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She steps around the island and takes my hands in hers, tugging them down into my lap. “This has nothing to do with capability. You’re capable of doing whatever you set your mind to—that’s not what I’m worried about.”
“Then what’s the problem?” I clamp my jaw shut to stop my chin from wobbling. Bursting into tears will not help my situation. I know where this is going, and it doesn’t end in a happy dance. “You’re on the board of startup business loans, Mom. This is literally what you do.”
“And that’s why you should listen to me when I tell you to wait. Be sure, baby. Give it a year and then if you’re still sure I’ll sign.” She squeezes my fingers and dips her head to catch my stare in hers again. “I just want you to be sure. It’s a lot of money.”
“I am sure. I have plans, I can show you. I’ve done courses in—”
“Twelve months.” Her lips turn down at the corners, but her stare holds firm. “Trust me on this. Please.”
I nod. Slip my hands from beneath hers. Drop my gaze to my knees. “I don’t remember Olly having to wait a year for his money.”
Her hands drop to her sides. I don’t have to look up to know I’ve struck a nerve—low blows usually do. “That’s not fair. He needed his for college. He’s wanted to be a doctor since he was old enough to talk.”
“I can do this.” I suck my bottom lip in before it pouts out and just makes things worse. “This isn’t just another whim. I have plans and spreadsheets—I’d have brought them if I’d known I was going to have to apply for my own money. I’m just asking for you to have a little faith in me, Mom.”
“And I’m just asking for a year.”
I nod again, swallowing back the tightness in my throat as I stand to leave.
There’s no chance that plot will be there in a year.
EIGHT
Mylo
I roll my shoulders and arch my back as the lift doors slide closed. Today was long. The shop finally got the paint ready. The tile delivery arrived too. I stayed late to catch up on lost hours. The opening day for The Surf Shack is in a few weeks, but I’m still waiting on licenses. Insurance. Fucking paperwork. I shake my head and watch the back-lit numbers slip by. Swim, then bed. I will not go to Kenzi’s.
It’s like reality has taken a turn on its head this week. We sleep together. I sleep better with her than I have since even before I joined up. That doesn’t mean I don’t see how truly messed up it is, or how fine the line is we’re treading before questions get asked or feelings get hurt. Every night I tell myself I won’t go. Won’t knock on her door. Won’t curl around her on that massive sofa of hers and let the feel of her—the scent of her lull me into the best kind of sleep—deep. With no dreams.
I grasp the edges of the towel hanging from my neck when the doors ping, then slide open again. Tonight will be the night I fall asleep in my own fucking bed.
One of the best things about living in this apartment block—the pool—especially at night.
The air is warm and tainted with chlorine, the only light coming from inside the pool itself as I step from the elevator and take the three sandstone steps to the open-air area.
I toss my towel onto one of the sun loungers before I realize I’m not alone.
Kenzi. Earphones in, feet in the pool, a bottle of beer in her hand.
She hasn’t noticed me.
I watch her feet, toes pointed beneath the water. She’s watching them too. She looks—unhappy. I glance behind me to the elevator door. Take a breath. Look at her again. If our sleeping is the reason behind the downturn to her lips, I need to know. Need to stop using her.
Her hair is loose. Her legs and arms bared by her cut-offs and white tank. The pool lights ripple off her face as she lifts the bottle to her lips.
My gaze lingers. Something I’ve been avoiding at all costs lately. I’ve kissed those lips. I know how it feels to be kissed back by those lips. I know the noises she makes and the taste of her tongue.
She looks up then, her stare meeting mine like she feels the echoes of those memories as acutely as I do. She lowers the bottle without drinking, a tiny, miserable smirk on her face as she tugs her earbuds from her ears. “Sorry, didn’t realize I had company.”
I glance over my shoulder to the elevator again. “I can go.”
Her shoulders drop and she shakes her head, before taking a long pull of her beer.
I take in her face again. Her eyes are now trained on the water. She doesn’t look unhappy so much as… defeated. I’ve seen her be many things since we met last year, but defeated, never.
My scowl is automatic, the clench in my jaw unavoidable. The tightness in my chest drags my hand up to scratch at it. “Wanna talk it out?”
Surprised blue eyes flick up to mine, made even bluer by the reflection of the turquoise pool tiles and the eerie lighting. Her lips are pressed into a grim line. Her gaze slides to my bare chest, my damaged arm, then back to my face. It’s a route I’m beginning to find familiar. Half of me wants to snap back at the constant reminder that she sees my broken parts—the other half is just relieved that she doesn’t have more parts to add to the list.
