She’d never asked about his mother—he figured there were very few tenants in the rundown building who didn’t know about her being committed—and he’d never offered any information. Instead, he told her about his job and how he lived above Pat’s Pub.
“I remember her,” he said, his chest suddenly tight as he wondered how his mother had managed to trick Ms. Johnson into revealing where he lived.
“Look at you,” she said, her eyes taking him in from head to foot. “You’ve grown to be such a handsome, strong man.” It looked like she wanted to say more but stopped herself, her gaze traveling to his right, then his left.
Gavin followed the direction of her eyes and realized Oliver and Erin had moved forward and were now flanking him. There was no mistaking their obvious disdain—and perhaps anxiety—as they looked at his mother.
“I…” His mother hesitated. He knew what she was waiting for, but he’d be damned if he’d introduce his mother to Oliver and Erin.
Oliver took the choice away from him. “I’m Oliver Collins.”
“Collins,” his mother murmured. “You’re Sean and Lauren Collins’ son?”
“And Chad’s,” Oliver added.
Gavin didn’t miss the slight wince on his mother’s face when Oliver mentioned Chad. She’d made her feelings about homosexuals—she called them “queers”—very clear for years. He’d never come out of the closet to her, even though he’d known he was gay from the time he was old enough to understand the concept.
“Ollie, this is my mother, Cecilia Hawke.” Gavin swallowed heavily before placing his arm around Erin’s shoulders. “And this is Erin Cafferty.”
His mother gave Oliver and Erin a nervous smile, probably because neither of them was bothering to hide their true feelings for her. Erin had only seen his scars for the first time a couple nights ago, and as such, her anger toward his mother was still new, still burning hot.
Although, longevity didn’t seem to help cool things off. After all, Oliver had seen the scars countless times over the past few years, and his rage was just as apparent, just as powerful.
Gavin turned to Erin. “You’re going to be late,” he murmured, hoping he could convince her and Oliver to leave. This reunion was going to be difficult. He didn’t have a clue what he wanted to say to his mom and trying to figure that out, while also attempting to keep Oliver and Erin calm, was absolutely beyond him at the moment.
“I don’t care,” she whispered.
“Erin.” He hoped the two of them were speaking low enough that the traffic on the street would drown out their words, keep his mother from overhearing them.
“I’m not leaving,” she murmured, her voice tight with anger, determination.
“Please,” he mouthed.
Erin studied his face long and hard. She knew him well enough to read his expressions, so there was no doubt she could see how desperate he was to do this on his own. Her face softened and her shoulders slumped. “I’m calling you. In one hour. And you’re picking up the phone.”
“Okay. I promise.”
Finally, she nodded, and then without sparing another glance for his mother, she turned and got in her car. He, Oliver, and his mother stepped away from the vehicle as she backed out and left.
One down, one to go…
A quick look in Oliver’s direction told Gavin that this one was going to be a hell of a lot harder to convince.
“Ollie,” he started, but Oliver shook his head.
“You’re not surprised,” he murmured, but his mother didn’t appear to have heard.
“Didn’t your foster parents tell you I was out?” his mother asked Gavin. “I called Lauren. She wouldn’t give me your number.”
“I know,” Gavin said, hating the look of surprise on Oliver’s face. He hadn’t meant to intentionally hide the fact his mother was out of the hospital, but…he’d had a hard enough time coming to grips with it himself. Plus…
Gavin lifted his hand, gesturing toward the pub. “We’ve been kind of busy.”
It was a lame excuse, and Oliver called him on it. “Not that busy.”
Gavin opened his mouth, hoping he could convince Oliver to go back to the pub, but Oliver scowled and muttered, “Save your breath.”
Oliver wouldn’t be moved. And it suddenly occurred to Gavin he was okay with that. Fifteen-year-old Gavin had lived a solitary life, firm in the belief that the only person he could count on was himself. It had taken Oliver the better part of a decade, but he’d shown Gavin the value of having someone at his back, someone to love and support him.
He turned toward his mother again, resisting the urge to end the conversation here. At least until he figured out what the hell he wanted to say to her.
It was clear Erin and Oliver thought he should rant and rave and rail at her for all the pain she’d caused him. He couldn’t blame them for that. All they saw were the scars. They didn’t have the history to go along with it. They’d only seen and heard the bad, which was Gavin’s fault. He hadn’t told them about the other times, when his mom was sober and working and, well…trying. Now that he understood her mental illness, it made it even harder to blame her because he knew she couldn’t control a lot of what she’d done, at least not without medication, which they wouldn’t have been able to afford.
“Ms. Johnson said you live above the pub.” His mother looked at the burned-out building.
“We did,” Gavin said. “Until a week or so ago. Obviously, that’s changed.”
“I can see that. Were you home?”
Gavin nodded. It had been radio silence between he and his mother for nine years, so the fact they were standing on the street having a somewhat normal conversation was disconcerting.
“I’m so glad you’re okay. Where are you staying now?”
Gavin didn’t
