Page 31 of The Weight of Your Wishes

Back in the kitchen, the fish is fried, and he pulls out yesterday’s pasta salad from the fridge to go with it. We eat quietly. Everything’s so quiet lately, and it’s driving me crazy.

“Did you tell my mom about last weekend?” I ask. She hasn’t called or texted since I’ve been here, but that’s not unusual.

“No.”

I nod my head slowly. More of the silent treatment. I tap my fingertips against my thighs over and over again before heaving a very pointed sigh and taking my plate to the sink. Grant does the same and heads to the shower. I wash the dishes and clean up the kitchen aggressively, but I can’t help it. This shit is starting to piss me off. I consider doing something stupid to just get his fucking attention again, but I can’t think of anything.

As I’m finishing up wiping down the counters, he stalks out and sits on his recliner, turning on the TV. He used to sit on the couch where we could be closer, but not anymore. It makes me want to stomp over to him, grab him by his incredibly broad shoulders and shake him until he finally owns up to it.

But instead, I take a deep breath and grab us both a beer from the fridge. I sit down on the couch cushion nearest to the recliner and lounge like I don’t have a care in the world. He goes to say “Thanks,” but his eyes catch on my middle, and the word falters. I look down quickly and notice the thin band from my thong is showing; my sweats must’ve sagged lower when I sat. I sort of freeze. While I thought it might be kind of funny to annoy him if he got a peek, now that it’s happened, my hackles are rising. I’mnervous.His eyes linger there for a moment before trailing up to meet mine, and what I see there gives me pause. It’s confusion—maybe pain. It’s hard to read him, but I’d expected anger.

He takes a long swallow of beer and swivels his gaze back on the TV, watching the news of all things. I can’t stop thinking about it, though. His eyes wouldn’t have lingered that way had it been briefs that were showing.

“I’m sorry,” he grunts, “for being so distant this week.”

“What happened with Veronica?” As soon as her name leaves my lips, he stiffens. “You should probably talk about it—the break-up. If not with me, then someone at least.”

We both take a swig simultaneously, the news droning on in the background.

“Not much. This… It was a long time coming. Things had been off for a while. She deserves more and better, you know?”

My brows knit together. “She cheated on you, Grant. It’s you who deserves better,” I sneer. He finally looks over at me, one eyebrow lifted. “How could you even say something like that?”

His lips thin. “There’s more to it than that. Real life isn’t that simple. People cheat for a reason.”

The logic in that statement was nowhere to be seen, and now, I’m annoyed. He didn’t have to insinuate that I was too young to understand, that I haven’t experiencedreal life.

I down the rest of my beer and get up abruptly. I take the few steps toward him and sit down on the floor, right between his widely sprawled legs.

“What are you doing?” He asks hesitantly as if I were a wild animal he needed to skirt around.

I flop my head back against the cushion right between his thighs and close my eyes. “Play with my hair like you used to,” I whisper, but it sounds desperate even to my own ears. I thread my arm behind one muscular calf and hug it closer to me, letting my hand rest atop his bare foot.

He sighs exasperatedly behind me, and then I feel his fingers entwine in my hair. He scratches them over my scalp and tugs the hairs gently every now and then. My body melts back into the soft chair, my brain going all fuzzy and warm. Every once in a while, I hear his beer slosh around in the bottle as he drinks more. His fingers work their way forward until they rest on the side of my head, his thumb stroking my temple gently. Between his legs and his hands, it’s like he’s caged me in. His warmth surrounds me on all sides but the front, and it kills me that I can’t have more.

“You’re wrong about yourself. All wrong,” I mutter after a while. “Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

He tugs my hair a bit, prompting me to turn my head to look at him. I blink my eyes open as he leans forward, brown locks of hair cascading around the rugged lines of his face. “I’m a sorry excuse of a man, and you’d do best to remember that.” His gravelly voice has a new edge to it that makes my hairs stand on end—a threat.

“That’s not true.”

His nostrils flare as he moves the hand still buried in my hair forward, all the way down to my jaw where he grips firmly, tilting my head back at a sharp angle. “I heard you on the phone with Marina last weekend,” he says, and my stomach plunges. “I know what you’re doing. Those shorts that cover barely anything. The thong you’re wearing. How affectionate you’ve been this entire time.”

I gasp. Holy fucking shit. My heart races in my throat, rendering me incapable of speech.

“I don’t appreciate being used and manipulated, boy. I’m not as stupid as you think.”

My face screws up. “What? I don’t think you’re stupid at all, and I’m not manipulating you!” His calloused fingers dig into my jaw harder. “It’s not my fault that I—I feel this way about you. It’s pretty obvious why I’d try to hide it.”

“You hide it by snuggling my leg? Asking me to play with your hair? Walking around the house with your thong showing?”

My cheeks flame maddeningly, and I wish I could look away, wish he wasn’t holding me still. “What do you want me to say? It’s too fucking much being around you.”

“Language,” he cuts in, and my dick throbs in its small confines.

“Okay,Daddy,” I mutter under my breath sarcastically.

His jaw twitches, eyes darkening. “Uncle or Daddy? Which one is it, boy?”

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