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Would she let me? Would it be worth it?
Or would I ruin everything?
Chapter Eleven
Connor
Istep back, mumbling a curse under my breath as I let go of her and grip the porch railing behind me, needing my hands off her before I do something I’ll regret.
A loud thud against the front door has us turning, Emma’s eyes taking on a worried cast as she exchanges glances with me.
“Mom?” she calls out, pulling a key ring from her clutch. She unlocks the door and turns the knob, but it barely budges an inch. “Mom?” She’s panicked now as she pushes harder, and I put a staying hand on her arm before she hurts herself.
I’m careful as I push the door open, discovering a woman I presume to be her mother on the floor inside, stirring as I make enough space for Emma to get through. She immediately bends down, running hesitant hands over her. “What happened? Are you okay?”
Her mother’s eyes flutter as she raises a hand to her forehead. “I got dizzy for a second.”
“Can you stand?” She goes to put her arms under her, struggling to lift, and I step in to help, leading her over to the couch. God, it’s crazy how much they look alike. Emma’s nearly a carbon copy of her mother, with just a few minor differences, most notably the shape and color of her eyes.
I place a pillow behind her mom as Emma picks up a pill bottle on the coffee table, her brow furrowing. “Where’d you get these?”
“Hmm?” Her mom lifts her head, the little color in her face draining when she sees what she’s holding. “I think I’ll go to bed,” she replies faintly, standing on her own now. “Feeling a bit weak.”
Emma’s mouth tightens even as she reaches forward to offer an arm, her gaze meeting mine briefly before flicking away. “I’ll be right back.”
She helps her mom shuffle down the hallway, and I take the opportunity to glance around, noting the worn furniture and long crack in the seam of two adjoining walls. Everything is clean and tidy, but the place is in obvious need of updating.
“I’m sorry about that,” she says when she returns, rubbing at her temple. “Thank you for helping.”
“Of course.” My gaze traces the new lines bracketing her mouth, the fatigue in her eyes. “You should sit down. It’s been a long night.”
She slumps down on the couch, picking up the pill bottle in front of her. “There’s no label,” she murmurs. “And she’s not due for a refill for another week.” She opens it up, shaking out a handful of yellow pills. “Looks like Percocet.”
“You think she got them illegally?”
She rolls the bottle between her palms, letting out a long sigh. “Yes. And if that’s the case, who knows if they’re even real? There could be anything in these.”
I lean against the wall and cross my arms over my chest, studying her. “I know it’s not my place, but what does she have? Like why does she need pain pills?”
“Fibromyalgia. Her body kind of over-processes pain, and she’s still struggling with managing it. But I don’t want her to get dependent on drugs. The doctor suggested all these other techniques to help, but she doesn’t do them. She just sleeps all day.” She sets the pills down, pushing them away from her.
“How’d she get it?”
“Her doctors can’t say for sure. But sometimes other illnesses can trigger it. She had ovarian cancer before this, but she’s in remission now.”
Wow, that’s a lot to go through. “That’s good she beat it. My, um, mom had cancer too.”
She blinks up at me. “Oh. I didn’t know.”
How would she? It’s not something I usually lead with when talking to people.
“She—” She clears her throat hesitantly. “She, um…”
It’s clear what she’s trying to say. “She passed away when I was a kid,” I tell her, getting it out of the way.
“I’m so sorry, Connor. I shouldn’t be complaining to you.”
“No, no. It’s the same as you said the other day. You can vent whenever you need to. It’s nice to hear about someone else’s problems.” Her brows narrow, and I immediately retract my statement. “That came out wrong. I only meant I feel like I’m constantly griping about my issues. So I don’t mind at all if you want to talk about anything.”