8. Cody

EIGHT

Cody's hand was sticky with sweat where it was gripped in his momma's.

His heart made a loud thud against his ribs, pound, pound, pounding in time with the echo of his footsteps on the shiny white floor.

His momma paused outside a door, and her face was all soft the way it always got when she looked at him, making his heart that was thundering beat even harder. She reached down and touched his cheek.

"Now remember what I told you. He's going to look a little different than you remember, but he's still your daddy. You don't have to be afraid."

Except Cody didn't think he'd ever felt more afraid than right then, but it was a different kind of scary than when the lights were off at night. He was scared because his momma was so sad, and she kept crying and crying, and he didn't know how to make her stop, so it made him sad, too.

He hadn't been allowed to come for a lot of days, and his momma was gone a lot, but she'd said this morning it was a special day and his daddy really wanted to see him.

He'd been excited until they walked through the doors of the building his momma called hospice, and it felt yucky inside. Like he was sneaking into a place he wasn't supposed to be.

"I'm not afraid," he told her, trying to puff out his chest. Maybe if he showed he was big and strong she might not be so sad anymore.

She gave him a shaky nod, then she squeezed his hand again before she swung open the door. They slowly walked inside the room.

It was quiet in there. Too still. And something about it felt dark even though the curtain was open on the window and the sun was shining in.

His belly felt sick and heavy, like on the day he had to stay home from school because he was throwing up, and he thought he might when he saw his daddy on the bed.

The bed was bent so his daddy was sitting up, and he had a bunch of pillows behind him.

His momma used to say his daddy was as big as an ox.

But he looked real skinny, and his skin was the wrong color.

Like the yellow-gray clay he and Ryder played with on the bank of the stream behind Cody's house.

He'd heard his momma whispering to her friend Linda that his daddy's liver was broken and didn't work anymore and it made him super sick, but Cody didn't really know what that meant.

"Hey." His daddy's voice was raspy, though his eyes and his smile were soft when he looked at Cody. "There's my boy. Come see me."

Cody looked at his momma for permission, and she nudged him forward. Cody's feet felt like they were sticking to the floor when he moved forward, like it was hard to move, that thunder in his heart banging so loud he thought his daddy could hear it.

His daddy patted the spot on the bed next to him. "Climb up here."

Cody did as he was told, climbing up and staying on his knees and facing him, keeping real still because he was afraid he might hurt his daddy if he got too close.

His daddy touched his chin. "There's my big, brave boy. And you're going to grow into an incredible man one day."

His stomach wobbled as he stared at his father.

"You're such a good boy, do you know that?"

Cody could only give him a tiny nod of his head.

"I want you to always remember that—you're a good boy and it's this right here that makes you that."

His daddy tapped at the spot where it felt like Cody's heart was going to burst through his chest.

"You be kind to those around you. Use your manners and help out wherever you can. Be respectful but also stand up for what you believe to be true and right."

Cody nodded again, and his eyes felt tingly, and his throat burned real bad.

"And I want you to always look out for your momma and your sisters. You're gonna be the man of the house now, so you make sure no one ever does them wrong. Take care of them. Protect them with everything you've got."

"Yes, sir, I promise." The words sounded garbled when they came off his tongue, and his daddy reached up and wiped away a tear that had gotten free.

"I know you will stand for them. I'm so proud of you, and I'm always gonna be."

My eyes popped open to the darkness of my room. My heart galloped in my chest, no different than it'd done that afternoon when I was six years old. It was the day that was inscribed in me like a brand.

My purpose. My responsibility.

Only that promise had taken me down a road I never should have let it, but at the time, I hadn't thought there'd been another choice.

Maybe there hadn't been, and those consequences had been coming for me all along.

Destined.

Inevitable.

Sweat slicking my flesh, I tossed off my covers and sat up on the side of the bed. I scrubbed both palms over my face before I dragged my fingers through my hair, taking in deep, even breaths like it would hold the power to eradicate the chaos that hunted me.

I could almost feel the wraiths hiding in the corners. On the fringe and in the periphery, murmuring that one day they were going to catch up.

I touched the tattoo on my chest, that permanent reminder that I was living on borrowed time.

A reminder to live hard and full and with everything I had, to always watch my back, to never stumble, to never fall.

Problem was, the ground felt shaky beneath me, like I was riding an edge that I knew better than to take.

Slipping off a crumbling, disintegrating cliff.

Pushing past boundaries that I'd set for myself.

A fool who couldn't seem to help himself.

Unease coiled with the interest. This stupid, reckless thing that I couldn't shuck from my brain. It had been following me into my dreams the entire week. Unable to resist it, I pushed to my feet and padded across my room to the window.

I peeled back the drape.

A murky darkness held fast, cut by the bare glow of the half-moon and the billion stars smattering the canopy overhead.

Her window was nothing but a blackened square, but I swore, there was something about it that glowed.

A beacon I should ignore.

A beacon I had to ignore because I'd seen what was in her father's eyes when he'd caught me talking with her yesterday.

I should have turned my back, walked out, made an oath to never speak to her again, and instead, I was sending her calamitous texts insinuating something along the lines that I might want something more than a one-night stand.

Motherfucking stupid.

Reckless.

Hailey Wagner was the absolute last person I could seek, even if I ever was in the position to allow myself to fall which was highly un-fucking-likely.

I had to stay away from her.

Problem was, I was terrified there was something about her that promised I couldn't.

The lawnmower whirred as I pushed it in perfect rows up and down the front lawn. Heat already saturated the air even though it was only nearing nine in the morning, sweat soaking my tee and running down from the edges of my cap.

I made the last turn and pushed it up the edge of the flower bed sectioned off by decorative rocks up close to the house, then I killed the roar of the engine when I made it to the sidewalk that cut up the middle of the yard.

The screen on the door clattered shut, and I looked up to the stoop of my childhood home to see my mother step out, a towel in one hand and a glass of lemonade in the other. She watched down on me with that same adoration she'd watched me with my entire life.

"Would you come inside? You're likely to melt out here in all this heat."

Affection bound my chest, and I swiped my forearm across my face to gather the sweat. "You act like I don't spend every single one of my days exactly like this. It comes with the territory."

"Well, you could take a day off of it if you didn't think you had to show up here to mow my lawn every Saturday morning."

I grinned as I started her direction. "And what else would I do with myself?"

"Oh, I don't know…sleep in? Especially considering I know the way you like to spend your Friday nights."

She didn't try to hide the insinuation.

Funny, I hadn't been in the mood for it last night.

I took the two steps onto the porch and leaned in to peck a kiss to her cheek. "And miss out on seeing your beautiful face? I don't think so."

Her scowl was playful as she passed me the towel. "It's not like you won't see it at Sunday breakfast."

I used the towel to mop up the sweat on my face, running it around to the back of my neck, my grin slow. "Saturday and Sunday mornings right here with my momma. Best hours of the week."

She tsked. "Are you trying to flatter your momma? You always knew how to butter me up."

"Speaking nothing but God's honest truth." My smile was wide, and she was shaking her head, though something tender slipped into her features.

In my opinion, there wasn't a better human being on this planet than my mother. Her eyes warm and brown, her hair frizzy, her clothes plain. It sometimes gutted me looking at her because I knew every single one of the lines written on her face were carved of the worry she'd carried for us, with the grief that had knitted itself so deep in her spirit she'd never found a real way of healing.

But she'd taken that grief and weaved it into the love she had for us.

The devotion she'd poured into us.

She'd never wanted me and my two sisters to suffer when our lives had been upended after my father had passed, and she'd worked her fingers until they'd literally bled. I had zero fucking regrets that I'd given it all for her, even though she didn't have the first clue.

Reaching out, she set a hand on my cheek, gaze emphatic as she brushed her thumb over the scruff. "You do too much for me, Cody. You always have. You're young. I want you livin' your life. With everything you've got. I want you to find joy. Love. Your reason."

My throat grew thick, and I reached up and curled my hand over hers, voice gruff when I murmured, "I already have, Mom. It's right here."

And I needed not to fucking forget it.