part about it was knowing I was responsible. I’d wanted to die too, just so I didn’t have to live with that guilt. I should have died with them. “It was a hard enough age to begin with. I’d just started at the Academy. I hated going back to school and having everyone look at me with pity. Lots of kids didn’t know what to say. So nobody talked about it. The first year after it happened, I was just pissed at everyone.”
“I think that’s a protection mechanism from the grief,” she says softly. “I felt like that about my mom. In her case, I knew she was going to die, so I was sort of prepared. Except you’re never prepared. I was so lost afterward.”
“What happened with her?”
“She had ovarian cancer. It all happened pretty quickly—her diagnosis, then getting sick, and then… dying.” She takes a breath, in and out. “I gave up my apartment and moved back home with her for a few months so I could help take care of her.”
My chest fills with warmth. “Good for you.”
She hitches a shoulder. “I had to do it. It had always been just the two of us.”
“She never married?”
“No. She never even had a serious relationship.” She goes silent for a long moment. “I still think about what you said about her being part witch. I don’t think it’s possible, but it does make me wonder if that was why she never got involved with anyone. Except… why not another witch?”
I thread my fingers through her hair. “I don’t know, honey. The way she reacted to Joe seems to indicate that she wasn’t comfortable with it if she was a witch.”
“What would happen to someone who didn’t know they were a witch? Who never went to the Academy and learned about their powers?”
“They have soft powers, but usually they don’t know how to use them. I remember my mom talking about a woman she knew—a witch—who gave up her child for adoption, and the boy ended up with a Rucker family. He never knew he was a witch.”
“Really. Huh.”
“It’s possible your mom did know. But maybe she didn’t accept it?”
“Maybe.”
“Were you close with her?”
“We were pretty close. It was just the two of us. She didn’t like showing feelings or talking about feelings, which meant things were pretty buttoned up. When she was dying, I was upset and started crying one day, and she got so mad at me for that.”
“Oh man.”
“Yeah. I knew she loved me, but I always felt she was never satisfied with me. I always wanted to do things that she didn’t like.”
I frown. “Like what?”
“I wanted to take musical theater. She hated that. She didn’t like my premonitions and feelings about things. She thought it was strange that I was fascinated by the moon.”
“Is that why the tattoo?” I touch the small black crescent behind her ear.
“Yeah. It always felt comforting to me to look up at the sky and see the moon. I love the way it changes… a small sliver, then growing bigger and rounder… then waning again to nothing. Except it’s not nothing. It’s always there; we just can’t see it. I love the cycle of it, that it never ends. The renewal.”
“Mmm. Yes. That kind of timelessness is comforting, isn’t it?”
“Right? You get it. She didn’t.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay! She was a good mom. She loved me and I loved her. I wanted to please her, so I did the things she wanted. I worked as hard as I could because I wanted to hear her say she was proud of me.”
I let this sink in. I see how frustrated Romy’s been with her training, how she wants so badly to excel. Maybe I haven’t been giving her enough praise. She’s been doing amazingly well, other than the times she’s tried to get ahead of herself. I feel a hard knot in my chest. I need to tell her that.
“You’ve accomplished a lot,” I say. “I think she was proud of you.”
“Aw. That’s nice of you to say.” She tips her head back to look into my eyes. “Thank you.”
I give her a smooch that isn’t enough. Our gazes hold, and her eyelids grow heavy and I kiss her again. And again, licking her bottom lip, slipping my tongue inside. She moans and squirms against me, trying to get closer. Not that she can. There’s nothing between our skin.
I’m instantly fully hard and ready for action, and I roll her to