Page 147 of The Comedown

He’s not the only one either. Swear to God, I can see the sun’s rays raking across all our skin right now. SPF 100 ain’t doing shit for us out here.

“Break time,” Bare mumbles around a mouthful of hoagie.

The fuck.

Collette hands off the ball to Holter, then beams at me. “A break sounds good to me. I’m thinking nachos.”

Nachos, huh? Not only has this woman had an appetite on her lately, but I haven’t even seen any packets of baby food.

“Break from what?” I ask her because what am I gonna do? Not give her shit? I don’t think so. She’s way too fun when she’s feisty. “You barely ran.”

“That’s a lie.” We stare each other down, neither of us willing to blink. I didn’t stutter. She took two, three steps max. But then she says, “We both know I’ve been running through your mind all day,” making a smile pull my lips apart.

“Stealing pickup lines is a punishable offense,” I tell her. I’m pretty sure I’ve used that line before, at least once. What can I say? It’s a good one.

She only blows me a kiss, trudging away from my sorry ass just sitting here, watching her go.

That view though…

“Heads up!”

I automatically shoot my arms out in front of me, catching the football Holter just launched my way like a fucking torpedo.

Damn, this kid’s got an arm.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna play football instead of basketball?” I ask Holter, twirling the ball while still trying to keep an eye on his mom’s ass swaying in her sheer wrap-thing.

“Football?” he questions, and I shift my focus to him, seeing his head tilt like the idea’s never occurred to him.

“Yeah, football. You’d make a hell of a quarterback.”

Holter’s basketball game’s got nothing on this. Before Collette and Bare decided to join in, he and I were tossing the football back and forth between us for at least an hour, and his smile didn’t dim once—a smile he never had any of the times we’ve shot hoops together. Even right now he’s got a megawatt cheeser fucking shining as bright as the sun in the goddamn sky. He thinks he should like basketball, but I know he doesn’t.

“And…how many hotels have football fields?” he asks, catching my pass easily at the same time his question pummels into me like a linebacker. Some hotels, the upscale ones with more amenities than their silver-spoon-chewing guests know what to do with, have basketball courts. But football fields? The answer is none. He knows it and I know it.

“You don’t think your mom would figure out a way for you to play?” The woman would level mountains for her boy.

“I think it would give my mom one more thing to hate herself for.”

Holter’s a good kid. He shrinks himself and his wants for his mom’s sake. Most kids wouldn’t. Hell, most adults wouldn’t.

“She doesn’t hate herself,” I tell him through a chuckle. I’d know if Collette hated herself.

Wouldn’t I?

Holter pauses, his throwing arm cocked up near his head. “You haven’t heard her cry herself to sleep at night yet.”

The ball spirals toward me, and I consider moving in front of it and letting it nail me in the fucking face. It’d hurt less than hearing what Holter just said. Cry herself to sleep?

“When does she do that? On the bus?” My bunk’s directly above hers, and I’ve never heard her crying.

“Maybe. I’m not always there, but I’ve only heard it when she’s home.”

“Because she misses being on tour?”

He gives me a strange look, one that feels like pity for being such a fucking dumbass. Which I am. It was a stupid question. Collette wouldn’t cry over missing tour life; she’d cry over missing her boy. Collette hates how much time is taken from Holter when she’s touring without him, and she’s always trying to make it up to him, but not with material items like most rich assholes would resort to. She actually interacts with him, goes out of her way to. She doesn’t just love Holter, she legit likes him, too, which I didn’t know was a thing before—parents liking their kids and genuinely wanting to be around them.

My mom sure the fuck didn’t seem to enjoy my company unless I was wiping puke from her hair. And my dad…dude didn’t stick around long enough to find out.