For a Reason

The elevator doors slid shut. Joey leaned back against the mirrored wall, allowing satisfaction to bloom in his chest.

That front desk girl—Serena, her nametag had said—had been needlessly rude. Yes, he and his mother were an unorthodox couple, especially dressed as she was, but there was no need to be insulting. And so he'd stood up and acted like a man. He defended his mother's honour.

Of course this wasn't something uncommon. Most guys would defend their mothers if the situation arose. What was different was that Joey could do something about it. And he had! Not only had he used his power on that cute black girl, he'd done it in a way to make sure she would never think something was weird about Joey's mom. She would look at them as a couple from that day forward, a normal, regular, almost-to-be-expected couple.

Besides, it wasn't his mother's fault that she was behaving in an extremely out-of-character manner. That was Joey's fault. He'd been the one to change her. And so he would have to be the one to stick up for her.

"God, that was so hot," she giggled beside him, her hand trailing along the waistband of his jeans. "You just… said it. You put her in her place. Just like that."

He flushed, grinning despite himself. "Yeah, well. She was out of line."

"She totally was. And you took care of me," Her hand slipped into his, fingers lacing. "You're amazing, baby. My hero."

The elevator dinged for the ninth floor.

Joey stepped out first, holding the door for her like a gentleman, trying to keep his adrenaline down. He was resolved that his life had changed, that he would have to play a part in it that he would never have anticipated, but he was past the moral debate. He'd tried to change her back, and it had failed. That just wasn't how his power worked. No, the only way left was forward, and so, as his mother bounced past him, sandals clicking on the carpet, her pigtails still bobbing, he took a deep breath and followed. Suite 914 was at the end of the hall, and she grabbed his arm as they reached it, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he could even slide in the keycard.

Inside, the suite smelled faintly of citrus, a remnant n of the hotel's daily cleaning regimen. Inexperienced as he was, he always imagined trysts like he was about to have taking place in seedy motels, not clean, cool, well cared for boutique hotels. Joey felt a strange thrill knowing that the same woman who for years had sternly told him that frivolous spending would not be tolerated had slapped her credit card down without a thought at the front desk. This was what she now valued. He was what she now valued.

Letting go of his hand, his mother disappeared into the bathroom, calling over her shoulder, "Just give me a few minutes to clean up. I want to be fresh for you."

Left to his own devices, Joey was unsure of what to do with himself. Should he get undressed? Should he be making himself fresh too? What did it even mean to make yourself fresh? Was it just showering?

He sat on the edge of the bed. Hands in his lap. Hands off his lap. Arms crossed. Stood up. Sat down. He could hear water running in the bathroom, but other than that the room was too quiet. His thoughts rushed in.

I can use this for good.

That girl downstairs had been judgmental, rude. But now, thanks to Joey, she would never be judgmental again. At least about him and his mother. That kind of power was amazing, intoxicating.

Yes, his power had limitations, but it was his power. After an adolescence of feeling weak and ignored, Joey Granger had the power to be important, to have an impact on the world. Right in that moment there was a hotel clerk who saw nothing freaky at all about Joey’s mom. He began to wonder what he should do next.

It felt right. True. Not just the words, but the world that came after them. Maybe he had been given this power for a reason. Not to hurt people—but to make things better. To protect people. Like he had with his mother.

The faucet ran behind the bathroom door. Steam hissed.

He wasn’t being selfish. He was fixing things. Making things right.

The bathroom door opened.

Joey turned, smiling—ready to tell her she didn’t need to rush—and froze.

She stepped out, completely naked. Her skin still dewy from the towel she held in one hand, her body glowing in the soft light from the chandelier. There was nothing casual about it—no towel clutched to her chest, no robe, no apology. Just Donna Granger. Nude. Confident.

Eager.

Joey’s mouth went dry.

He’d told himself he would let things unfold naturally. No pressure. No expectations. But seeing her like this shook him. She was arguably one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, and yet she was still his mother. Could he really go through with this?

“Do you like how I look?” she asked sweetly, moving toward him. Her hips swayed. Her eyes never left his. “I want to be perfect for you.”

“Mom, I…” His voice cracked. His body betrayed him instantly—heat rushing through him, pooling low, shame chasing right behind.

She knelt in front of him.

Her head dipped slightly, her hand brushing his knee. “You’ve done so much for me,” she whispered. “Let me take care of you.”

A knock.

They both froze.

It was soft. Polite. Too well-timed to be anything but deliberate.

Another knock followed, firmer.

Donna stayed on her knees, blinking up at him like she wasn’t sure whether to move.

Joey’s heart slammed against his ribs. He turned toward the door, every inch of him bristling.

Who the hell was that?

And how much had they seen?