Page 75 of View With Your Heart

“You live on a farm?” Gee immediately asks my dad. There were a few chickens in the drive when they pulled up. I’d thought my parents had gotten rid of them, but Karyn told me they were trying a more homegrown approach to diet in hopes it would help Mum. Mum had chickens when we were kids, and they were mean bastards, but she loved them.

“Maybe I can show you around after dinner,” Dad says with pride, and his eyes spark in a way I haven’t seen since I’ve been home.

Mum hugs Britton, holding her a little longer than necessary. “I’m so glad you came,” she tells her, and my chest squeezes as I’m happy she’s here as well. It’s not that I can’t be alone with Gee, but I’m also trying to be better with my parents, at least with Mum, and she wanted to officially meet Gee. It’s been awkward being in the house and maneuvering around them, plus Mum has this horrible cough that sounds like her chest will break. She looks pale and weak, and I’ve been worried she has a fever, but she says she doesn’t. As Mum wraps an arm over Gee’s shoulder and leads him to the kitchen, Britton steps up to me.

“Is she okay?”

“I don’t know,” I say, feeling like it’s my standard response to everything lately.

Dinner happens to be chicken with baked macaroni and cheese, and while it’s not something I’d typically eat, every bite is a reminder of where I am. My eyes continue to drift to Britton, who keeps up a steady stream of conversation with Mum and Dad. She promised to remind Gee that my parents are his grandparents.

“So, Gee,” Britton says his name with a deep breath. “Do you have any questions for Gavin’s parents?” It’s interesting that she told him he couldn’t call me Gavin, but now she’s referring to me as such.

Would it be wrong to ask him to call me Dad?

“I’m just wondering what I call you.” I sit as if he’s read my mind.

“What do you want to call us?” Mum says, then adds, “You can call us Grandma and Grandpa or Sarah and Jack.” She looks up at Britton as if asking permission. Britton nods.

“I’ll just call you Grandma and Grandpa. I have to call my other grandparents by their first names, and it makes it feel like I don’t have grandparents.”

“Who do you have to call by their first names?” I ask, looking at Britton.

“Patrick’s parents were both deceased. Gee means my mom and dad. They felt they were too young to be grandparents when I had Gee.” She swipes her hair behind her ear, keeping her eyes on the table. Then she looks up at my mother. “I’m not terribly close to my parents. I don’t know if you remember that about me. It’s the reason I was with Leo and Gertie.”

“Being Grandma and Grandpa suits us just fine.” Mum reaches out and pats Britton’s hand. “And you’re always so formal with us, but you call us whatever makes you comfortable as well.” Mum would be perfectly happy to have Britton call them Mum and Dad.

It’s all a bit much for me, and when dinner ends, Britton volunteers to do dishes. Mum lingers, but I encourage her to go to bed while Dad takes Gee outside to walk the orchard.

“I can do these,” Britton says, taking over my parents’ kitchen, so I lead Mum to her room. Britton’s almost done with the dishes when I return, and I excuse myself, needing a minute to clear my head.

I climb the stairs to the bedroom I used to share with Ethan. Karyn’s room is across the hall, while our parents’ room is on the main floor. Sitting on my bed, I rest my head in my hands and take a breath. Britton was amazing during dinner, engaging Mum and Dad and keeping the conversation light without it being stressful until the end. Then doing dishes in the kitchen, she looked as if she belonged here, with them, with me.

“Hey, I wondered where you went,” she says, breaking into my thoughts, and my head pops up. I swipe through my hair and stare at her while she looks around the old room.

“Wow, it looks exactly the same.” In many ways, it does. The old trophies. The same posters. The school awards. Even the quilts are the same as my grandmother made them. Britton’s eyes fall to the bed before glancing away from it.

“You remember being in here?” I ask, surprised that she’d remember. We didn’t come to my house as often as we were at Leo and Gertie’s, but occasionally, she’d be here when I needed a shower before we went out, or I needed to grab something before we went somewhere.

Britton steps up to me and reaches for my head, stroking her fingers through my hair. “You doing okay?” she asks before realizing what she’s done and retracting her hand. I catch her wrist and quickly stand, grabbing her hip before she can step away from me.

“I’m so angry,” I whisper.

“I know,” she says, nodding while her head dips, and she looks at my chest. I’m still holding her wrist, and my other arm slips around her back. Walking her backward, I press her to the back of the door, forcing it to close and reminding us of the position we were in one night when I had a fight with my dad. Britton found me in my room.

“I should hate you,” I say before my mouth crashes hers. Thankfully, she doesn’t fight me, giving into how I’m taking her lips, thrusting my tongue forward to tangle with hers.

“You should,” she whispers, pulling away only briefly before I capture her mouth again. My fingers come to her waistband, and I tug at her skirt. Britton pulls back, watching me.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispers, but I need her. I want to punish her and love her at the same time, and I’m so conflicted. When her hand comes to the button on my shorts, I can’t hold back.

“We definitely shouldn’t,” I say, but we’re going to. I hike up her skirt and push at the sides of her underwear while she works at my shorts, lowering the zipper and shoving them down my hips a little. Our mouths break only long enough for her underwear to fall to the floor and her to step out of one side. Then our lips are joined again, and I’m lifting her. Her back hits the door.

“Be quiet,” I warn before taking her mouth once more. Her thighs wrap around my hips, and I position myself at her entrance. With one thrust, I’m in her, and her head tips back, knocking against the wood.

“Fuck,” I hiss into her neck, rocking forward like a madman. I can’t get deep enough inside her as she clutches at my back, my shirt lifting in her clenched fingers.

“I’m so mad at you,” I tell her again.