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“Jesus, Mom.”
“It was just a question, Brooks.”
It’s my turn to sigh.
“No, Mom. I haven’t fallen hopelessly in love since the last time I spoke to you with plans to marry and procreate.”
I’d love to tell her that I am hopelessly in love. But by hopelessly, I’d meanmiserably.
If I did that, I’d have to divulge that my heart has devoted itself to someone who I seem to hurt without intention.
I’d be forced to confess that the person I hurt also breaks me in the same way.
My heart may be steadfast in its love for Henley Wright, but it also seems committed to our heartbreak. My heart has become addicted to the way she cracks me open. It’s hooked on her even knowing that I cause her pain.
“You work too hard,” my mom says, oblivious to the ache in my chest. “You’re young. You should be outhaving fun.”
“Mom,” I gripe. “Please, stop.”
She laughs. “Oh, it’s not like I don’t know you’re out there sowing your wild oats.”
“I’m about to hang up on you.”
“Email me your hotel details. Dad and I will plan a visit over the next week or so.”
“Will do.”
“And Brooks,” she adds. “We expect you to take time off. We’ve seen New York enough in our lives. We’ll be there to seeyou.”
There’s that knife of guilt, this time aimed straight for my jugular.
“Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, kiddo.”
I fall back onto my bed the moment she disconnects, groaning to the ceiling in frustration.
My mother has this art of making me miss her, resent her, need her, and want to run far, far away from her all at once.
I push thoughts of our conversation out of my head, but the moment I do, it filters back in unwelcome.
You work too hard. You should be out having fun.
The problem is, she’s not exactly wrong.
I haven’t been intimate with anyone since the night of Addy’s wedding. In Siberia, it was easy enough since a romantic notion of waiting for Henley had buried itself within me. Farther down, in the parts of my soul I refuse to acknowledge, I knew the thought of her waiting for my return was farcical.
I’d pushed her over the edge once again. She didn’t put up much resistance, but I know I should’ve left her alone. I went searching for her with a fiery need to touch her, to soothe her.
It didn’t take a genius to know that after my disappearing act, she’d go to ground on me.
I left her with nothing but my marks on her skin, my seed inside her, and a goodbye note on hotel stationery.
Notmy finest moment.
On tour, women surrounded us. I couldn’t take a step sideways without some groupie throwing herself at me.
It just felt skeevy.
