“I don’t spend your money on anything but gas and food,” she said, voice shaking. “And your sister’s tuition.”
My chest tightened.
“You got out,” she whispered. “You worked so hard to get out of this life. I won’t pull you back.”
I shook my head. “That’s not how this works.”
She reached for my hand, her grip weaker than it used to be.
“I want the same for her,” she said. “College. Choices. Something better.”
I closed my eyes.
All the bar lights.
The boat.
The polished version of myself I’d been building so carefully.
None of it mattered more than this.
“I’m here,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She squeezed my hand once.
And for the first time since the phone call, my breathing finally slowed.
I stayed.
Because no matter how far I went, or how shiny my life looked from the outside?—
This was still home.
And she was still my responsibility.
Whether I wanted to admit it or not.
The cart was already too full when Tony called.
I had two-by-fours stacked diagonally, drywall balanced on the bottom rack, boxes of screws rattling every time I shifted my weight. Shower pan leaning like a surfboard against the side. Cement board, tile spacers, grout, thinset. A new valve kit. Grab bars still in my hands, cold metal biting into my palms.
My pencil was tucked behind my ear without me realizing when I’d put it there.
“Jesus,” Tony said when I answered telling him where I was. “You building a house?”
“Just fixing one,” I said, shoving the cart forward with my hip.
There was a pause. Then, casual—but not really?—
“So,” he said. “You want me to swing by the bar tonight?”
I stopped walking.
“What for?”
A grin crept into his voice. I could hear it even through the phone.
“To see if your mystery girl shows up. Thought I’d do some recon.”
