Page 113 of Saints & Sailors

“Enough about me. How are you?” My mother took and swung my hands as she peered into my eyes. “How is Meadow Grove treating you? Do you like it?”

After so much time, the place had grown on me. Small town wonder and all.

“I’m sober for the first time in years,” I admitted. “I’m not angry anymore. I think meeting Scott and getting to know him and facing my past was what I really needed. There’s so much of him in me that I didn’t know I had, and there’s so much of you in me as well. It’s not like LA, but I do like it here. I’ve got friends and I’m finding my way.”

Tears lined my mother’s vision and I refused to get mushy with her. “Good. I’m so happy to hear that.” She grabbed her purse. “Tell me more over brunch?”

My mother and I grabbed lunch and I spent the day with her. For the first time I wasn’t being a brat or ungrateful. It felt good to get along and not carry so much rage. If only I would’ve realized this sooner.

“Call me as soon as school lets out tomorrow,” my mother said as she was dropping me off that evening. She was only in town for the weekend and we wanted to make the most of it.

“Will do,” I let her know.

I climbed out of the Jetta and right away turned and looked to Scott. He’d already been sitting on the front porch when we pulled up. His hair was pushed back, seeming still wet from a shower. He was in another T-shirt and jeans, nursing a beer, and surprisingly, a cigarette.

The sun was setting. A beautiful burning orange with a subtle pink ombré. The late November evening made the scene peaceful.

I came and sat on the step beside him. Not knowing what to say as my mother pulled out of the driveway, waved, and drove off. It wasn’t my place. But I felt damn protective of her and I couldn’t not say anything.

“So, I guess it’s my turn, huh?” Scott joked as he downed his beer, a bitterness to his tone.

He was staring ahead across the street at nothing, and I followed his gaze.

“I like you, Scott, but she’s my mom.” I looked up at him, finding his jaw clenched. “I can’t imagine what pain she felt when you left the first time. If you’re not willing to be in it and stay with her and be the man she needs, then leave her alone.”

Scott hung his head and ran a hand through his dark locks. “Eighteen years. I haven’t really looked at or dated a woman in eighteen years. My friends think I’m crazy, but I just never thought it would ever feel like it did with Maddie. That any woman would ever be like your mom.”

He looked at me, pinning me in place with his serious expression. “If she gives me a chance, Saylor, I swear to God I will do everything in my power to not fuck it up.”

It was a confession, one that left me stunned. “So, the whole single thing?”

Scott shrugged. “Truth is, I haven’t felt a connection in a long time. The last connection I felt gave me you.”

“Poetic,” I snorted, unable to shake the sincerity in his voice. He’d been carrying a torch for my mother for years. Enough so he kept himself alone and single.

“I don’t deserve her, though,” he added lowly.

I couldn’t disagree. Not after what happened between them.

“Do you hate me for her?” There was a vulnerability to his gaze I hadn’t seen before. And what looked like fear.

Tears welled in my eyes at the sudden reality of how much the scenario touched me. The mere idea. At how I…wanted it.

“No,” I admitted quietly. “You’re so fucking perfect for her.”

After spending time with Scott, I could see how my mother could fall for him. He was good-looking, kind, patient, and down to earth.

There was no getting over their brutal past, but maybe, just maybe, there was a way to move forward.

I wanted my mother happy and safe, most of all, but I couldn’t hate Scott for her. Couldn’t deny how he was everything she’d want in a man and how much sense they made. I couldn’t be angry anymore over what happened.

The thing about holding on is that sometimes it’s best to let go when your grip starts to bleed.

Scott scooted closer to me. He wrapped an arm around me and hugged me. Something deep in my chest melted and softened.

“I so deserve one of those,” I said of his cigarette.

Scott laughed, going and stubbing it out on the step. “Turn eighteen first, kid.”