Hearts of Winter (Bleeding Angels MC Book 2) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Olivia Stephens
down the stairs of the deck. His words make me freeze in my tracks.
Auntie B. B for Bea. The thoughts scramble around in my brain but my body is already propelling me out onto the deck before I have time to stop my legs.
“Aimee?” The cracked voice comes out from a shape on my right, sitting in the old rocking chair that Jake’s dad had restored.
I’ve only heard the dusty voice a few times, but I would recognize it anywhere. “Hi Mom,” I say slowly as I turn to face the woman that I’ve been looking after since I was twelve years old.
“Aimee,” she says again, this time more of a confirmation than a question. I wonder to myself if her voice is ever going to lose that damaged sound, presumably caused by lack of use in recent years.
She holds her hand out towards me and I walk over until I’m standing by her side. She looks different from the half-crazed mess that I left with Sally a few days ago. Her red hair, now flecked with grey, has been newly washed and it looks like Sally has had a go at cutting it—something that I had given up on years ago. She’s wearing some of Sally’s clothes, which dwarf her tiny frame—made even tinier by how little she’s allowed herself to eat in the past few years.
Looking at her now, I find it almost impossible to see the woman that I remember from the days before everything in Painted Rock turned upside down. She’s a different person from the one that I knew when we still had my father, who was the glue that bound the family together.
“How’re you feeling?” I ask, unexpectedly awkward in the presence of this woman that I have shared a house with for my formative years.
“Better,” Bea replies after a beat. But her eyes aren’t on me; she’s let the hand she was reaching out to me drop, as if she had forgotten what she was supposed to do with it. I follow her gaze, which is on Jonah as he scales his tree-house. It looks more impressive than some of the family homes around Painted Rock.
We remain in silence for a little while, both of us watching Jonah as he runs about in his playhouse like a whirling dervish. “Mom?” I ask after a little while as the quiet stretches out between us. “I need to get some mint for Sally; do you want to give me a hand?”
I keep my voice calm and steady, not wanting to pressure her into anything she doesn’t feel ready for. It seems crazy though, doesn’t it? Being so excited at the idea of doing something as normal as picking some herbs with your mom in the garden.
When she doesn’t respond or even show any sign that she’s heard me, I call her again. “Mom?”
“Hmmm?” she says, looking up at me for the first time. Instead of seeing the connection that I was expecting, she looks at me as if she doesn’t even know me. There’s no recognition there at all.
“Nothing,” I say hurriedly, trying to ignore the crushing disappointment threatening to settle on my chest like a dead weight. I turn around and hustle down to the herb garden Sally has been tending to as if it were one of her children, and I pluck out a few sprigs on mint. I keep my eyes down all the time, until I can be sure that the tears threatening to come are safely locked away.
CHAPTER THREE
I look over at my mother before I head back inside. Her attention is focused on something in the distance. It strikes me how she looks exactly like she used to at home—physically sitting in our family room but mentally a world away. I wonder why I thought that just because she was able to say a few words, she would turn back into the woman she was before. It’s been so long since I’ve seen that person, I wonder if I would even recognize her if she did ever reappear.
“Lunch’ll be ready soon Mom,” I say softly, at a loss of what else to communicate to her. She makes no move to show that she’s understood or even heard me—she
Auntie B. B for Bea. The thoughts scramble around in my brain but my body is already propelling me out onto the deck before I have time to stop my legs.
“Aimee?” The cracked voice comes out from a shape on my right, sitting in the old rocking chair that Jake’s dad had restored.
I’ve only heard the dusty voice a few times, but I would recognize it anywhere. “Hi Mom,” I say slowly as I turn to face the woman that I’ve been looking after since I was twelve years old.
“Aimee,” she says again, this time more of a confirmation than a question. I wonder to myself if her voice is ever going to lose that damaged sound, presumably caused by lack of use in recent years.
She holds her hand out towards me and I walk over until I’m standing by her side. She looks different from the half-crazed mess that I left with Sally a few days ago. Her red hair, now flecked with grey, has been newly washed and it looks like Sally has had a go at cutting it—something that I had given up on years ago. She’s wearing some of Sally’s clothes, which dwarf her tiny frame—made even tinier by how little she’s allowed herself to eat in the past few years.
Looking at her now, I find it almost impossible to see the woman that I remember from the days before everything in Painted Rock turned upside down. She’s a different person from the one that I knew when we still had my father, who was the glue that bound the family together.
“How’re you feeling?” I ask, unexpectedly awkward in the presence of this woman that I have shared a house with for my formative years.
“Better,” Bea replies after a beat. But her eyes aren’t on me; she’s let the hand she was reaching out to me drop, as if she had forgotten what she was supposed to do with it. I follow her gaze, which is on Jonah as he scales his tree-house. It looks more impressive than some of the family homes around Painted Rock.
We remain in silence for a little while, both of us watching Jonah as he runs about in his playhouse like a whirling dervish. “Mom?” I ask after a little while as the quiet stretches out between us. “I need to get some mint for Sally; do you want to give me a hand?”
I keep my voice calm and steady, not wanting to pressure her into anything she doesn’t feel ready for. It seems crazy though, doesn’t it? Being so excited at the idea of doing something as normal as picking some herbs with your mom in the garden.
When she doesn’t respond or even show any sign that she’s heard me, I call her again. “Mom?”
“Hmmm?” she says, looking up at me for the first time. Instead of seeing the connection that I was expecting, she looks at me as if she doesn’t even know me. There’s no recognition there at all.
“Nothing,” I say hurriedly, trying to ignore the crushing disappointment threatening to settle on my chest like a dead weight. I turn around and hustle down to the herb garden Sally has been tending to as if it were one of her children, and I pluck out a few sprigs on mint. I keep my eyes down all the time, until I can be sure that the tears threatening to come are safely locked away.
CHAPTER THREE
I look over at my mother before I head back inside. Her attention is focused on something in the distance. It strikes me how she looks exactly like she used to at home—physically sitting in our family room but mentally a world away. I wonder why I thought that just because she was able to say a few words, she would turn back into the woman she was before. It’s been so long since I’ve seen that person, I wonder if I would even recognize her if she did ever reappear.
“Lunch’ll be ready soon Mom,” I say softly, at a loss of what else to communicate to her. She makes no move to show that she’s understood or even heard me—she
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