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As I make my way out of his apartment building with the burly man Storm’s assigned to guard me and the weight of his confession heavy on my heart, I know one thing for certain: Whatever decision I make, it will change the course of my life forever.

25

STORM

Mom sits on a stool at her easel in the converted garage, completely bathed in sunlight. It’s bitterly cold and the heaters can only do so much in the dead of winter in Chicago. But even bundled up in a soft, corded tan sweater and boots, her arms move elegantly along the canvas, painting a seascape.

A woman with rich, dark skin stands on top of the ocean, as if walking on water. She wears gauzy blue cloths around her waist, and gold draping around her chest. Behind her, the moon rises large in the sky, and in the distance, she’s drawn storm clouds and lightning.

It’s beautiful in a technical sense, but it’s the look in the woman’s eyes that’s breathtaking. There’s power, there’s sadness. There’s peace and worry.

The woman’s expression reminds me of Shae.

At that thought, I clear my throat, and Mom jumps, spinning sideways on her stool and pulling a white earbud out.

John Coltrane’sA Love Supremeplays from the tiny speaker.

“Jeez, you scared me!” she says, clasping a paint-flecked hand to her chest.

“Sorry, Ma,” I reply. “I’ve been standing here for like five minutes trying to get your attention, but you were in the zone, I guess.”

She gives me a sideways grin, twisting her lips. Rocking back on the stool, she hefts herself up and jumps to her feet.

“What’s got you so far from campus? I figured I wouldn’t see you again until someone’s funeral. Hopefully not my own.” She spins her brushes in murky water to clean them, putting her back to me.

“Wow, dark humor,” I drawl, and she shrugs, giving me a quick look before picking up a rag to wipe her hands with mineral spirits. “I’m going to come by on Christmas Day at least to say hey to you.”

At that, her expression brightens, but then she gets a far-off look, as if she’s worried about a million things.

Maybe she is. I know I fucking am.

Lakeland’s demands and my father’s weakness still tastes bitter, even separated by weeks since that damn Sunday dinner from Hell.

“Storm, I just…” She sighs and shakes her head as she stares at the floor. “Never mind all that. How are you, son? You’re obviously here for a reason. What’s up?”

She’s right. I am here for a reason: The reason being on top of the overwhelming need to see my mom and make sure she’s okay, I’m over my head with thoughts of Shae.

I’m pretty sure I’m losing my mind.

How else can I explain the aggressive need to rush to her apartment and fuck her mindless until she forgets all the reasons why she thinks we shouldn’t be together?

I blow out a breath. Bringing the stuff about Dad and Lakeland to my mom will serve no purpose but to upset her. Ifmyhands are tied with this mess, there’s certainly not much she can do.

“I need your advice,” I say, settling on a lighter topic. Mom’s eyes widen and her jaw drops.

“You? Needmyadvice? Well, hell, baby boy! Let’s sit and talk.” She gestures to the small sitting area in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, which let in all the sunlight on this rare cloudless day.

She settles on the ocean-blue loveseat and pats the armchair a foot across from her.

“Sit,” she commands.

I flop into the chair with a grunt and slide down, resting my head on the back.

“So, here’s what’s going on,” I start. Then, I find myself at a loss for what to say, so I stare at her.

Her brows come together.

“Storm? What is it, sweetie? You aren’t…you aren’t in anytrouble,are you?”