Page 13 of Edge of Stars

I shake my head. “That’s a Max Kane original.”

She drops her hands. Straightens her regard. “All right. No more smoke screens. Are you having actual jitters, son of my soul? Because Kara has gone through too much for this, if you aren’t completely stitched in for—”

“Stop.” I mellow the impact of my growl by repeating it with a tender wrap of my fingers around hers. “Of course I’m stitched in. Locked down. Charged up.”

“Okay, okay,” she laughs out. “You’ve even brushed up on the metaphors. Impressive.”

A new shake of my head. But with this one, I give myself freedom to grin a little. To feel a lot. “I’m not the impressive one today.”

I’ve rarely spoken truer words. Not just because of what Mom’s just stated about Kara. Not because of everything she’s been through already.

What the woman is about to attempt…

And accomplish…

She’ll do it. She has to. I already believe, with the stuff in my soul that’s real and true, that she will.

“Well, both of you are lucky,” Mom returns to my assertion. “I always knew you would end up with someone extraordinary, but that’s because you’re so amazing. Luckily, I already know that Kara knows it.” A thin sheen grows in her eyes. “She’s going to cherish you, Max. I will always ask for—and expect—nothing less.”

I rear back a little, unsure what to do about it.

What’s going on?

Nancy Kane isn’t a buttoned-up stiff. I’ve seen these parts of her before, through every phase of my upbringing. Bits and pieces of it even came out last month, when Kara and I showed up at the emergency response post after the earthquake. When Mom embraced me, I felt the edges of the sandpaper in the last few seconds of her hug.

But this, right now…

It’s different.

In so many terrifying new ways.

All the ways in which I peer at the world as a father-to-be. And all the feelings that all those paths lead to.

All the ways I now comprehend Mom’s tears.

And another truth.

That I owe her my truth.

“Mom…”

She rocks back by herself. I’m glad about it. The woman isn’t a mindless dandelion. She already hears the meaning in my voice. My sober intent.

Tell her.

Tell. Her.

The time has come to let her in. To know you can count on her as an ally when the crucial time comes. It won’t be much longer. When it does, and you’re peering around for those who can be strong for you and with you, you’ll look to her be able to know—

“Oh, my.” She cuts into my thoughts with a concerned mutter. “I knew there was something.” She balls up a hand but looks unsure about whether to writhe or pump the fist. “All right. Out with it, Max. What’s going on?”

I reach for her clenched fingers. I look down, unnerved by the sight of her tension—but that’s not the only reason for the spike of mine.

My mom is wearing new jewelry.

Expensive jewelry.

It’s not a ring, thank fuck, but a piece that’s just as revelatory. A bracelet. A really nice one. I’ve overheard enough chatter between students over the years to know what’s considered trash and what’s ooo’ed and ahhhed at as treasure. The quality of the clasp. The care of the settings. And of course, the sparkle in the bling. Whether Z procured the bracelet in Olympus or Los Angeles, its stones are definitely the real deal.