Page 70 of Puck Prince

“Try six feet under,” I mumble.

She jabs a finger in my face. “That’s what I’m talking about! I won’t have you screwing up your career for us. You’re perfectly capable of doing it on your own.”

I toss her half a grin and sigh, leaning back into the couch.

She leans back too, her gaze cast to the ceiling. “How did we get here?”

“Well—” I lace my hands behind my head. “—it all started when our mom met my piece of shit dad and knocked her up with me. Then she moved on to more piece of shit men.”

“Ooh, that’s where my dad comes in!” Summer chimes in.

“And after years of learning what love isn’t, well… I’m determined to make sure you don’t end up like that.”

She looks at me. “Like Mom, you mean?”

I flex and unflex my jaw. I don’t like talking about her. I never talk about any of this, actually. Not if I can help it.

“She was the only decent parent I’ve ever known. Even if I was with my dad and stepmom a lot,” Summer murmurs.

“I’m not saying she wasn’t a good person. She just—” I sink deeper into the cushions, the weight of the day finally catching up with me. “—wasn’t very good at the whole ‘mom thing.’ The string of men that came through the house, one dirtbag after another, made it hard to remember she even had a kid to begin with.”

“You said she left you alone a lot, right?”

“I washidinga lot,” I correct. “Stayed in my room, headphones on. I watched hockey reruns on a TV I bought at Goodwill. I didn't even have a stand for it. I just sat in front of it on the floor.”

“That’s where the obsession began?” She nudges me with a smile, but I see the intrigue written all over her face. I’ve never willingly talked about any of this with her before.

I don’t even know why I am now. Except… I really don’t want Summer to end up like my mom. She deserves better. And Nicky definitely deserves better.

“Yeah. It’s also how I kept from hearing what those bastards were doing to her. Eventually, though, I felt guilty enough to interfere. Then they took it out on me.”

She inhales sharply.

I pat her knee with a smile that isn’t really a smile. “Your dad was the only one who didn’t. You know, for a minute there, I really thought he’d stick around. She got pregnant with you, and I thought maybe, just maybe, we’d be a family.”

“Mom was too wild to be domesticated.”

“You’re telling me,” I spit. “I told her I was hungry once. I hadn’t eaten since the day before. She just sat on the step outside in her pink waitress dress, smoking a cigarette with tears in her eyes. She didn’t even look at me. She just said, ‘There’s pancake mix in the pantry.’I didn’t know how to make pancakes. I ate it dry.”

“Jesus.”

I squeeze her hand. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either. My dad wasn’t great. He put up this front like he had it all together, but it was just a picture he liked to project. He drank a lot and treated my stepmom like shit. I always thought you had it better. I guess I didn’t know.”

“You know who is going to have it better, though?” I ask, and she looks at me. “Nicky.”

Summer huffs out a teary laugh. “I gave him an abusive father and have a dating history that doesn’t bode well for future prospects. I hate to say it, but I don’t think I’m doing any better than Mom did. Every guy I’ve ever been with has been a loser. My—” She stops, rephrasing. “They just got progressively worse. But it ends with Nicky’s dad. I’m not even interested in dating at this point. We don’t need anyone else.”

I give her a tight smile and another double-clutch of her hand. “The goal is we don’t end up like them. Any of them. Every man that’s come in out and out of both of our lives was a wasteof space. But I don’t want you or Nicky thinking that’s how it always is. There are good men in the world. I want to show you that.”

She leans into me, head on my shoulder. “You already have. You take care of us more than you should, O.”

“I take care of you the right amount. It’s what you do for family. It’s what I should’ve done for—” I shake off the regrets still clinging to me. “Mom didn’t understand how much she meant to us. She let people convince her she was worthless and turned to substances to get through the day. She died before I could do anything to help her. But I can help you.”

“I appreciate it, Owen. More than you know. And don’t worry: the only thing I use to get through the day is an occasional glass of wine. I don’t care how much I love my son—one can only listen to nursery rhymes on YouTube so many times before they go a little batshit.”

I laugh. “Understandable. One hour of that, and I was about to launch the tablet off my balcony.”

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