Page 16 of The Weight of Your Wishes

CHAPTERSIX

HENDRIX

Ihaven’t left my room since meeting Veronica. I had originally planned to put on a show and dissuade her of any ideas she may have gotten about me and Grant, but when he came knocking on my door this morning asking if I wanted to go to breakfast with them, I swiftly denied.

It was a bit weak of me, yeah. But they left, and I think I’ve had a much better day for it.

Except, it’s dark outside now, and they still aren’t back.

I shuffle out of bed and plant my feet on the cold, wood floor. When I stand, my legs tingle with disuse. It occurs to me that maybe I should just lay back down where it’s nice and warm and comfortable in the thick blankets, but the ache in my stomach says otherwise. I’ve been ignoring it all day, and if I wait any longer, I know I’ll faint.

The first order of business is pissing like a racehorse, then I make my way into the kitchen, feet dragging as I go. I rub my fingers through my hair absentmindedly as I pull out some eggs and locate the bread. Can’t go wrong with fried eggs on toast, that’s for certain.

I busy myself with frying the eggs, and after only a few minutes, it’s done. I take my plate to the back porch. It’s too late in the day to achieve any vitamin D, but it’s still soothing with the wind rustling through the trees, the smell of damp soil, and the pond. Back home, it smells like hot asphalt and gasoline. I never disliked it, but then again, I didn’t know what I’ve been missing.

After scarfing down my food, I relax back against the Adirondack chair. The moon and stars shine brightly back at me.

I wonder what Uncle Grant and Veronica could be doing this late, but the only thing that comes to mind is that they’re probably fucking. Maybe they felt too uncomfortable to do it here, so they went back to her place. My teeth clench painfully. You know what? Fuck it. I’ll just call him.

I pull my phone from my pocket and do just that before I can talk myself out of it. It rings a few times before he picks up.

“Hendrix?” he grunts. My cheeks warm automatically like a schoolgirl with a crush. All he had to do was say my name. I pinch the bridge of my nose hard.

“Yeah, hey, um, where are you?”

I hear classic rock music playing in the background. “At the bar. Is something wrong? I was just about to head home.”

My brows pull inward. “But it’s Sunday.”

“Open seven days a week, kid.”

I rub the back of my neck, feeling ridiculous. “Right. Okay, well… take your time.” I rush to hang up as soon as the words leave my mouth.

My brain shouts at me to go back to bed and hide. I can’t help but feel mortified at every little thing and the big things, too—like jacking off in the shower to a fantasy of him. Thank God he can’t peer into my mind. I grimace and chew at my fingernails, scrutinizing them closely, and before I know it, the door behind me opens. I startle as it snaps me out of my daze.

Grant appears in front of me, looking sexy as ever with faded blue jeans and a backwards baseball cap. I groan and swipe my hands down my face, letting my forehead rest in my palms.

“Are you okay?” he asks. I look at him between my fingers. He’s confused and mildly concerned.

“I’m fine. How was your day?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, looking down at me, and I almost want to cringe at how small I feel—like I’m a little kid again.

“You’re in the same green shorts as yesterday. Your hair is sticking up all over like you just got out of bed. And you’re eating eggs and toast at eight at night.”

I squint my eyes at the empty plate in front of me. “How do you know that?”

“You left the eggs and the opened loaf of bread on the counter.” His face hardens.

“Shit. I’m sorry.” I scramble up out of the chair to go clean up my mess.

“Sit back down, Hendrix. I already cleaned it up. You’ve been in bed all day, haven’t you?”

I clear my throat and focus my gaze on my fingernails again, my heart rate kicking up. I’m not used to being confronted like this anymore. “Um, yes. I just didn’t really see a reason to get up, you know? The bed was so comfy. That quilt is very nice, by the way. I just watched Netflix all day and took a nap or two. No harm done. I’m fine, really.” I shut my mouth while I’m still ahead because at this point, I’m rambling. Too many details.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let you stay home this morning. New rule: no staying in bed all day,” he rumbles with finality that brooks no argument, but that’s bullshit. What does my lying in bed have to do with him? You’d think he’d be happy that I’m not up his ass all day.

My mouth flops open and closed uselessly. “You can’t just make up new rules.”

He cocks his head to the side, and of course, my eyes choose to fixate on his sharp jawline that’s now illuminated by the porch light. “I will make as many rules as I see fit. And if need be, I will drag your ass right out of that bed. Depression is no joke, and I won’t sit around and watch you succumb to it.”

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