Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“Mina Rinaldi passed away eight years ago or so. Her sons inherited the property, but neither of them lives in town anymore. I know they finally agreed to sell it, but I couldn’t believe when it showed up on a rental listing.” He examined a crack in the ceiling and grunted. “You can’t live here.”
I agreed. My standards weren’t particularly high, but this was nasty.
“Hmm. Back to the drawing board.” I pulled up the rental app and tapped the screen on my cell. “There’s another one on Myrtle.”
Bryson locked the door and met me on the sidewalk. “My colleague will be happy to show it to you. His name is Duncan Fahley.”
“You’re really gonna pawn me off on someone else?”
“I am.” He smiled pleasantly and moved around me. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get to the office. Have a good day.”
Hey, I was a big boy. I could take a hint. Bryson’s stiff-arm game was strong, and there was no conceivable reason for me to push him for anything…even friendship. But there was something about him that made it impossible for me to walk away.
Maybe that was my ego talking.
Generally speaking, I was a likable guy and I knew Bryson liked me, so why act as if that were a bad thing? I sniffed my pits to be sure my hygiene was on point. Yep. All good. I didn’t stink, I’d been on my best behavior, and appearance-wise, I wasn’t a troll. If he didn’t want to get naked again, fine, but I was good friend material.
And I wanted to be his friend.
No, I wanted more than that. This was another case of wishing for something I couldn’t have.
I had to let it go.
7
BRYSON
Apopcorn maker magically appeared on my doorstep. Thanks, Dad!
I leaned against the counter, smiling at my iPad like a sappy schmuck at Jake’s text. You’re welcome. A little housewarming treat for your new apartment. Are you unpacked?
Thumbs-up emoji. It looks nice in here. We hung the TV on the wall next to the kitchen like u said, and we all went in on a sofa.
My fingers hovered over my keyboard, typing and deleting a response. No doubt the three dancing dots on his end were driving Jake nuts.
See, this is where I struggled with our ever-changing father-son dynamic. The urge to gush at how proud I was, tell him how much I loved him, and ask if he was free this weekend was strong, but I also wanted to give him space. Jake was in preseason training and it was important for him to bond with his teammates, not hang out with a helicopter parent.
I can’t wait to see it, I typed, sticking with a safe, neutral reply.
Cool. You’ll have to visit soon.
Okay, fine. I couldn’t help myself. In case you didn’t know, I think you’re amazing and I’m proud of you, Jake. Have a great day. I love you. Dad
Love u2, but u know u just signed ur text, right? Three laughing emojis.
I sent an eye-roll emoji. Be nice. I’m old.
Ur not that old. Old man emoji. Gotta go. Practice. Later!
I set my iPad down and stared into the adjoining living area. Part of me was picturing Jake schlepping gear out as he tore out of his apartment with his buddies, and the other part of me was mentally going over my calendar. I had a meeting with a contractor in Wood Hollow who was slated to break ground on a plot of land in a recently deforested area. There’d been a huge uproar, but ultimately the community needed housing.
My gaze was fixed on a mote of dust drifting in the sunlight spilling across the room as I reached for my half-full coffee cup…and knocked it off the island.
It shattered on the wood floor, breaking the silence with a deafening roar.
As I bent to pick up the ceramic shards, the silence swept in again—an enormous wave covering me, pulling me under. I sat on the floor, resting my head between my knees and sucked in a gulp of air. My heart raced, and my palms went clammy.
Fuck. What was wrong with me?
I checked my pulse and closed my eyes. Panic attack, heart palpitations, or…was this what chronic loneliness felt like? The crushing sound of constant silence, existing without purpose, going through the same motions…day after day.
Everywhere I looked, I was surrounded by memories of what used to be—pictures of Jake and me—at the lake, at the ice rink, our trip to England two years ago, the one of me holding him the day he was born.
Who was I now? Same me, but not quite.
Maybe it was unreasonable, but I blamed my off-kilter mood on Smitty. If he hadn’t shown up, I wouldn’t actively be trying to tamp down the part of me that remembered kissing him, sucking him, riding his cock, and lying in his arms.