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Kit lets out a loud whoop as I follow them down to the boat. Luckily there's no sign of Zac and his crew. No one is safe with my mood at the moment. I know the thing between me and Zac is going to hit hard, and I want to make sure she's nowhere near the debris. I'm in need of the time in the water, the quiet of it, because with her in my life the quiet and calm has quickly disappeared. I don’t want to change that, but she might. How the hell am I meant to get her to like me when the whole world is conspiring against us?
I’ll take what I can get when it comes to my time with her, but I need to step up my game. She’s going to get sick of me, and then she’s going to fall in love with.
That’s a fact.
"Shall we set a new record?" I ask.
Lucas laughs. "Aren't we supposed to conserve our energy before the regatta?"
Kit shakes his head. "Our boy here has too much raging inside of him. Let's help a dude out."
Lucas flashes his trademark dimples; they are popping like fireworks on the fourth of July. I'm unsure how long the redhead can avoid him. He has a certain charm and I've only ever seen him step it up for her. How have two members of the BB crewmanaged to find the only two women on campus who don’t want them? Or, in some part, can resist our charm? I mean, I’m all about working hard, but this is harder.
"I think we need the water to cool down," Sawyer adds, baby blues watching me. He's always been the sensible one. When Sawyer snaps, it’s game time.
My boy's right. I need the water, and then we would need food, especially for what I have in mind.
CHAPTER SIX ¦ HOME TRUTHS
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Mia
Ipress the buzzer before entering the home I'd lived in for eighteen years. It’s not home anymore, but the buzzer is needed for another reason. Mom might notice the light flashing, warning her that I'm here rather than scaring her unexpectedly, but I know how distracted she can be, more so since losing Dad. I hang my coat on my peg in the hallway. Mom's coat is hung up, but there's an empty peg. There has been for a long time. I have no option but to stroll down memory lane while I'm here. I'd rather avoid some memories, but Mom likes them up. The art gallery of my entire life.
My first walk outside.
Braces.
Birthdays.
Vacations.
I've become quite good at using tunnel vision, there’s no better way to protect your heart. But sometimes photos catch my eye. Like now, when I see Dad's smiling face, same shape and colour eyes as me.
The rock I've associated with him fastens itself closer to my heart.
People lie to you when they say it gets easier with time, it doesn’t, you just get better at ignoring the pain.
I hover near the kitchen door that’s open and see Mom baking, elbow deep in flour and the mixing bowl, her auburn hair, a few stray greys pushing their way through, swept back into a loose knot. The kitchen has always been my favorite room in the house. Cherry oak cabinets and matching wooden counter tops add a warmth a kitchen should always have. I don’t like the sleek and the new, although, Austin’s kitchen is nice.
I shake my head. No. I came here to get away from all of that.
The whole kitchen spans the entire length of the house, and the large french style doors allow views of our yard where I can see the first sprinkle of fall taking effect. I’ve always loved the garden. Flowers I can't name are blooming, chairs that face the sun in summer are rusting a little. Mom will take up that project in spring, as she does every year.
She hasn't seen the light from the buzzer, so I move into her line of sight. Apple green eyes, darker than mine, flash brightly. She smiles as she wipes her hands on her apron, I make a note to buy her a new one for Christmas. Mom bakes every weekend as it’s something to keep her occupied. She works part-time at Rebecca’s florist down the block, wanting to keep busy after Dad. She’s stayed there ever since.
Mom pulls me into a hug that smells of cinnamon and cherries. Nothing beats the smell of home baking, and the comfort of Mom. When she steps back, her hands gesture quickly as her lips move but no words come out. There are some days I wish I had Mom’s voice in my head. I’ve made one up, like those voices I hear in the books that I read. The hand gestures are second nature to me, having learnt ASL from the moment I could read words. It’s the reason I’m majoring in languages and hearing sciences, so I can help others.
Mom was born deaf even though Grams and Pop aren't deaf. I remember hearing a conversation when I was younger around the doctor's confusion over this, and then it was finished and they had no explanation as to why, all we know is that she was simply born that way. Unfortunately, because we don’t have any answers Mom always worries about me and demands a hearing test every year.
I respond. My hands moving as quickly as hers.No. I'm okay.
Mom notices everything and she smirks.Liar.
I huff, but smile. I really don't want to go into the whole podcast situation, or Austin for that matter. I don’t even know her thoughts on elite rowers. We’ve never discussed boys…mostly because I’ve never been interested. I’m hardly interested now, but he’s forceful and I have a feeling, unshakeable. Mom always finds things out, and I don't know if she has a sixth sense because one of her senses doesn't work. She'd even found out about my one puff of a cigarette when I’d been thirteen. Secrets don’t stay that way in this house.
Unless you're Dad. His secret went with him… until the investigation.
