Then Merc walks in and fuck, I'd almost forgotten about him, lost in the haze of this damn lust. I drop down quickly beside her, drawing a cushion with golden tassels over my lap to hide my hard-on.
This clusterfuck just goes to show how much control I have over myself tonight: exactly nothing. A big fucking zero. My mind's in this damn tailspin and won't focus on one thing, on what I should be doing.
Like getting out of here. Not coming here in the first place. Checking on Sebastian, on the gang. Doing what I'm supposed to do.
"Where's Mom?" Gigi ask, and licks the rim of her mug.
Okay, it's fucking clear. This girl's trying to kill me.
"Just out visiting one of her friends. She'll be back soon."
Yeah, this is an alternate universe like the one I've dreamed of all my life, where moms do normal stuff like visit each other for tea and gossip, bake cakes and keep pretty houses, not live in nursing homes and start to forget how to speak, or-
"Here." She passes me a mug with a smile, and I automatically take a sip, burning my tongue.
I gasp, but I take another sip, my eyes closing. It's a sugar orgasm. Melty marshmallows, thick chocolate and heat slipping down my throat to my chest. A different kind of heat, one that unclenches my tightly wound muscles and spreads to my limbs until I lean back on the sofa with a sigh, warmed from the inside out.
"Good, huh?" Merc says, a note of smugness in his voice. "I make the best hot chocolate this side of town."
"My little brother is so humble," Gigi mutters, laughter in her voice.
Yeah, I can't begrudge her a brother like that. A family like that. She was always kind to me. She deserves this. She deserves the best.
Even if I want her to choose me, the worst choice, even-
"You're thinking too hard." Gigi arches her back slowly, like a cat, and my eyes instantly go to her tits.
My fucking mouth goes dry.
So I take another sip of hot chocolate, glad for the burn, and settle back against the cushions.
Two seconds later, she turns and curls up against me, her knees pressed to my side, her eyes looking up at me, a teasing flicker at their centers. "You haven't tried the cake."
As if I can swallow with her so close to me, her scent everywhere, and fuck, I'm getting hard again. My body's getting so tuned to hers, just looking at her stretching on the sofa, still fully dressed, gets me raring to go.
"Get a room you two," Merc says, but when I look up he's smirking and toasting us with his mug, so I just shake my head.
She flips some more channels and settles on music vids. "You like rock?"
"Yeah, it's cool."
"Really? Favorite groups?" Merc's eyes go all bright, and he looks like an excited eight-year-old talking about his toys-if eight-year-olds were as tall and almost as wide as me, with some damn impressive biceps. He must be, what, eighteen? He was quite younger than me in school, I remember that.
"Uh, Guns and Roses? Metallica … " I try to remember. Haven't listened to much music since Connor died. "Queen, The Who … "
"Classic rock, then? Or are you just listing all the groups you remember?"
"Hey, I love the Who. Tommy is my favorite."
"Tommy's great." Merc nods, appearing mollified. "Your dad's influence?"
"Merc," Gigi says sharply, sitting up.
"Adopted dad's," I say, and put a hand on her to keep her down. I like her curled beside me, our bodies touching. It keeps me centered even as it pushes me off balance.
Merc gives me a long look, putting his mug down on the table. His eyes, so similar to Gigi's, narrow, then look away. "I see. Well, you'll learn a thing or two about music in this house."
It sounds like a threat.
Or a promise. Like I'll be coming back a lot to this house, and it makes me wanna smile, but it's dangerous. Everything, from the warm, comfortable room, to the sweets, the pretty girl sitting by my side and her nice brother offering to teach me about music, is fucking dangerous.
It makes me wanna stay.
Merc's rambling about Massive Attack and trip hop music some time later, Gigi replying to him or laughing at something he said, and I'm dozing on and off, my head propped on the backrest, my bad leg stretched out under the coffee table.
I'm as cozy as I'll ever be, toasty warm. Comfortable. It's peaceful, safe, and being next to Gigi is twisting up all my thoughts into a maze until I can't find a way out, lost in a jumble of dreams and strange feelings.
Then a new voice sounds from behind me, and I jerk upright on the sofa, trying to remember where I am, my heart pounding its way out of my fucking chest.
Fuck, fuck.
"Hey, Mom," Merc says, and it takes me a few long seconds to process the words.
Gigi stirs beside me, but instead of getting up, she lays an arm over my stomach, as if to keep me down. "Just my mom," she whispers.
Not sure who I thought it was.
Sebastian, in one of his moods.
Angel or Mav or Declan or Jorge.
The kids from the halfway houses.
The blood and darkness and screams from my dreams.
Merc gets up and kisses a slender woman on the cheek. Her hair is caught in a ponytail and if not for the deep laugh lines of her eyes and mouth she'd look like her son's older sister.
I remember Mrs. Watson. Haven't seen her in so many years. Time hasn't touched her, unlike my mom. Since they moved away from our neighborhood, everything changed for me.
I rub at my chest.
Merc goes away, to get her a hot chocolate, or to go off to party, no fucking clue. If he said, I didn't hear, my blood rushing in my ears.
Last time I saw Merc and Mrs. Watson was before it all went to hell, and here they are, same as ever.
It's reassuring. For sure. The world is still turning like before.
It's also a mindfuck and a half. Maybe that's why it takes me a long moment to realize she has sat across from me, in Merc's vacated seat, and is reaching out a hand to me.
I meet her warm gaze and sit up once more, catching her hand. It's small like her daughter's, a bit rougher, and feels dry and brittle like a fallen leaf. "Mrs. Watson."
"Please call me Maggie." She smiles, tugs on my hand and my sleeve rides up, baring lines of my ink. "So you're the boy my Gigi likes so much."
"Mom!" Gigi sits up, too, and from the corner of my eye, I see her cheeks flush and eyes shine.
"What, you don't like him?" Mrs. Watson-Maggie-asks, still looking at me. "And look at what a handsome young man you've turned into. Gosh. A fine wolf. Those cheekbones, those eyes, that face. My daughter sure has good taste."
Unfamiliar warmth seeps into my face. But there's something soothing about the way she's looking at me, studying me, something like approval. She's still smiling, and fuck if I'm not smiling back at her, caught in a spell.
Girls have to be witches where they come from. Beautiful, sweet-talking, kind. I mean, where do you find girls like that in real life? Real life sucks you in, chews on you and spits you out.
But Gigi presses herself to me again, and her arm is still wrapped around me, her mom is still holding my hand, and time seems to have stopped once more.
It keeps happening lately.
Then Maggie pulls back her hand and smooths down her skirt, settling it primly over her knees, and she looks like Gigi in a tarnished mirror, an older version of her, and that sense of déjà vu, of traveling back in time makes another appearance.
And I think, I'd still like her that way. I'd still want her.
I'd still love her.
"Mom, I think Jarett is tired," Gigi says, and I jerk my gaze back to her. "He's had a rough day. I thought we'll just watch some TV and relax, you know?"
"I know, honey." If anything, Maggie's smile turns warmer when she directs it at her daughter. "I just wanted to ask Jarett about Becky."
Of course. They were friends back then. I draw a bracing breath. "Mrs. Lowe-"
"You can call her mom, sweetie."
I meet Maggie's kind gaze, and have to drop mine, my heart hammering again. "I … I can't."
"Nonsense. Why not?"
"I'm not her son." There, simple.
"She adopted you."
"She was going to adopt me," I correct her. "Then Dad-Mr. Lowe died, and Sebastian dropped out of school, and she got sick, and … " I shrug. "She didn't finish it. But it's okay," I hurry to say, before they think I'm complaining. Because, shit. "Totally fine. Hell, she took me in at an age nobody else wanted me. I could never ask for anything more."
Now she looks concerned. Dammit. "Jarett, sweetheart-"
"No, really. I'm so damn grateful to her. Excuse my language, Mrs. Watson-"
"Maggie."
"Maggie, okay. I'll never forget that they took in someone like me, when they already had a son-"
"Someone like you?" Gigi frowns. "What do you mean? You're a great guy. There's nothing wrong with you, Rett."
"You don't know," I choke out.
"Know what?"