AllFreeNovel
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The truck smells like him. Like leather and cigars and the Irish Spring body wash he’s used for as long as I’ve known him.
The F-250 may be all work on the outside with its enormous tires, the nicks, and scuffs. Makes sense, considering Abel’s a contractor. But inside, the truck is luxe. It’s got thecushiest leather seats on earth and an enormous touch screen display taking up most of the dash.
Like my brother, Abel is filthy rich, but he keeps a low profile. The truck fits him. Almost as well as those fucking jeans he’s wearing.
In an effort to avoid looking at said jeans, and the perfect ass contained therein, I dig my phone out of my bag and check my texts.
Speaking of unrequited crushes. My heart falls when I see none of my notifications contain Brian’s name. I’m never surprised by his silence, but I’m always disappointed. I wonder if I’m disappointed because I like him, or because my chances of falling in love and finding the one just got that much smaller.
I keep my eyes glued to the screen when Abel opens the driver’s side door and folds his large body into the seat. He starts the truck, the engine throbbing against the backs of my thighs. I put my phone away.
We drive to the barge in silence. I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. When the barge arrives, Abel carefully parks the truck on it, then rolls down the windows before killing the engine. The roar of the ocean rushes in to fill the silence.
“Do we have to get out?” I ask.
“Nope.” He reaches across the dash to open the glove compartment. A bunch of paperwork and a bottle of fancy Añejo tequila wait inside. He grabs the bottle and uncorks it using his thumb and first finger. The bright, tangy scent of tequila blooms between us. He holds up the bottle, eyebrows lifted.
The skin around his left eye looks bright purple in this light.
I’m overwhelmed by the urge to cry again. “Yes,” I breathe, and take the bottle and bring it to my lips.
The tequila burns my tongue and throat. I swallow what Ican, holding the back of my wrist against my mouth. I like my drinks sweet, and this is... not that.
I feel his eyes on me, so I close mine. “Do you drink and drive often?”
“Never. The tequila’s for celebrating only. Or emergencies.”
“Abel. My dad has cancer. He’s sick.” I take another swig of liquor. It hurts less this time. My knees begin to tingle, the buzz taking effect. Thank God.
Abel sniffles. “Fuck.”
“Yes.”
“It’s not supposed to be Joe. Anyone but him, you know?”
“I know.”
“Fuck.” I hear his hand land heavily on what I assume is his knee. “He can do it. Beat it. The cancer. I know he can. He’s in great shape.”
“I just feel so helpless.”
“I know. I just... I think all we can do is be there for him.”
I nod. “Right. We take him to his appointments. Help him figure out his meds, where he needs to be. Which doctors to see.”
“Research who’s best.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m on it.”
I manage a smile. “I know you are. Thank you.”
A beat of silence.
Then I say: “Dad kept talking about wanting to see me make my dreams come true while he’s still around.”
Abel pauses. “He said the same thing to me. Wants me to ‘let my guard down’ and let someone in.”
