Page 12 of The Weight of Your Wishes

CHAPTERFIVE

HENDRIX

“Are you drunk?” Marina jokes.

I raise my voice, so it reaches my phone. It’s on speaker because holding a phone to my ear for an entire conversation drives me up the wall. “Only slightly.”

After Uncle Grant left, I decided it best not to wallow in my sorrows sober. Although, I’m starting to think drinking his six-pack might not have been the best way to kick off the summer, but to hell with it. It’s already off to a wicked awkward start, and if it keeps on like this, the tension will cripple me. I glance down at my lap—traitorous dick.

“It’s not even been an entire day, X. How are you going to survive this?”

A sad laugh bubbles up from my chest. Marina doesn’t even know the half of it. Even though she’s my best friend in the whole world, some things are better kept secret. Not to mention, if I don’t voice it, maybe it’ll go away. I don’t want this tired old crush to live and breathe. “I don’t know. I’ll spend all my time fishing, I suppose.”

“Fishing?” she exclaims. “The horror!”

I bite my lip to stifle the laugh this time. “Hey, I can be a country boy if I must.” And I’d do anything to see her face as her raucous laughter cuts through the room, almost making me feel back at home again. I make a mental note to video call her next time.

“The mental image of you with cowboy boots and a big shiny belt buckle will forever be ingrained in my memory now, so thanks for that.”

The sound of the garage door opening echoes through the empty house, and my spine stiffens automatically, my eyes popping wide. “Um, I’m gonna need to let you go, Marina. Okay, love you. Bye.” I rush to hang up, not giving her a chance to respond. The door behind me opens, and I watch as Grant stills in the doorway. He takes stock of the six empty beer bottles on the coffee table, then his eyes narrow in my direction. If I’d had more time, maybe I could’ve trained my face to not look so terrified and guilty, but here we are.

Grant heaves a sigh and undoes his top knot, letting the brown strands fall to his shoulders. He toes off his boots and hangs his keys on a little hook on the wall. I can’t help but notice how big and toned his biceps are, or how his broad back seems like it really shouldn’t be trapped in a stupid cotton shirt. And then, as if I manifested the shit, he grabs the bottom of the offending fabric and pulls it over his head.

My heartbeat had already ratcheted up to an alarming rate, but I’m certain that it just stopped beating altogether. I move on instinct, gearing to stand up and flee to my new room, but he speaks up. “Don’t even think about it.” His voice betrays nothing—could be angry or disappointed or nothing at all. He opens a door in the hallway that houses a washer and dryer and tosses the shirt right in.

When he turns around to come back to the living room, I barely stifle a cough. In this moment, I can’t help but feel like the unluckiest dude in the world.

He sits down on the recliner across from me, and it only gets worse. Recliners are big and comfy things, so big that usually, people look smaller when they sit in them, but of course, that’s not the case with Grant. He swipes his big, rough hand across his chest, and I can’t help but track the languorous movement.

“You could’ve at least told me you drank all my beer,” he grunts.

I chew my lip nervously and glance away, attempting to look at anything other than him because none of it’s safe. His entire body makes me feel feral at this point, and it’s completely ridiculous. “Well, um, I didn’t think you’d be too happy about it.”

“I’d rather you give me a heads up regardless, but I didn’t really set any ground rules, did I? So, let’s do that now.”

“Ground rules?”

“Ground rules.”

I wince. Rules and I don’t tend to get along very well, but that shouldn’t come as a surprise to him, hopefully. “Let’s hear ‘em, Uncle Grant,” I say resolutely and relax back onto the soft couch. Alcohol was definitely a good choice.

“First, you’re going to come work at the bar part-time. And didn’t I tell you that you don’t need to call me that?”

I nearly jolt back up from my seat, but instead, I stay put. “You know I don’t have any bartending experience, right?”

“Well, you only turned twenty-one recently, so I should hope not. Regardless, you don’t need it. Sky will train you easily. It’s a small town, you know. Never gets too busy. No fancy drinks.”

I contemplate it quickly, and I guess that doesn’t sound too bad. “Wait, who’s Sky?”

“They’re my only employee. Sky has been working for me for years and really cares about the place, so try your best to not piss them off, alright?”

It strikes me as odd that there’s an openly nonbinary person in this town, but judging from those pronouns he used, I’m thinking that might be the case. “Is Sky nonbinary?”

He nods. “That won’t be a problem, will it?” he asks, his voice harder than usual, as if he’s prepared to come to Sky’s defense. I imagine he might have to do that more often than not.

“Of course not,” I assure him. “Just wanted to make sure I don’t fuck up their pronouns, but also, does Sky usually get trouble from people here?”

His thick brows furrow. “Is there a reason why you curse so much?”

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