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I straighten my spine, following after him. His head whips back when I shut the truck door harder than I should. “What happened to ignoring them? That golden nugget of advice only carries weight when it comes to me bitin’mytongue?”
The porch door swings open, and soft footsteps on the freshly stained wood can only belong to one woman. I fight to keep from looking at my grandmother. Her husband does the same, his narrowed eyes focused solely on me. The hurt I find lying there is gone in a blink, leaving me to wonder if it was ever there at all.
“Careful, Brody. You might be too old for me to boss around, but this is still my house. You’ll speak to me with respect while you’re here,” he snaps.
I bite down hard on my tongue to keep my retort from spilling out. The words he left unspoken are crystal clear.I’ll treat him with respect while I’m here, however long that will be this time.
A fleeting look at my grandmother has my stomach sinking like a rock in a pond. Her soft green eyes are torn, the mouth that’s always lifted in a smile turned down. The wind whips her short black-and-silver hair against her cheeks, and she doesn’t bother to brush it away.
I flash her a weak smile before spinning on my heel and striding toward the shop, not ready to coexist in the house with them for a good while. Neither of them tries to stop me.
The weather has only gotten worse, the temperature dropping alongside the sun. But it’ll be warm in the shop, so I don’t hide from the chill or the sting on my frozen cheeks. I’ve spent more time in the shop these past few weeks than I have the guest house I’ve moved back into. God knows I love my grandparents, but the guilt that followed my return—hell, followed my leave two years ago—keeps me from settling back into how things used to be.
Grandma treats me the same. I think she’s just happy to have me back. But Grandpa tries to play it off, especially in front of the community and his closest friends, but those who know him well see right through it. The hurt and nagging feeling of abandonment. The fear. It’s right below that calm exterior, and moments like just now show me how deep those feelings run.
Shouldering the shop door open, I step inside and take a heady lungful of fuel and oil. Something settles deep in my chest. A sense of rightness, maybe.
I fall into a familiar sense of mind as I pick up my metal box of tools from the shining silver workbench and carry it to the same tractor that’s been pissing hydraulic fluid for a solid two days.
An hour later, I’ve changed out the line and reattached the connectors. I wipe my greasy palms along my thighs and stretch out my neck, noting the lack of tension there. Only a nip of it lingers, and it’s guilt more than anger with my grandfather.
There’s black beneath my nails when I pull free my phone and scroll through the notifications, finding three text messages from the stranger. Each one makes my guilt grow.
16045557841: You know what? Fuck you. As if I’d let myself be insulted by someone who could very well be a disgusting human being.
16045557841: I’m HOT. Very hot. You’d be struck stupid if you ever saw me in person. Which you will N O T.
16045557841: Lose this number.
She doesn’t lack confidence, that’s for sure. Or spunk.
I contemplate my reply, knowing damn well I shouldn’t even bother. It’s more effort than it’s worth. I don’t owe her an apology. But that’s not how I was raised—to insult women, even accidentally.
Me: I didn’t mean it that way. Your body is great.
I delete the words with a grimace.
Me: I meant that I’m not desperate enough to use a stranger’s photos in that way.
Fuck. I erase that message too.
Me: I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry.
I send the message before I can talk myself out of it and wait for a reply. Five minutes go by before the message changes from Delivered to Read. Another two minutes pass. Then another.
A low laugh crawls up my throat when she leaves me on Read, not responding.
Touché, stranger. Touché.
6
ANNALISE
Maybe I should get a cat.
Sleeping alone after three years of having a warm body wrapped around mine is jarring. It seems silly, but I’ve been sleeping terribly, waking every couple of hours with my hand reaching toward an empty, cold spot beside me.
I’m not a dog fan, with their barking and dripping tongues, but a cat? I think I could handle one of those. My fur allergy was always tedious when I was growing up, but with medication, I think it’d be fine. I’d go as far as to bribe the cat to sleep on the bed with buckets of catnip just so I didn’t feel so alone. Gosh, that’s sad.
