Wade rolled his eyes as I chuckled.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Crawley.”
“Oh, none of that now. We’re gonna be family.”
“About that,” Wade interrupted. “Môman, I need your help.”
“I don’t see why?” The lovely woman smiled, linking her arm in mine as she escorted me toward the house. “Seems to me my new daughter has everything in hand, and you are the one with his thumb up his butt.”
“Now,Môman,” Wade grumbled, marching after us. “It ain’t like that. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but—”
“No.” The woman rounded on her son, jabbing him in the chest. “Don’t ruin this for me, Wade Montague Crawley. I’ve waited years for you to get your shit together and start actingyour age. I’ve been tellin’ ya for years. There are more important things in life besides that damn bar.”
Wade groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as hismômangave him one last sharp look before turning her attention back to me. Her face softened instantly, her smile growing warmer. “Now, don’t you worry, Devlyn. Whatever you need, you just let me know. We women stick together, you hear?”
I nodded, charmed by her effortless mix of strength and grace. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Call me Marabella or mom.”
I muttered, “Alright, Marabella.” Not quite comfortable calling her mom yet. Maybe in time I would, but I’d just met the woman.
“Good girl,” she said with a satisfied nod, leading us up the cobblestone path toward the house. Wade trailed behind us, muttering something under his breath that only made Marabella’s smile widen.
The house loomed ahead, a beautiful relic of the past, draped in ivy and surrounded by a garden that seemed to hum with life. Marabella paused on the porch, turning to Wade with a knowing look. “Are you coming inside, or do I have to drag you by the ear like I did when you were ten?”
Wade sighed dramatically but climbed the steps, his boots thudding against the wood. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”
The moment Marabella opened the door, a wave of warmth welcome enveloped me, as though the house itself recognized my presence.
The interior of the home was as enchanting as its exterior.
Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating rich wood floors and walls lined with old portraits. The air carried a faint scent of jasmine mixed with time-worn histories. A grand staircase curved upward, and I imagined generations of Wade’s family ascending and descending over the years.
I followed Marabella into a sitting room, where floor-to-ceiling bookshelves groaned under the weight of well-loved volumes and antique trinkets. She motioned for me to take a seat on a worn but elegant sofa. “Now,” she began as she perched gracefully on an armchair across from me, her fingers steepled beneath her chin. “Tell me everything about you, Devlyn. Where does your family come from? Do you have siblings? Where did you get your beautiful name? More importantly, I want to hear how you met my son.”
Walking out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around me, I saw Wade leaning against the headboard, naked from the waist up, showcasing his impressive tattoos as he read a book. “Wade, how come your mom never remarried? She was young when your dad died.”
He nodded, looking up from the book he was reading. “Yeah, she was, but she knew no one would ever match up to the love of her life.”
“Wade, I should tell you that Sugar told me a little bit about your dad. That you were sixteen when he died and that a man named Eustis Coltraine shot him.”
Sighing, Wade closed the book and looked at me. “What else did she say?”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I said, “Nothing. That was it. She said if I wanted to know more, I should ask you.”
“And are you?” He looked at me. “Asking that is.”
“Only if you want to tell me.”
Wade let out a heavy breath, his eyes distant as though he were gazing at something far beyond the walls of the room. “Eustis Coltraine,” he said, the name heavy on his tongue likean iron weight. “That man was a shadow over my childhood. My dad... he was larger than life, Devlyn. The kind of man who’d fill up a room with his laugh, his presence. He always said it didn’t matter where you came from, it only mattered where you were going. But Eustis, he didn’t see the world that way. He saw my dad as a threat.”
I leaned in closer, hanging on to every word. Wade’s voice dropped, the timbre carrying years of grief and anger. “My dad worked hard to keep his distance from trouble, but trouble has a way of findin’ you when you’re too good at what you do. And my dad—he was good. Too good, maybe. Eustis Coltraine didn’t like that. Thought my dad wasn’t playing by his unspoken rules, and when he couldn’t bend him, he killed him.”
Silence pressed between us, thick and loaded. Wade tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as though searching for answers—or perhaps forgiveness—etched into the plaster.
“Do you miss him?” I finally asked, my voice no louder than a whisper.
“Every damn day,” Wade said, his gaze returning to me, unflinching. “Sometimes I think about how different life might have been if he were still here. But mostly, I think about what he’d say if he saw me now. If he’d be proud. If he’d tell me I’m doing right by his name.”
