Page 110 of Toxic Wishes

“Grammy took me out to get breakfast, and we brought you and Abigail some too.”

“Oh, she did.” My gaze glides up to meet my moms.

“I figured you would be tired after such a long night.” A faint smirk appears on her face, but she bites it back.

Crap. She knows. How did she know, though?

“Ya, Grammy said you’d be tired after such a long night, which I didn’t understand since you just went out with your friends, but if she tells me I’m getting buttermilk pancakes, then you need to be tired more often. These are the best pancakes ever.”

“I see you went to the Bramlet,” I say, helping Bodie take everything out of the plastic bag and set it on the kitchen island.

“Yup, Grammy said that was your favorite place growing up.”

“Was? Still is. Love their cinnamon waffles.”

“That’s right. I took your daddy there every Saturday. Just me and him. It was like our weekly date.”

I smile at my mom and can’t help but appreciate her as a mom and grandma now. But I dip my chin as a tingling sensation sweeps up the back of my neck and across my face.

She always knew everything. Even growing up, it was hard to hide shit from her.

“Is Miss Abigail going to join us this morning? Or is she vegan?” My mom smiles as she says it, but I can hear the sarcasm behind her tone.

“I don’t know. She may be working out or already in class. I mean, why would you assume I would know if she would join us.” My mom places some napkins down as she looks up at me through a raised brow.

“Just asking, honey.” She places two pancakes on Bodie's plate, and I fight the urge to say something to wipe that smug grin off her face. I pad over to the coffee machine to start making some coffee. I'll need it to get through the day.

“Dad, how many more weeks until the season starts?”

Bodie’s question jolts me back to reality, damn near giving me whiplash. Fuck. I’d be leaving soon. I thought.

“Not much longer, Bud. I have four weeks left. Once you start school, I’ll be training in meetings, film sessions, and back to traveling again.”

“Aww, man. Can I still hang out with Abigail when you are gone?”

I turn around to face him. “Yeah, sure. You like hanging out with her?”

“Yeah, she’s cool. I was bored since no kids are around here to play with, and she let me hang out with her in her room. Showing me some of the stuff she is going to school for. I thought it was cool. She’s in school like me and learning.”

That probably intrigued Bodie since Namoi or any other girls I dated were not interested in using their brains to make a living for themselves, including Bodie’s mom. However, I didn’t ever bring his mom up, and Bodie never asked.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah,” he says, taking a bite of his pancake. “And then I saw she had a violin, or maybe a guitar,” he says with a mouthful of food. “I can’t remember, but I asked her if she could play it, and she said yes, but it’s been a while since she’s practiced..”

My mom shot a look at me. I shrugged, acting like this was all new to me, too. Which it somewhat was. I knew Abigail had a voice on her. Whenever I walked in on her, listening to her eighties music and singing along to Whitney Houston or whoever else she was jamming to, I immediately recognized her voice. But I always smiled to myself and walked off before she knew I was watching.

Does that make me a creeper? Seriously, was that even normal? I’m Colt Killian, for Christ's sake, and I had a fetish for watching Abigail Asher from afar. I even found her social media accounts and watched some of her reels. She was pretty informative on all the nutrition information, including eating habits and psychology. It lacked some entertainment value, but it was informative nonetheless. Whatever she decided to do in life, I knew she would excel. I still need to talk to her about getting her to quit working at Shifters. I don’t understand why someone as smart as her would even settle for that job. Sure, it wasn’t stripping, but being a bartender at a joint affiliated with a strip club was not much better.

“Dad, Dad, Dad,” Bodies voice snaps me out of my train of thought. “Are you listening?”

“Yeah, sorry, buddy. I’m listening.”

“I don’t think he heard you, Bodie, repeat what you said.” My mom nudges Bodie with her shoulder to his, winking at him.

“I said when I told her that I liked music and wouldn't mind playing an instrument like the guitar, she told me she knew someone special who loved the guitar and that I reminded her of him. She said I would have liked him a lot. And I asked her who it was, and she said you would have to tell me one day.”

My mom raises one eyebrow at me as she slowly takes a bite of her oatmeal Multigrain pancake.

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