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“I don’t have my painting supplies,” I finally say on an exhale, my nerves etching up the closer we get to his house. “I can’t be somewhere without my—”
“I have all the painting materials you could need. Also have a pottery wheel and plenty of supplies. Also have random shit everywhere in the garage-turned-shop that you could use for sculpture assembly. I’ve been collecting anything unique since you left, just in case you ever rolled back into my life and needed shit to do a sculpture with.”
The staring resumes as I study his grinning profile.
“Why?” is the only word that comes out of my mouth.
As he parks behind his cabin, he turns his eyes on me. “I told you already that I wanted you with me as often as possible. So I tried to get everything you could possibly want or need. I remember every detail of those three weeks like it was yesterday. Every small fragment of information you shared was filed away and saved for later use.”
He suddenly turns and gets out of the Jeep, but I sit here an extra few seconds, breathing in and out, trying not to slide head first down that slippery slope.
He’s waiting patiently by the open back door when I finally get out and make my way to him.
It’s barely been a whole day since I found out he’s living in my town. I wasn’t supposed to have to figure out if I’m stubborn or stupid so soon.
“What about your family? Don’t they still live in LA?” I ask conversationally, trying to remind my heart that he has zero ties here and plenty of ties elsewhere as I walk inside his house.
That is full of my artwork.
In fact, only my artwork is hanging on the walls, which is weird, considering his extensive art collection he once had. I really wanted to say something earlier, but I was too caught off guard by it all to speak without being stupid.
Loki is proudly sitting in the main room as well, demanding attention from anyone who enters.
The door shuts, and I look over my shoulder to see him leaning against it, his eye serious as he stares at me.
“When I came up with that bit of technology I told you about, I suddenly had more money than I could ever spend. And it just kept coming in. Then I came up with more technology that changed the way phones are today. That meant even more money.”
The open-floor plan has the living room and kitchen open to each other, and I sit down at the bar on the living room side, watching him as he moves to the fridge on the kitchen side.
“You already told me you were rich. I was asking about—”
“You were asking about my family because you think I’ll get homesick and return to them, and you don’t give a damn about my money. I know,” he says quietly with his back still turned. “Hence the reason I’m in Tomahawk.”
He blows out a long breath as he pulls out two bottles of water, and he shuts the fridge door before moving to the other side of the bar across from me.
I take one of the bottles, opening it and taking a sip, as he continues.
“At first I was excited, and I wanted to give my family nice things. We’d never been close, but I thought this would bond us all. Stupid to look back and see how naïve I was.”
He laughs humorlessly as I grow confused.
“Anyway, I paid their bills. I gave them vehicles. I handed them credit cards. Eventually, it just became expected that I would finance their lives, but I never got anything in return. No family Christmases. No Thanksgiving dinners. Nothing. I’m almost thirty, so family seems to be more and more important the older I get, yet I couldn’t even have a Christmas dinner with mine. Then when I got hurt, I finally asked them for something. After years of paying for everything and giving them all they asked for, I asked them for something. You saw how that worked out. You were the only one there.”
Absently, I start peeling the label off the water bottle, unable to continue staring into his intense eyes, because I’m seconds away from believing he’s never leaving Tomahawk and launching myself at him like a crazy girl.
“I cut them off just before I moved out here. I’m sure they’re trying to call me or visit me now, but they don’t have my new number or know where I live anymore.”
My eyes shift up to see a sad smile on his lips.
“They’re adults. They can fend for themselves,” I assure him.
His grin grows. “I know. I’m not worried about them. They can start selling all the pointless things they’ve collected—with my money—over the years to sustain them for a while.”
