you up to with my woman, Mother?”
My woman.
I do not miss the glimmer in Mallory’s eyes—as one sparks in my heart. The glow expands as he loops an elbow around my neck, drawing me close. I have to remind myself—forcefully this time—that this may not be forever. But for now, I will allow it to feel…
utterly
wonderful.
“Up to?” Astonishment again, as Mallory’s glare mirrors her son’s. Or is it his that has copied hers? “We were just making plans for a new Monopoly match…”
“Just?” Cassian zips a look between she and me. “Just? After the way you two edged me out during the last game?”
“Stop pouting,” Mallory chides. “Mishella can’t help where the dice tell her to land.”
He snorts. “Maybe if we played a real version of the game.”
“What’s wrong with Scooby Doo Monopoly?”
“Other than the fact that Boardwalk has been replaced by The Creeper Bell Tower?”
“You love Scooby Doo Monopoly.”
“Loved, Mom. When I was ten.”
“Scooby Doo is eternal.”
In tandem, they swing gazes at me. My bottom lip gets gnashed again. Truly, I should be used to the role of tie breaker, thanks to Brooke and Vy—but two generations of Courts elevate the stress to a new level. “Errrm…the dog is cute. Is that one Scooby?”
Mallory preens. “See? Eternal.”
A sigh leaves Cassian—though does so through his smiling lips, officially stirring mud into the conversation’s waters. Two months away from Arcadia, I have learned only one clear thing about the world beyond my borders: that nothing is clear. One day, people are fighting about the size of sugared drink cups. The next, they are using children as custody battle pawns. The next, they are pitching tents on sidewalks to buy new cell phones. The merit of “Scooby Doo” in all this is still not clear to me.
“Maybe it’s best that we back burner this one.”
Mallory’s glower tightens. “Now trying the back burner tack, Cassian Cameron Jonathan?” She slants a brow toward me. “You hearing this, missie? You’re my witness. He back burnered Scooby.”
Cassian breaks leans away from me long enough to buss her forehead. “Not far back, I promise.” A new solemnity sets into his elegant features. “But right now, I need to borrow back Mishella.” In the barest of mutters, he finishes, “Before I lose the nerve.”
In the space of those five words, Mallory is transformed too. Like me, she hears every slight tremble beneath his soft sarcasm—and in seconds, becomes a different person for it. With eyes glowing and lips tender, she cups his set jaw. “Since when do you lose?”
Cassian rolls his eyes and tosses back his head, though chuckles the whole time. Something tells me it is not the first time Mallory has challenged him this way, nor for his reaction to it—though the laugh was probably not always part of the mix. For a few perfect moments, it is like years peel away from both of them. Suddenly, I am looking at a teenage Cassian being encouraged by his young, single mother—and loving her for it, no matter how hard he tries to cover the reaction with adolescent attitude.
I am…fascinated.
Is this what it is like, when a parent believes in their child?
I can only rely on instinct to answer the question—but in the affirmation, I recognize another piece of Cassian that makes new sense.
But more that do not.
With the love and belief of a mother like this, why does the man still look at the world with so many shadows in his eyes? Ghosts. That is what Kathryn Robbe called them, when I first met his friend after arriving in New York. The word fits. For all of Cassian’s confidence, arrogance, business savvy, and sanity-stealing sexual prowess, this man’s spirit is stalked by darker things…monsters that drag him into places where the only way out is by fighting for himself.
Fighting desperately…
Against creatures he refuses to let me see…
Except for rare moments like this.
As he turns from Mallory, sliding his hand down my arm—and his gaze back into mine. Fits our palms firmly together before murmuring, “Don’t worry, Mom. I don’t intend to lose this one.”
“Good.” The riposte does not spark a single mother-son chortle. Before I can fathom if that is a good or bad thing, she nudges his free shoulder. “You got this, tiger.”
“Tiger?” Even my attempt at a mood lightener gets swallowed by the depths of their new solemnity—a flow defining all of Cassian’s steps, as he leads me away from the kitchen. We walk through the dining room and living room, both drenched in