Page 112 of Combust (Everyday Heroes 2)
It was.
“What was Marcy here for?”
It takes everything I have to look up from what’s in my hand and over to Bowie—but I do for just a second. “She wanted to drop something by for me.”
“Don’t tell me she’s giving you preferential treatment now after the calendar? What? You get a modeling contract?” He rolls his eyes, and I laugh at how ludicrous he sounds.
“Not hardly.” I’m distracted so I’m not fast enough when Bowie snatches the photo from my hand. “Give it back, Bow,” I warn with venom snapping in my tone.
“Whoa!” He holds his free hand up as his eyes grow big before handing it back to me and whistling. “And you let that go . . . why exactly?”
I don’t answer him. I can’t. Because my eyes are back on the photo Marcy gave me.
It’s Dylan. Her smile is wide. Eyes alive. Expression sincere. There is a hint of some kind of silky thing from her shoulders down that my dick is begging to know what it looks like, but it’s her face that holds my mind. And my heart.
The picture is equivalent to mine in the calendar.
Except she isn’t looking at me like I was her.
She’s happy on her own. She’s seeing her worth on her own.
Who am I to ask her back here, to pull her away from her life and everything the confidence in her eyes says she will succeed at? Hold her back when fuck if that look on her face says she’s about to fly.
“I didn’t let her go. She wasn’t mine to keep,” I murmur, my fingers itching to touch the picture as if I can feel her skin when I do.
“And sometimes men are dumbasses who don’t see what’s right in front of their faces.”
“Oh. Wow. Look how far you’ve gotten on this place.”
I knew I heard tires crunch on the driveway, but when I look over to where my mom stands, she is by far the last person I expect to see standing in my backyard.
She walks around the playroom. It’s been framed, drywalled, and stuccoed. The roof is papered and shingles are loaded.
“It’s almost done,” I say and step back from where I’m working and stare at her. “That’s how long it’s been since you’ve been here.”
“I’ve been staying away,” she says as she runs her hand over the wall.
“And why’s that?” I chuckle, although I’m pretty sure I know.
“I was just trying to make sure you had your space.”
“Space? You mean privacy so I’d fall madly in love with Dylan, right?”
“No. I never—”
“C’mon, Mom.” I tip my beer to my lips and shake my head. “You’re about as subtle as a flying brick.” I walk to the mini refrigerator I have plugged in and am surprised she accepts when I offer her a beer. “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you once again, but she’s gone now.”
“Well, of course, she’s gone. Did you ask her to stay?”
“That’s the question of the day, isn’t it?” Jesus Christ. First Bowie and now my mom. But even with the thought, the photo flashes through my mind and twists up my insides.
“I don’t know about that. It’s my question, though.” She falls silent. “I saw Mallory at the store today.”
“Great.” Not sure why she’s telling me this.
“She said she hasn’t seen you in some time.”
“I’ve been a little busy.” I turn my back to her and pick up my tape measure.
