Page 20 of The Weight of Your Wishes

He held my hand in the rain on my dock, and that simple gesture nearly wiped away years of pain. I worked my fingers through his hair, and I hope it helped soothe him in the same way. Shit, it soothed me, too—the weight of his head in my lap, the way he tucked his two hands under my thigh. An especially cozy warmth had spread deep within me; it felt as if I simply belonged. I don’t remember ever feeling so at ease.

When we finally get home, I get a chance to really look at him. His eyes are empty, and his lips are set in a frown. He musses his dark hair with one hand before letting his arm fall heavily to his side. He kicks off his shoes at the door and shuffles over to the couch, crashing face down onto it like a lead weight.

He groans and says something, but his words are muffled by the cushion. “What?” I ask.

He moves his head to the side lazily. “I said that I suck. You might as well fire me now, Uncle Grant,” he says airily.

I snort to myself at his dramatics, although there’s a trace of sincerity in his words. I unlace my boots and join him on the couch, lifting his legs up so I can sit. “It’s okay. No one’s perfect on their first day. It’s a little too early to give up. You’ve only done one shift.”

His sock-covered feet are on my lap, and he’s still lying on his stomach. I grip one ankle firmly, resting my forearm across his legs. A small sigh puffs from his parted lips.

“I’m not quitting, but honestly, I don’t think there’s ever been a worse bartender than me. I fucked up—”

“Language,” I interrupt.

He huffs before continuing, and I can almost sense the eye roll beneath his closed eyelids. “Imessedup the whole time. Dropped bottles, forgot what people asked for right after they’d just told me. I was so anxious the whole time. It was just too much.”

He sounds drowsy, his words slow and quiet.

“Did you ask Sky for a break?”

“Uh… no. I didn’t want to seem like a slacker on the first day.”

I shake my head and give his ankle a soft squeeze before closing my eyes and resting my head back against the cushion. “If you’re that overwhelmed, you need to take a break, or else it’ll get worse and worse. Five minutes won’t hurt anyone. You need the time to decompress—everyone does.”

After a few long minutes of comfortable silence when I’m starting to think he might’ve fallen asleep, he speaks again. “Thank you for sticking up for me back there. I heard all of it. I didn’t even make it outside. And… I’m sorry. I don’t want to add more stress to your life. It really might be for the best if I don’t work there.”

My hand strokes lazily over his foot, squeezing at the arch. I feel him wiggle around, rather than see, since I refuse to open my heavy eyelids. “Hendrix, you saw the pride flag hanging in there—I put it there. Anyone who has a problem can see themselves out,” I say, hoping he can feel the finality in my words. “You’re not a problem or an inconvenience or a burden to anyone, especially not me.”

I don’t think he understands just how much I mean those words, and it digs into my chest painfully. This is what I get for leaving him all those years ago. I hadn’t realized it would impact me this much over time.

It’s okay. By the end of this summer, Hendrix and I will rebuild our relationship. It won’t be like it was—it’ll be something new, something we both need.

The permanent wrinkle in my brow subsides, and my limbs grow heavier, melting into the couch. Warmth spreads across my skin, relaxing all my senses as sleep overcomes me.

CHAPTEREIGHT

HENDRIX

Grant thought he knew just the way to cheer me up after my ridiculous melt down last night, and while the intention is there, I’m not entirely sure he thought this through.

He steps up onto his boat—but not just any boat. It’s an airboat, which he explained got its name because it uses air to propel itself forward. There’s a humongous propeller at the rear in a wired cage, and two seats right in front of it. The rest of the boat is flat. “Come on, Hendrix. You’re going to love it.”

I squint my eyes in the sunlight and cross my arms over my chest. “Love is a pretty strong word, don’t you think, Uncle?” The look he gives me is unimpressed at best, so I heave a sigh and step onto the deck and sit in the chair next to him.

Calling him uncle is feeling weirder by the day. I thought it’d at least establish a boundary in my brain, but it hasn’t. Apparently, my brain doesn’t care about things like that because last night, I nearly blew my cover.

The way his large hands gripped my feet and massaged the arches and all the way up my ankle—it was all I could do to keep still. I wanted to rub my foot over his jean-covered crotch; it had only been a few inches away. Andoh my God,he didn’t stop. He never removed his hands from me, not even after he fell asleep, and I was stuck with a painful erection. Luckily, since I was on my stomach, he didn’t see, but that was its own torture. I wanted to drag my heavy cock against the couch, rut against it until I exploded.

Heat crawls up the back of my neck. Thank God I had enough sense not to do that. Today would’ve been a whole lot different if I had.

“Your cheeks are getting red already, kid. You need to get in the sun more,” he grunts, and grabs some sunscreen from his bag.

My cheeks flame even hotter, and I look away. Damn it, was I seriously blushing just now?

I take the sunscreen and smear it on dutifully.

He gives me a once over. “Give it here. I’ll do your back.”

---