Page 89 of Between Never and Forever
“I did not come here to be berated,” I say firmly as I push myself up from the chair. “I did not ask for your advice or input on how I should parent my child. Brynnlee has asked not to see you anymore. Those are the consequences of your actions.”
I turn and walk toward the door, my mother hot on my heels.
“You are raising a wicked girl. She’s been corrupted by the company you keep. That child has no respect! She has no discipline! You spare the rod, you spoil the child, and Levi, you have spoiled that girl. She is—”
I whip my body around to face her, halting her words once more, and shake my head slowly.
“Donotfinish that sentence. I don’t have to come see you. I do it for you, not me. But I swear, if you continue to spit that bullshit at me, I’ll never come here again. You are my mother. That doesn’t entitle you to anything.”
She doesn’t agree. She doesn’t apologize. She doesn’t even nod. But she also doesn’t open her mouth to argue.
“Goodbye, Mother.”
I let the screen door slam behind me out of spite, and I walk calmly to my truck. My hands are fisted at my sides until I have to unclench my fingers to open my truck door, and then I drive off without looking back at the house.
I question a lot of things when it comes to parenting—whether or not I’m doing it right—but I have no doubts about this. My youth was miserable because of my mother. It took me years to find my own voice because my parents constantly silenced me. I’m a grown man and still have the occasional scripture-and-belt related nightmare.
I will not make those same mistakes with Brynn.
I made a promise to her mother, to myself, and I keep my promises.
I swing through the grocery store and pick up more water for my crew, then drive it back to the River View build. I do another walk through, talk to some of the subcontractors, make a few calls. When I’m confident everything is under control, I head back to the office.
Brynn asks if she can stay one more night at Sharon’s so they can go to church tomorrow, and I tell her yes. I drive by one of the local builds and do a walk through to check on that progress. I make a few more phone calls. I keep myself busy right until quitting time, and then I drive myself back home alone.
Normally, with a free Saturday night, I’d hit up SandBar for a beer and the band, but I’m not in the mood for a crowd. I also want to avoid Molly for reasons I refuse to admit. I know I’d be shit company, anyway. I could try to fish, but that’s not interesting to me either.
I don’t want to do anything except brood, so that’s what I do.
Despite this morning’s headache, I make myself an old fashioned and take it out to the back deck. I light a small fire in the fire pit and take a seat on the lounger. I sip my drink, then lean my head back and close my eyes.
I focus on the water.
On the breeze.
On the faint laughter and music carried on the night air from the downtown area just a few blocks over.
I focus on everything else except what’s really plaguing my heart and head for as long as I can, but when the drink is gone and so are my defenses, Savannah Shaw is all I see.
She’s all I ever see.
And then I let the guilt consume me.
21
I’ve never beenon a real movie set, but I assumed it wouldn’t be too much different from the music videos I’ve shot with the band.
I was wrong.
I didn’t expect to get a full trailer to myself, complete with my name on the door and everything. Honestly, it’s nicer than the house I grew up in about an hour from here. There’s a couch, a television, a bathroom, a kitchenette, a desk, a small sleeping area with a bed, and there’s even a little doggie corner with a bed and toys for Ziggs. I don’t know how Red got them to approve her being on set with me, but I don’t even care. She’s here, and it makes me happy. He’s such a good bodyguard.
As I poke around the space, opening cabinets and drawers and checking the mini fridge, Red shuffles through the fruit on my fruit tray, picking out grapes one by one and popping them in his mouth.
The fruit tray I expected. It’s on my basic rider along with my favorite brand of electrolyte water in the glass bottles, extra guitar picks, citrus-scented candles (one for each night we play at a venue), dark chocolate caramel truffles with sea salt, cucumber eye masks, and a package of dental doggy bones for Zigaroo. What I didn’t ask for, though, was the gigantic bouquet of flowers or the welcome basket of pastries.
I dig through the pile of baked goods, pull out a muffin, and take a giant bite.
“Oh, yum,” I say through a mouthful. “This is pretty good.”
