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A mother’s love came in many forms, like when Adeline had first held Joey’s tiny body in the hospital, like when she’d taken him on trips to the zoo, all four of them, his tiny, sweaty hand in hers. He’d smile up at her, his green eyes hers, but he’d also had his father’s face and hair.
Adeline adored her boys, both of them, and even after Grant had run away, she’d kept him in her head. After Grant was gone, she wanted more than ever to drown Joey in her affections, hold him in her arms. But the scar on a son’s neck, the bumpy texture it raked across his lovely skin, cutting off the angelic voice Adeline had loved, was a scary reminder of what could happen to her little boy again if the wrong people got their hands on him like they’d done years ago.
So Adeline took care of business, made sure Joey was safe and strong enough to defend himself if such a chance arose again. She chased Slade away, made sure he’d never come back to their lives again, then she trained Joey. Saw him through endless days of harsh discipline like she did with his father in the military.
A mother’s love came in many forms, and Adeline knew she had to toughen him up to keep him safe.
And despite his other interests, his paintings and poetry and music—all so different from the man Adeline had fallen in love with when she’d been young and foolish—as Joey grew up, he looked just like his father, Slade’s shadow in his features that had often made Adeline stare in awe. Golden hair, tall stature, and a conventionally attractive face. He would finish his training and look to her for guidance, only to find her standing there, lost in thought, the ashes piling on the tip of her cigarette.
When Adeline introduced Joe to the Titans, she’d been irrational. Her hatred for her ex-husband had been so strong she couldn’t care less what came in the way of taking him down; it did not matter if Slade had been trying to finish the contract her other son had started. She’d never prepared to lose her son to the band of young heroes.
But it was for the best. Adeline would sit in her home with a cigarette between her fingers, looking through her database, commanding her subordinates. But her mind would float back to Joey, her finger would tease the edge of a goblet filled with red wine. She’d reminisce about the good old days, her military days training her cocky subordinate, Slade’s eyes on her… that similar gaze of young adoration now appearing on Joseph.
Was Joey ever a replacement for her husband? The answer was complicated, but one thing Adeline knew for sure was how truthful her love was. Nothing came between her and her son, and nothing could stop her from protecting him.
Then Adeline would drift off to sleep, intoxicated. And she would wake up (too hypervigilant all the time from her days as a sergeant) to her door gently pushed open, and she would smile lazily at the young man standing there.
Joey never spoke again after his injury, rarely even signed in ASL when he was with his mother. They knew each other too well for that. When he came to her, she gave him a hazy, affectionate smile. He wasn’t his father; he was her son, and he was here when Slade wasn’t.
It was a son’s turn to tuck his mother into bed. A son’s turn to kiss her—not on the cheek or forehead, but on the lips, dwelling there with some plump sucking the way innocent kid kisses weren’t. It was too dark to see his eyes, but she felt his reciprocated affection toward her, his hand on her shoulder, the other caressing her hair.
And Adeline whispered, “Love you, Joe,” when he straightened again.
He signed back, ‘Love you too.’ A man now, not a boy. So strong and attractive.
A mother’s love came in many forms. Adeline was in love with the man Joey had turned out to be, and Joe knew from his heart that it’d been love and protection she showed when she’d pushed him. And now he was returning that affection, giving her back the devotion she’d shown him.
No one could love him better than his mother could. No one knew him, or understood him better… than Adeline Kane Wilson.