Page 90 of The Bro Date
It’s bullshit, and it’s hurtful.
After my dad’s awkward, drunken revelation, I can see why she’s so bitter and he’s so absent.
I will never live in a loveless marriage where passion is dead and resentment thrives.
The only reason I haven’t completely cut them off is that I still need help paying for college, but dealing with them definitely isn’t good for my anxiety.
It’s become a routine of sorts—coming to the dock when I need to forget about my problems or take my mind off of things. Mayberoutineisn’t the right word, more like a copingmechanism. But if I can forget about my mommy-daddy issuesandpractice violin, then it’s a win-win to me.
Shane’s at home, opting to study for his finals and give me some privacy. He said if I wasn’t back in two hours, then he’d come looking for me. But I didn’t want to talk about it last night, and I don’t want to talk about it today. I’d honestly like to pretend that the entire dinner never even happened.
Towering cypress trees surround the lake, and morning sunlight shines through, shimmering against the calm surface of the water. Sitting cross-legged at the end of the old dock, I rest my folded arms on the bottom slat of the railing, propping my head up on them and staring into the distance in an attempt to clear my mind.
I take a deep breath of fresh air and close my eyes for a moment, allowing my other senses to take over. The cool breeze caresses my skin, and the warmth of the sun hugs my face. Seagulls and mourning doves sing and chirp in the trees above me, their melodic songs only interrupted by the occasional splash of a turtle or frog.
My happiness is my own, and no one else's.
I repeat the mantra two more times before I open my eyes, stand up, and unclasp my violin case to get warmed up.
Today won’t be a “Pink Pony Club” kind of day, but instead a Ludwig van Beethoven day. I need to practice as much as possible, and I decide to start with the second movement—the adagio—since it’s the most expressive and passionate. I could really do with an emotional purge right now. The lingering negative emotions from my parents have got to go.
Something about this particular part of the arrangement brings tears to my eyes, like I’m releasing all the anger, grief, and sorrow inside of me and opening up to love and happiness instead. It’s a metaphor for my life right now, and boy, does ithit close to home. I get lost in the music and in the movements, releasing everything built up and everything I’ve repressed.
My parents don’t deserve my worry or concern, and they certainly don’t deserveme. It’s their loss that they won’t be there to see me blow everyone away at the symphony.
Loud, slow clapping startles me, and I spin around, finding my boyfriend watching me from the other end of the dock, giving me a flashback to the last time we were here together, and I came out to him. Two months later, and now he’s my boyfriend.
I almost can’t believe it.
“Was that a sneak peek for the symphony next week?” Shane asks, slowly walking to me and making the wood creak under his weight.
“Yeah,” I murmur, packing up my violin. “I’m ready to get it over with, honestly. It’s kinda a lot of pressure.”
“You’re gonna do amazing, Tobes. Everyone who matters will be there to support you. Your friends, your boyfriend, and your grandparents.”
“I actually never heard from Gran and Bo,” I tell him, bringing back some of the stress I just got rid of. “I told them about it when I was down there for spring break, but I never sent them an official invite. My last text didn’t even go through. You know how spotty their cell service is.”
Shit.
That just opened a whole new can of anxiety worms.
He must see the panic on my face. “Don’t stress. Text me their contact info. I’ll handle it. You’ve got enough on your plate right now.”
“Thank you so much,” I breathe out in relief, looping my arms around his neck.
“That’s what boyfriends are for.” He slips his hands into the gap in my overalls, caressing my lower back between my cut-off shirt and underwear. His long fingers creep lower, brushingover the top of my thong and making him groan when he feels bare ass. Shane kisses my forehead tenderly, pausing his groping to check on me first. His dark eyes stare intently down at me. “Wanna talk about last night?”
“Not really.” It was an embarrassing disaster, and I’d rather forget it ever happened. “Just promise me we won’t ever become one of those bitter old couples filled with resentment and regret.Please, Shane.We can’t ever let that happen to us.”
“I promise. We won’t,” Shane says matter-of-factly, peppering zealous kisses all over my face. “Of course, we won’t.”
“Okay,” I say softly, trusting his words.
“Wanna go home and fuck?” he asks with an arched brow, his hand fully sinking down to squeeze and knead my ass.
My lip quirks at his candidness. I love how comfortable he’s gotten. “Yeah.”
Shane pops my G-string and hoists me over his shoulder, making me squeal loudly. “Shane!” I cry with a laugh, gripping onto his waist while hanging upside down. He grabs my backpack and violin case with one arm, keeping me steady with the other.
