Page 3 of It's Not Home Without You

“Like the Nordic goddess of love?” Max broke the silence.

“You’re really smart, aren’t you?” Not many people knew that if they weren’t into the whole geek mythology—my bad, Greek mythology. I felt a little bad when his cheeks became rosy but mostly found it adorable. “Yes, exactly like the goddess of love, but between the both of us, I think I lucked out since dear old mother could have named me Dionysus.” I wasn’t joking since my mom loved her bottle, but it was nice hearing Maximilian laugh.

“You're mixing your mythologies. Nordic is Scandinavian. Then there’s your Greek mythology and Roman, where Aphrodite and Venus are essentially the same as Freya.”

“When you put it like that, I guess my name isn’t so bad,” I said in all honesty. Can you imagine having Aphrodite for a name? Like what would be your nickname? Ap? Afro? Guess ol’ Mom could have done a lot worse.

“A pretty name for a pretty girl,” he said with a smile. I was about to respond with some of my grade-A sass because he made it so easy, but when I looked out the window, we were already by my trailer.

“Oh shit,” I croaked, because standing outside in hisrocking chair was my grandpa. “Just leave me right here. I’ll walk the rest of the way,” I urged in a meek voice.

“I wouldn’t do that. It’s dark and late. Besides, your grandfather would think less of me if I just left you on the side of the road instead of your front door.”

I snickered. He made it all sound so proper. First of all, our trailer was small. It wasn't a long walk from the dirt driveway to the front door. Second, my grandpa was in his rocking chair with a gun nearby.

“I hope you lived a nice life. Just know that under his chair is his shotgun.” I patted his shoulders without thinking. Crap, did I just touch Max “golden boy” Dunnett? He didn’t seem to mind though.

“Stay here,” Max broke the silence, his tone calm. I couldn’t decide if he was as affected as I was. I watched him get out of the car, taking long strides until he made it to my side. Total Maximilian move, the good ol’ boy next door. Was it old fashioned? Totally, but also so freaking hot. When he gave me his hand, I smiled up at him, my belly dipping at the heat he was emitting. Knowing Grandpa was watching, I let go of his hand and walked next to him.

“Good evening, sir,” Max greeted. Meanwhile, I prayed he didn’t pull out his shotgun on Max.

“It's past midnight,” Grandpa grumbled.

“Max was just giving me a ride back. Rusty and I never made it anywhere. Bow broke down on us,” I said defensively as a way to try and explain. Grandpa snickered then took a sip of his beer.

“Guess that’s karma for you, kid.” Well, this wasembarrassing. Nothing like getting scolded by your guardian in front of a cute guy.

I turned to Max and mustered up a smile. “Thank you, but I think it’s best if you left. I’m home safe and all.” Panicking, I pushed him back, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he extended his arm to shake my grandpa's hand. “Maximilian Dunnett.” It wasn’t like Grandpa didn’t know who he was. Everyone knew the Dunnetts.

“Careful, too many potholes in the back roads. Wouldn’t want that pretty car getting all busted.”

I glared at my grandfather. Would it kill him to be nice? He didn’t even shake Max’s hand. This was surreal. No boy ever wanted to be seen with me, except Rusty, but he didn’t count. And now the only boy who didn’t look at me like I was trash was standing here with me, all nice and shit, and Grandpa was rude. Max surprised me when he looked down at me and gave me a mischievous smile.

That smile changed something in me. I didn’t know what yet, but I knew it would be epic.

“See you around, Freya.”

Too tongue-tied to reply, I waved.

“Boy like that ain't nothing but trouble.”

And just because I was still mad at Grandpa, I said, “You always said trouble was my middle name.”

CHAPTER THREE

My feet ached,my legs were sore, and my heart was broken. What a lovely way to start the morning. The sun was already shining. I shouldn’t be surprised I was already up; I never did get rid of my midwestern roots. In California, I was an early riser, up before the sun, but I guess a part of me never did leave home.

My room looked exactly the same as the night I left, containing a twin bed that was hell to sleep on now that I was used to a king size, a small little table that I used as a desk, and a tiny closet that wouldn’t even fit one third of my belongings now.

Dammit, where am I going to put all my shit?

Victor was supposed to mail my things to me; it was the least he could do for not warning me I was sleeping with Mr. I’m-one-fuck-away-from-having-my-dick-fall-off. ThankGod, my test came back clean. I’d probably be in jail for murder if it had come back with something. I sucked up my soreness and made Grandpa some breakfast. It was the least I could do after showing up here without warning.

“You always were an early riser. Even as a kid, you didn’t know the meaning of sleeping in on the weekends.”

My throat clogged when I looked at the only father I’d ever known. Last night, it was hard to see through my tears, but now in the daylight, it was clear that I had failed him. The money I sent him every week was not what he needed.

He needed me.

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