Page 29 of Someone to Have (Skylark #3)

ERIC

At one on Sunday, we park in front of the residential rehab facility in Denver, the scent of Thai food filling the truck with a rich, spicy aroma.

“Mom’s gonna freak out that we brought Pad Thai,” Rhett says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “She loves it.”

My heart pinches at the excitement in the kid’s voice, and I hope he’s right about my sister’s reaction.

I called the front desk this morning to let them know we’d bring her lunch during our weekly visit.

I assume they passed the message along, but after how rough our previous visit was, I’m not sure what to expect.

Last Sunday, Jen complained of a headache, and the three of us spent most of the hour in strained silence. It was apparent that Rhett was accustomed to his mom’s mercurial moods. He was so sullen, it was hard to tell whose energy was feeding off whose.

But after his success on the ice yesterday, and the sleepover with a new friend, the kid is practically shimmering with happiness—at least, as much happiness as a teenage boy displays.

Mainly this consists of him pointing out cool cars and laughing at drivers picking their noses on the way down the interstate.

My mood matches his, probably because I spent the night tangled up with Taylor and had to force myself to leave her warm bed at dawn.

It's supposed to be no strings attached, the coaching strategy and all that.

But I can't shake the feeling that I left part of myself with her and it’s one I might not be able to get back so easily.

The sky is overcast, which means more in Colorado with its abundance of sunny days, even in winter. An announcer on the radio station I had tuned to before Rhett took over with his playlist mentioned a snowstorm potentially sweeping in overnight.

We walk up the steps, sign in at the front desk and head to the common room overlooking the placid pond behind the main building. Jen is seated at a table in the far back, a notebook and colored pencils spread out before her.

“Hey, Mom,” Rhett says, his voice not quite as sure as when he’d been commenting on cars.

I breathe a sigh of relief when she looks up and gives him a bright smile. “Hey, baby, it’s good to see you.” She stands to wrap him in a tight hug.

Despite her troubles, my sister is a devoted mom. I know she loves her son and doesn’t want her struggles to be his legacy. “I hardly ate a thing at breakfast,” she says, winking at me over his shoulder, “because I was so excited about you bringing lunch.”

“It’s Pad Thai,” Rhett tells her and she hugs him tighter.

“My favorite.”

Rhett pulls back and grins at her. “We got extra sauce with the spring rolls, just the way you like it.”

“My best boy,” she says, cupping his cheeks in her hands.

She looks better than I’ve seen since arriving in Colorado. Her color is good, and her dark hair, the same shade as mine, is shiny and soft as it falls around her shoulders.

“What’s all this?” I ask, nodding toward the art supplies.

She quickly flips the notebook on the table closed. “They encourage us to do arts and crafts. It’s nothing really.”

“Can I see?” Rhett asks .

Jen blinks, obviously surprised by his interest, but then smiles again.

“It’s nothing special, especially the beginning drawings. My hands are steadier now.” She glances up at me, her gaze apologetic. “I’m steadier now,” she clarifies.

Rhett sits at the table and pulls the notebook closer, flipping through the pages as I unload the cartons of food from the brown bag.

“You’re good at animals,” he says, tracing a finger over a drawing of two deer—a doe and her baby with white spots on its brown fur. “These look like the pictures you used to draw on the napkins you put in my lunchbox when I was a kid.”

You’re still a kid, I want to tell him. My sister’s eyes close for a brief moment before she answers him. I have a feeling she’s thinking the same thing.

She breathes out slowly. “I liked drawing with you before you thought it wasn’t cool to sit and color with your mom.”

He rolls his eyes. “I can only do stick figures. I’m not good at it like you.”

She sucks in a breath at this compliment, freely given, and so at odds with the anger and flippant responses he’s had lately.

Once again, I wish I’d been more involved in their lives over the years.

That I hadn’t cut myself off because I didn’t feel like I had anything to offer either of them. Maybe I could have made a difference.

“Your mom was always an artist,” I tell him, dishing out food and placing paper plates in front of each of them. “She won awards and everything.”

Jen’s smile is wistful. “I was a big deal with meaningless ribbons in middle school,” she says. “They gave those to everybody.”

“They didn’t give any to me,” Rhett counters. “You’re legit talented.”

She looks between us, her eyes widening slightly. Multiple compliments from the teen terror? Maybe I’m not as bad at this guardian thing as we both thought I would be. At least I’m not making it worse.

“Maybe, but you inherited your uncle’s ability on the ice.” She dips a spring roll in the peanut sauce, arching her brow in my direction. “You might even be more talented.”

Rhett scoffs, but I nod. “Definitely better skate skills.”

He looks down at his plate of noodles as he asks, “Do you think so?”

“Dude, I’ve seen you on the ice.” I grab my phone from my jacket pocket. “Taylor had the team mom take videos of you yesterday while we were taking care of Hudson.”

“Who’s Hudson?” Jen asks with a frown, then hits play on the video, muting the sound. “Who’s Taylor?”

“Taylor is Toby’s little sister,” I explain. Jen knows we’re in Skylark because of my connection to the Maxwell family. “She’s tutoring Rhett to keep his grades up so he stays eligible for hockey season. Her apartment is across the hall from ours.”

“Eric likes feeding her,” Rhett adds.

Jen studies me as she chews a bite of spring roll. “Leftovers,” I clarify. “She’s a librarian. Quiet. Sweet. Not my type.”

“She’s helping me with reading,” Rhett says.

“Hudson is the team captain but tore his ACL in yesterday’s game.

Sucks for him, but it means I’m going to get varsity play time.

If we get to the playoffs, you’ll be out of here and could.

..” He shrugs. “I mean, we probably won’t make it. The team isn’t great.”

“I’d love to come to one of your games. Any of your games,” she says, ruffling his hair. She glances at the video on my phone. “You look good, Rhetter.”

“Like I said, the team is mainly just Hudson. I look good compared to guys who suck.”

“You’re good because you worked hard,” I say, then take my phone back from her.

Jen leans in closer to her son. “I’m proud of you. ”

“Thanks,” he mumbles. “I had a sleepover last night.”

“Coach Toby approved the kid,” I add quickly. “His mom is the team parent and?—”

“You’re making friends.” Jen inhales slowly as she nods at Rhett. I can see her working to process this change in her son and what it means—what having a stable life has done for him already. “That’s great.”

“Skylark isn’t as lame as I thought it would be,” he answers. “It’s real pretty, even in winter. Nicer than South Denver. Close to the mountains, and you like hiking. Maybe we could stay there...or not.”

I hold my breath as we wait for her response.

Jen was okay with me moving him out of Denver because of Rhett’s trouble at school.

Plus she wanted him to be away from the neighborhood where her last scummy ex-boyfriend lived.

We haven’t talked about the future. When you’re in crisis mode, the future seems like a long way off.

But the fact that Rhett is bringing up the topic—is it too soon?

“Maybe we can,” she says carefully. “Do they have a good Thai restaurant?”

He laughs. “Not as good as this.”

“Then maybe I’ll learn to cook my own Pad Thai.”

He gives her a disbelieving look.

“No side-eye, kiddo. I can manage food that doesn’t come from a box or bag.”

“Sure,” he agrees, his voice cracking on the word. “Uncle Eric can probably teach you the basics. He’s a good cook.”

Damn. Uncle Eric. It’s the first time he’s called me that outright, and it gets me right in the feels.

“We’ll handle meals when we get there,” my sister says gently. It’s clear she wants to keep this visit positive, and I’m all for it.

“Ah, hell.” I thump the palm of my hand against my forehead several times. “I bought cookies at the bakery yesterday but left them on the counter in the apartment. ”

“I have dessert covered.” Jen looks immensely satisfied with herself. “Somebody on my floor celebrated a birthday yesterday. His family brought enough cupcakes for an army. I grabbed a few of the leftovers.” She points at Rhett. “They’re red velvet.”

He grins in response. “Dude, I love red velvet.”

“ Dude , I know,” Jen says. “Since you already plowed through your Pad Thai, why don’t you grab them out of the mini fridge in my room. Do you remember where it is?”

He looks between us like he knows she’s trying to get rid of him for a few minutes, but eventually nods. “Second floor, end of the hallway,” he says, getting up and heading for the nearby staircase.

Silence settles between Jen and me when we’re alone. It feels thick with unspoken memories and future possibilities neither of us are quite ready to name, and I don’t know quite what to say next.