what makes me happy."

The moisture in her steadfast gaze built to tears, and one streaked down her cheek. "But this money is supposed to be for you."

His head shook in denial. "No, Ma. It never was. It was always for you. And I promise, I will always take care of you. I know you pretend like you're just fine, but I see you struggle. I feel it right here."

He pressed her free hand to his chest.

Misty, brown eyes peered up from his mother's adoring face. "You were never supposed to take on that burden."

He was, though. He'd promised his father. He knew his mother did her best to hide her financial troubles from him and his sisters, but it was blatant.

Obvious and glaring.

Things were crumbling around them.

And he wouldn't stand aside and watch it destroy his mother.

Not when she'd lost so much. Not when she'd sacrificed everything for them. Working three jobs and then coming home to take care of them, cooking and cleaning and showering them with love when he knew she didn't get more than three hours of sleep at night.

He could chip in this little bit, and one day, he would get to the place where he could finally take her burden away.

Permanently.

"This isn't just your struggle. We're a team. A family," he told her.

She pulled her hand from his chest and set it on his cheek. "How could I ever deserve you?"

"I'm the one who got lucky. So just let me give this little bit, yeah?"

Because he would always, always take care of her. No matter what it took.