Page 13 of The Weight of Your Wishes

My mouth flops open and closed a few times in surprise before I manage to form words again. “Um, I mean, I am an adult.” Feeling properly scolded, my fingers move of their own accord, fidgeting with the drawstrings of my sweatpants.

He shakes his head and seems to mutter something under his breath. “To answer your question, not really. Most of our customers are regulars, so it was established a long time ago. I backed Sky up, of course. I told everyone if they had a problem with it, they didn’t need to come there anymore. My bar’s the only one in town, so most people chose wisely. That’s not to say they’re perfect though. Hell, I’m not. But Sky has a way of taking everything in stride, even when they shouldn’t have to.”

His words settle somewhere in my chest, nestled there softly. I can tell how much he cares about Sky—about people in general. If only more people could learn and grow like him. “Sky’s lucky to have you,” I murmur.

He just grunts, almost dismissing the idea. “Anyway, you need to save money to fix your car and pay off those fines from the accident. If you want, I’ll hold on to a fixed amount of money for you so you don’t spend it all.”

“Um, sure, I guess.”

He continues on, and I try my best to focus, but it’s difficult, to say the least. Especially when his tanned, tattooed skin is all on display like that and when he runs his thick fingers through his hair. I can’t help that my brain is turning into total mush, but I do retain some things. Keep up with my laundry and no dishes in the sink. If I drink his beer, let him know, but try not to drink an entire six-pack next time. Shoes off at the door. No calling out of work unless it’s an absolute emergency. Really just basic things that I should know to do already, but I’ve been told I can be forgetful, so a reminder never hurt.

He finishes with a long sigh, and his eyes drift close momentarily. He seems so completely drained, more than any person should be. I wish I could help him. Maybe I’d massage his shoulders or give him a long hug. There’s gotta be a way I can lift some of the weight pressing down on those broad, muscular shoulders.

I snap myself out of that ridiculous daydream and decide it’s time for a cigarette. My legs are a bit weak as I approach the sliding glass door in the living room. “There’s a table and some chairs on the deck out there,” Grant says, interrupting the charged silence in the room.

“Cool. I’ll consider it my new designated smoking area,” I joke.

“When did you start doing that anyway?”

“Smoking? I guess towards the end of high school.” I can only see the back of his head, but he doesn’t seem so pleased by that if the long sigh is anything to go off of.

He scratches at his beard and opens his mouth to say something, but I hurry out quickly. I can feel the disappointment radiating from him, and I’d rather not.

My bare feet land on the wooden planks of a deck. It’s sort of weathered, a little wobbly here and there. The sun is nowhere to be seen at this hour, and the sky is gray as dark storm clouds gather. Along with the wind rustling through the countless variety of palms encircling his yard, the earthy smell of dampened soil swirls around me.

With a few more steps, I brace my forearms on the railing. His backyard is lush in a wild way that I’m not used to seeing. Wildflowers grow in thick crops here and there. Plants with wide, leathery leaves jut into the yard from every corner. There’s a narrow path leading into the brush at the very back. It intrigues me enough that my feet start moving of their own accord, taking me down the steps and through the yard.

Shoes would’ve been a good choice, I’m sure, but the beer I guzzled down makes my skin tingle in a euphoric way each time the sole of my foot meets the blades of grass.

I reach the path. It’s well used and worn down to dirt. I only have to bat away a few palm fronds to make it through to the other end, and I’m greeted with a short dock leading out to a large pond. I pull my cigarettes from my pocket and light one as I walk onto it. It’s pretty shoddy looking, but I’m sure it’s safe. Uncle Grant probably fishes back here all the time. I can picture him doing that.

I bring my toes to the very edge of the dock and look down into the murky, dark, greenish-black water. Wouldn’t want to fall in there. The thought sends disgusting shivers down my spine as I take a cautious step back from the ledge.

My limbs are heavy and sluggish as I bring the cigarette to my lips, blinking away the smoke blearily. The wind’s starting to pick up. It rushes through the greenery loudly, sending ripples over the water.

I decide the dock is as good a place to lay as any, so I squat down clumsily and sprawl out on my back. I can hear the water churning softly through the planks of wood beneath me, and it lulls me a bit. I smoke my cigarette languidly, feeling the breeze against my overheated skin, eyes falling closed.

Then, two things happen at once. A raindrop pelts my forehead, and Grant’s grumbly voice calls from behind me. “Hendrix?”

I hum and lift my hand with the cigarette like a beacon. “Uncle Grant!”

His footsteps thud against the wood, rudely disrupting the soothing ambiance. I bring a finger to my lips, shushing him. I blink one eye open and find him towering over me, shadowed because—wow, it’s nearly pitch black out now.

His hands are braced on his hips, and, much to my dismay, he’s still shirtless. “There’s a big storm coming in,” he grunts. And as if he were the god of rain, the shit starts pounding down on us. “Shit,” he hisses.

I smile and tilt my head back, feeling the droplets pelt every square inch of my body.

“Come on. You’ll get a cold if you stay out here.”

I chuckle to myself. “That’s just a myth.” He scoffs, probably in disbelief, but I’ve never been better. My mind has never been so silent. “I’m gonna be here for a while.” It’s a task to raise my voice so he can hear me.

A few long seconds later, I feel him plop down next to me with a huff. “I just took a shower,” he grouses. So prickly.

My mind conjures an image of him showering outside in the rain like some sort of wild man, and my dick throbs under my soaked sweats. I turn my head to the left and take in his profile. His eyes are squinted shut uncomfortably, and it brings a smile to my lips. “You could go back inside, you know.”

“Then what would you do if a panther showed up?”

My eyes fly wide open. “You can’t be serious.”

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