Why Lie? (Love Riddles #2) by Carey Heywood Read Free Book Online Page B

arms over his chest. That move may have put the fear of God in me when I was little but not so much now.
    “Your mother was very upset by what happened with Kacey and you. It hurt her that the both of you lied to her. She doesn’t need the stress of you bringing another woman around.”
    He had a valid point so I nod. “Okay, Dad.”
    His jaw tenses before he says, “She’s having a lousy day, pain wise.”
    My jaw clenches. There is nothing worse than watching someone you love deal with pain and be powerless to stop it. It’s pointless to ask if he can give her anything more for it. My dad has been her primary caregiver for so long, he knows her dosing limits better than her doctor. If he could have upped her dose, he would have.
    “I’ll go in now,” I murmur, my eyes on the doors.
    He reaches up, his hand grasping my shoulder and squeezes it. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
    When I visit on pleasant days, my dad or I will carry Mom out to their back deck. It makes her happy to sit in the sun. For her sake, I hope the weather clears up.
    Too many days inside makes her restless. Dad follows me down the hall. He continues on his way to the kitchen once I’m in what was their old den.
    There was a bay window, the back of the bed set to it so even if my mom was stuck in it, she’d get lots of natural light. She shifts as I cross the room, her face tipping in my direction.
    “Hi, honey,” she softly greets. Her voice is weak but not awful considering what my dad said about her pain.
    “Hey, Mom, how are you feeling?” I lean over to kiss her cheek.
    “Can’t complain.”
    As she speaks, I pull a chair closer to her bed and sit. “If there was one person who could complain . . .” I reach out to place my hand on hers.
    Her lips tip up. Over the years, my dad and I have teased her about how little she complains. She is honest to God, the strongest person I know.
    The last time, no maybe the time before that, that they replaced her pacemaker, they had to do it with minimal anesthesia because of one of her levels somewhere else being raised or falling too low. Hell, at this point, it’s hard to keep it all straight.
    In the end, it meant that after the local anesthesia, she felt them slicing through all of the scar tissue and was awake while they did it. My dad lost his mind with her doctor when he found out since none of us were in there with her.
    Her not arguing is the only hint she gives at today being a crap day.
    “Would you like me to read to you?” I ask.
    My mom has always been a reader. Her all-time favorite book, and the reason she talked my dad into naming me Heathcliff, is Wuthering Heights.
    Out of curiosity about my namesake, I read it when I was in high school. On days when she’s up for it, I tease her for naming me after a dick.
    “Yes, please.”
    Lifting the book from her nightstand, I open it, setting aside the bookmark, and read. It isn’t Wuthering Heights. I’ve read parts of that book to her more than once. This one’s a fantasy book full of witches and wizards going on fantastic adventures.
    Two chapters in, she falls asleep. Slipping her bookmark into place, I quietly close the book and return it to the table next to her bed.
    Keeping my voice at the same tone as it was while I read to her, I say, “You’re the best mom anyone could have asked for. I love you and I will always love you, Mom.”
    Awake or asleep, I never leave her without telling her I love her. No matter what happens, I need my love for her to be the last thing she ever hears from me.
    Not wanting to wake her, I start to leave, pausing when I notice Dad standing in the doorway.
    He tilts his head toward the kitchen, a silent invitation that I accept. She doesn’t stir as I leave the room, carefully closing the doors behind me.
    Once I’m in the kitchen, Dad asks, “Cup of coffee?”
    Nodding, I sit at the table and watch as he pours me a cup. He adds a splash of creamer and stirs it before setting it on the