A Perfect Love (16 page)

Mace entered a moment before the doctor emerged from the secured doors. The doctor made his way toward us, his face grim. We stood, and Mace moved to stand beside me.

“What news?” Liam asked. I assumed this was the same doctor, who had been working on his mum, since there were no introductions.

“You can come in and see her for five minutes. She’s currently stable. After that, I would advise you go home and rest.”

My hand tightened around Liam’s and I gave him a reassuring squeeze despite my own pissed-off state. I glanced to my side and took in Mace’s stiff form. His arms were crossed over his chest, his face a mask. To the unfamiliar eye, he looked exactly the man he had a reputation for being: badass, serious and quietly observing all around him. I knew him better. The taut jaw he wore indicated he was angry, while the slight squint suggested he had expelled a deep breath and was relieved.

My gaze flicked back to the doctor as he continued speaking. “There are still some possible issues you need to be aware of. While her stats are finally stable, she has yet to regain consciousness. We’re still awaiting the results of what exactly was in her system. We would have expected and hoped by now she would be awake. We’re concerned that she isn’t. We should know more tomorrow.”

“Okay, thanks, Doctor.” Liam’s voice turned hard, a version of his former self, coming out in defence, one I hadn’t bore witness to in years. He was hurting, and while I hated seeing remnants of the Liam of his childhood, I understood his need to protect himself.

Nodding, the doctor gave a tight smile and opened the secured doors for us to follow.

“Do you want me to stay here so just you and Mace can go?” I wasn’t quite sure what to do for the best. Tension sat heavily on my chest, and I had no idea if staying or going would help it. Regardless, I would do whatever Liam needed me to.

Mace surprised me by answering, “Come.”

Liam glanced at Mace and nodded. Tugging lightly on my hand, he led to the waiting doctor and the three of us headed to visit their mum.

It was no great surprise that I detested hospitals. I could argue who in their right mind liked the damn places. Walking into the room where Liam’s mum was hooked up to machines with a tube down her throat, teamed with the bitter smell of antiseptic, cemented my discomfort with the place.

I stood slightly behind Liam, hand still in his as he approached his unconscious mum, while Mace went to the other side. It had been a long time since I’d seen Jane, and neither time nor the booze and drugs had been kind to her. Barely in her mid-fifties, her deep-set wrinkles and gaunt face made her look closer to her mid-sixties, and a haggard version at that.

She was too thin, obvious to all three of us that getting a fix or a bottle of liquor was more important than eating. Sorrow for the two men sharing the room with me brimmed to the surface. Should I have felt sorry for Jane? Possibly. But there reached a point where the most overpowering of emotions I felt toward her was disgust, followed closely with venom.

At times, I wished I was apathetic where Jane was concerned. It may have been better for Liam if that were the case, but the mention or near thought of the woman made me want to spit and pound into her. What always worried me was that I was not a violent person. While I had a vicious tongue at times, and may have punched an ex or two, including a cowpat to Ella’s ex, I wasn’t usually violent. Thinking of those incidents and how many there were, made me reconsider my original thought. Damn, maybe I
was
just a tad violent after all. But all of the dicks who I’d laid my hands on deserved it, and the last incident was five years earlier, so I must have matured.

I would have scoffed if I wasn’t surrounded by beeping and a stink which had wedged itself up my nose. Instead, I kept my face stoic.

Jane most definitely did not deserve my compassion. Bitch or not, and no doubt others who were ignorant of her past transgressions would most definitely think I was the former, any woman who allowed her husband to beat her children black and blue, and broke bones while he was at it, while she stood by and gulped from a bottle was not worth anything more. Liam had shared stories with me, far too many to count, remembering going three days without food once. My heart had shattered a fraction more while simultaneously growing exponentially for the man who I loved with my entire being.

And then there was the time I was raped.

Liam was not with me because he was looking after her. While I understood this, the bitch, however, had supported her husband in the trial, calling me a liar and a whore.

All things considered, I was goddamn proud of myself and Liam for being in that damn hospital room at all.

“She looks like shit.” Mace’s voice echoed around the sterile room. He waited a beat before he continued, “You done?” He looked directly at Liam, urging him to respond.

Liam glanced down at his mum’s withered body before he looked back at me. “Yeah, I’m done.”

His three words hurt my heart. He was saying goodbye. I swallowed back the tears I held in my chest for him. While he hadn’t seen his mum since the trial, I knew both he and Mace kept tabs on her. This I understood and supported. But his final words meant so much more. He didn’t want her to wake up.

Neither did I.

I nodded and accepted his light kiss before we left.

Chapter Twelve

Liam

I half-expected to be relegated to the spare room for the night. I was in a whole pile of crap with Jo. For weeks, I had deliberately been keeping the truth from her. I had my reasons as well as a plan to tell her as soon as the opportunity arose. But it never did, even though I had plenty of chances to tell her. Instead, I bullshitted myself every day when I chose not to open up, convincing myself it wasn’t the right moment to turn her day to crap, as well as put me in the doghouse.

I’d made a mistake.

The shrill ring from the house phone woke me early the next day. I knew who it would be before I even answered it.

She had died during the night.

After saying my thanks to the doctor on the end of the line, I pressed the receiver to my head, hearing the disconnected tone buzz. A ball of tension, which had always sat in my stomach, unravelled a little. It brought with it a wave of relief combined with nausea.

Tears filled my eyes and I expelled the toxic breath that held all that was my mum. My tears and nausea were that of relief. I was convinced I should feel something more, guilt maybe, but I didn’t. A tiny thread existed in my heart that tied me to my mum. I had loved her. Despite the shit I’d gone through, there were a handful of memories that were good. But a handful after thirty years was nothing to write home about.

With my relief came the thought of Jo. Knowing more poison was firmly out of our lives was an amazing thing, and knowing our child would not have to witness a single day like I had was bloody fantastic.

Jo’s heat enveloped me, startling me from my thoughts. She struggled to wrap her arms around me as her pregnant belly pressed lightly against my back. Placing the phone on the cradle after turning it off, I turned in her arms.

“Hey.” With a wrinkled, sleep-smudged cheek tinged with pink, and bed-head, which looked somewhat similar to her just-got-screwed hair, she looked gorgeous. I smiled and kissed the end of her nose.

Pulling away, she rested her face against my chest and sighed.

“Is that a good sigh?”

She shrugged and yawned. “Was that the hospital?” Her cheek remained pressed against my chest, no doubt listening to my heart, something she weirdly enjoyed.

Running my hands over her back, I pressed my lips to her head and spoke. “Yeah, she’s gone.” I closed my eyes as I said the words aloud, making them more real somehow, since they were floating around the room.

Her hands clutched my back tighter. “I love you.” There was something in her voice, which at another time I would have asked her about, challenged her. It was a hesitation of sorts, but at that moment, all I needed were her words of comfort and to be wrapped in her arms.

“I love you, too.” Parting from her hold, I took her hands. “Come on. It’s too early to be up. The sun hasn’t even risen.”

Unshed tears danced in her eyes as she nodded and smiled. “Okay.” I saw her shake them away as we headed back to bed. Her tears, while undoubtedly for me, also reflected her own inner turmoil and pain. I loved her. I loved her even more that she hadn’t questioned anything. Her quiet acceptance of my mum’s death was exactly what I needed.

Climbing back into bed, we arranged ourselves in my favourite position. Her arse to my groin, one of my hands resting across her mound and the other wrapped around one of her growing breasts. While the way I held her could easily get me randy as hell since my hands were strategically placed, it was the position that I found the most comforting and relaxing. There was no place I’d rather be than have Jo wrapped up in my arms.

When I woke up, Jo was already awake. She was sitting up in bed and staring out the bedroom window. Her stillness unsettled me.

“You okay?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

I waited for a beat for her to elaborate. She didn’t. “I know.” There was no amount of ignoring it or hiding away. My mum was dead, which meant I had to organise stuff. Plus I’d lied to her, and not a small-time white lie, either. I just had no idea what that all meant yet. “Come on. Let’s have breakfast and I’ll call Mace.” She nodded in agreement, allowing me to take the lead.

Before I had the chance to lay a kiss on her shoulder, she turned and stood. Sighing, thoroughly annoyed at my situation and myself, I organised myself and dressed before heading to the kitchen and starting breakfast. A little while later, Jo joined me after showering.

We ate outside on the veranda. Rather than being relaxing, the stillness of the morning was suffocating. Dread filled my gut as I wondered what she was thinking. I knew there was no chance she’d let my deception go without some sort of response. The roar of a Harley’s pipes reached us. Finishing my coffee, I waited for Mace to join us. It would only take him a moment to head around the back; it also meant I didn’t have to make a call to him.

He looked like shit, and I had a moment of guilt knowing once again, he took on the enormity of his big brother role. He always had. Jo left and grabbed him a mug from the kitchen so he could have a coffee. She then hugged his tense form. It was only stiff for a moment, until his arms wrapped around her. Jo had a way of doing that, forcing suckers like us to open up, even if it was the last thing we wanted to do.

“Sit and have a coffee.” She stepped back from him. “Do you want something to eat, too?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks, Jo.”

While I couldn’t see her face, I could tell she lifted a brow at him in question. “You sure? ‘Cause you sure look like crap, honey.”

Mace grinned at her and sat down. “I’ll just have toast and vegemite then. Thanks.”

She waited a minute. I wondered if she would argue with him, but she must have thought better of it as she headed back into the kitchen.

“What time did you get home?” I asked.

He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Late. Then I received the call.” He yawned and stretched his arms above him, allowing them to rest clasped at the back of his head.

“You good?”

Looking at me a moment, he remained quiet. I knew he was taking in my reaction, trying to figure out what I was thinking. While Jo knew my heart better than anyone did, my brother knew my inner workings. He got me. Always had. “Yeah, I am.”

I nodded in acceptance, relieved he felt the same way.

“To be honest, I’m pleased it’s over.”

I gave a humourless laugh, knowing exactly what he meant. “It was a shit way for her to go, but we both knew it would happen sooner or later.” To people who didn’t know us, or were clueless to our lives, I had no doubt we’d sound like callous bastards. Our mum had just died, a woman who I loved, in my own way. Just like I knew she had loved us boys, but again, in her own way. She just never loved us as much as
him
, or booze, or meth. That put both Mace and me toward the bottom of her list. We learned that a long time ago and had made our own version of peace with it. For me, I had Jo. She was my peace; she calmed my soul and swept away the cloud of shit tied up with my childhood. Then there was Mace. Who the hell did he have?