His lips stayed shut.

“But I’m so sorry, Mal. And I know that doesn’t help, not really. It doesn’t change anything.”

Still nothing.

“I can’t help you and I hate that.”

Fact was, a part of wanting to soothe another person was making yourself feel useful. But nothing I could say would take away his pain. I could turn myself inside out, give him everything, and it still wouldn’t stop whatever was wrong with Lori.

“I don’t even have a functioning relationship with my mother, so I have no idea. Truth is, I used to wish her dead all the time. Now I just wish she’d leave me alone,” I blurted out, then stopped, reeling at my own stupidity. “Shit. That’s the worst thing to be telling you.”

“Keep going.”

Crap, he was serious.

I opened my mouth and my throat closed up. The words were dragged out kicking and screaming. “She, um … she checked out on us, Lizzy and me. Dad left and she went to bed. That was her great solution to the problem of our family falling apart. No trying to get help, no doctors, just lying in the dark doing nothing. She pretty much stayed in her room for three years. Apart from the time child protection services came by. We managed to persuade them she wasn’t a complete waste of space. What a joke.”

He stared at me, his lips thin and white.

“I came home one day and she was sitting on the side of her bed with all these little colored pills lined up on her bedside table. She was holding this big glass of water. Her hand was shaking so bad it splashed everywhere, her nightie was all wet. I didn’t do anything, not at first.” That one moment was horrendously clear in my head. Hovering by the bedroom door, torn over what to do. It had to be manslaughter, to stand by and let it happen. Something like that had to stain you.

“I mean, it was so tempting,” I said, my voice cracking. “The thought of not having to deal with her anymore … but then Lizzy and I would have gone into the foster-care system and probably gotten separated. I couldn’t risk that. She was better off at home with me.”

His gaze was stark, his face pale.

“So I stayed home to watch her. She tried to kill herself a couple more times, then gave up on that too, like even dying was too much effort. Some days, I would just wish I’d been five minutes too late. That she’d managed to finish it. Then I’d feel guilty for even thinking that way.”

He didn’t even blink.

“I hate her so much for putting us through that. I get that depression happens and it’s a serious, terrible illness, but she didn’t even try to find help. I would make her appointments with doctors, try to get brochures and information and she just … you know, she had kids, she didn’t have the fucking luxury of just disappearing up her own ass.” Tears slid down my face unchecked. “Dad wasn’t much better, though he did send money. I guess I should be grateful he didn’t forget us entirely. I asked him ‘why’ when he was leaving and he said he just couldn’t do it anymore. He was really quite apologetic about it. Like he’d ticked the wrong box on a form or something and now sorry, but he was opting out. Family? No. Oh shit, did I say yes? Oops! Fucking asshole. As if saying sorry changes anything when you’re walking out the door.

“You don’t appreciate how much time it takes, running a house, paying the bills, doing all the cooking and cleaning until it’s all down to you. My boyfriend stuck with me for a couple of months but then he became resentful because I couldn’t go out Saturday nights to games and parties and things. He was young, he wanted to go out and have fun, not stay in to look after a manic-depressive and a thirteen-year-old kid. Who could blame him?”

I ducked my head, trying to line up the important details in my mind. It wasn’t easy, considering how much time I’d spent trying to forget. “Then Lizzy rebelled and that just made everything so much worse. She hated the whole world, and who could blame her? At least when she behaved like a selfish, immature kid there was an actual reason behind it, what with her being one. She got busted stealing from this store. I managed to talk the owner into not pressing charges. The scare seemed to snap her out of it. She settled down, got back into her schoolwork. One of us had to make it to college because I tried, but there was no way I was keeping up with school on my own.”

What a fucking scene I was making. I blinked furiously and scrubbed away the tears. “You know, I actually wanted to cheer you up or something. Anything.”

His silence was killing me.

“So that’s my tale of woe.” I gave him a smile. Doubtless it looked as shitty as it felt.

“Mom’s got ovarian cancer,” he said, his voice rough. “They’re giving her a couple of months at best …”

It felt like my heart stopped. Time stopped. Everything.

“Oh, Mal.”

He pushed back his hair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “She’s so fucking happy you’re around. Kept going on about you at dinner, how wonderful you were. You’re her dream come true for me. She’s been wanting me to settle down for a while now.”

I nodded, trying for a better smile. “She’s really great.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck, Anne. That’s not the only reason why, though … I mean…at first that was a big part of the reason.” He gripped the back of his neck, muscles flexing. “There’s more to it now than making her happy before she’d–” He paused, his lips twisting, unable to say the word. “You know there’s more, right? We’re not pretend anymore. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know that.” This time I totally aced the smile. “It’s okay.”

So our start had been dubious. It didn’t change where we were now.

“Come have a shower with me?” He held out his hand.

“I’d love to.”

He gave me a gallant attempt at a smile.

The bathroom was spacious, white marble with gold trim. We even had a grand piano out in the living room, should the mood strike. Apparently his parents were up in the presidential suite so we’d had to make do with second best. Second best was pretty fine.

He stripped off his boxer briefs. I got the water running at the right temperature, letting the room slowly fill up with steam. Hands slid over me from behind, tugging down my panties, drawing up my old Stage Dive T-shirt. It was the only thing he’d okayed me wearing to bed last night in his drunken wisdom. We were our own small, perfect world in the warmth of the shower cubicle. Mal stepped under the water and it soaked his hair, ran down over his beautiful body. I slid my arms around his waist, resting my head on his chest. The arms he put around me made everything right.

We could deal with things alone. Of course we could. But it was so much better together.

“Worst fucking thing is the morning,” he said, resting his chin on the top of my head. “For a few seconds, everything’s alright. Then I remember she’s sick, and … it’s just … I don’t even know how to describe it.”

I held him tighter, hanging on for dear life.

“She’s always been there. Used to drive us to shows, help us set up. She’s always been our biggest fan. When we went platinum she got a Stage Dive tattoo to celebrate. At the age of sixty, the woman got inked. And now she’s sick. I can’t get my head around it.” His chest moved against me as he breathed deep, let it out slow.

I stroked his back, the length of his spine, up and down, smoothing my hands over the curves of his ass, drifting my fingers over the ridges of his rib cage. We stood beneath the hot water and I soothed him as much as I could.

Let him know he was loved.

I picked up the bar of soap, running it over him, washing him like a child. First his top half, from the lines of his shoulder blades to the muscles in his arms, every inch of his chest and back. Washing his hair was tricky due to the differences in height.

“Lean down.” I poured some shampoo into my hand then rubbed it in, massaging his scalp, taking my time. “Let me rinse it.”