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He hung up on me.
I left the coffee on the maker and changed into running gear before heading outside. It was cold enough that I needed a beanie and a long sleeve jacket, but the chill wouldn’t last.
As soon as I stepped outside, the cold hit me from head to toe. I shivered, stretching the stiffness out of my body as I adjusted the headphones and picked a playlist. My mother stared at me through the kitchen window, her phone to her ear.
No guesses needed on who she was talking to.
Her lips twisted to the side, and she turned away. Was she disgusted by what George was telling her? Or maybe she felt like a failure of a parent. Whatever it was, I didn’t care. I’d already wasted too much time on her, and she didn’t deserve it.
You can only help those who want the help. Otherwise, you’re left spinning yourself into a shallow grave expending useless effort.
She moved from the window, but I took off before she could come outside. If catching me for a chat was even her intention. The woman had always been absent, except for the first few years of elementary school. She’d been a good mom then. Whatever happened, it wasn’t my problem. I didn’t need her.
Now, I would only focus on my chosen family.
They might not see things my way, but I had a goal in mind for us, and everything I was about to do was for them.
“Rhys couldn’t come?” I pulled my hair up into a bun as Beck pulled into the diner. The restaurant was only about fifteen minutes from the cottage and the phone ringing had woken us all up at the butt crack of dawn. Mother nature was apparently disgruntled at the time of day too with an overcast sky and frost clinging to every surface. When the sun was up, frost could be a beautiful and magical sight. When it wasn’t, it was downright depressing.
“He said he had to talk to his mom about his dad’s shit,” he said as he scratched the top of his head and worried his bottom lip.
I narrowed my gaze. He was acting suspicious and that wasn’t a good sign.
“Beck,” I warned.
He turned wide eyes to me, then released a long breath. “We have a few minutes before Thatcher and Jonah get here. We all agreed to park in the back corner,” he started.
“Not what I want to hear.”
“I know.” He grinned. Whatever he was trying to keep to himself must not be that important. “You know what I love, Pretty Girl? I love that you call me on my bullshit.” Reaching across the console he ran his fingers up and down my sweater covered forearm before holding my hand. His fingers were warm and dry, most of all, familiar.
“Keep going.” I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.
“Remember the photographer that you guys saw yesterday during lunch?” He grimaced, one side of his mouth pulling down further than the other.
I sucked in a deep breath, the sweet cherry scent from the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror filling my nose. Mentioning the photographer let me know exactly where this was going. “Mmhm.”
“Those pictures were published today. Rhys was pretty worked up about it. He thinks this is his fault.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I shook my head. “He doesn’t have any control over that stuff.”
Beck shrugged. “He feels differently. Here are Thatcher and Jonah.”
Their cars pulled in one right after the other and took the spots on either side of us. This diner was just opening and there were all of two older cars in the parking lot outside of ours. Most likely employees.
“We can talk more about it inside,” I said as I opened my door to climb out.
“Good morning.” Thatcher hooked an arm around my neck and planted a kiss on my temple. His familiar smell replaced the cherry still swirling around me. A mixture of turpentine, charcoal, and any other number of artsy scents surrounded him, depending on what mediums he’d been working with recently. I’d always loved art class, even though it didn’t necessarily love me, and in Thatcher’s presence, the smells were becoming synonymous with comfort.
Just like the smell of grease and coffee on Beck, plastic and salt of a light workout on Rhys, and books on Jonah. To anyone else, those particular smells weren’t sexy or even interesting, but on these guys, they meant everything to me. It was who they were, and it was like they carried physical pieces of their personality with them.
I was weird.
“Morning,” Jonah greeted and squeezed my hand.
“Morning,” I repeated as we started to walk together toward the diner. Already, the smell of bacon and pancakes permeated the air, and we weren’t even inside the restaurant yet.
“Table for four,” Jonah said with a charismatic smile once we were all inside the door. The diner was small, so there wasn’t a hostess stand. The older lady who seated us was also our waitress. She was also a little too cheery for such an early shift.
