Page 6 of The Weight of Your Wishes

“Yeah, we’ll talk,” she says. “See you soon, darlin’.”

I hang up the phone and shove it back in my pocket with jerky movements.

“Let me guess; another jealous, insecure one?” Cynthia remarks.

I grab the cup of water and down it in one long gulp. “She’s not jealous. I just need to talk her through it, I guess, but you know how I am. I always say the wrong things.”

She works her lower lip between her teeth in thought for a long moment. “No, Grant. You don’t say the wrong things. The right person will understand you without issue.” She always tells me this, but the more time goes on, I believe her less and less. It’s better for me to not say anything at all.

I aim a short nod her way and turn on my heels. “Gonna hit the shower.”

“Okay. You know where everything is. I’m going to sleep. It’s been a long one. I’ll make breakfast in the morning.” She sighs and heads in the opposite direction to her room. “Goodnight, Grant.”

“Night, Cynthia.”

I trudge down the hall to the bathroom. Although this is Hendrix’s bathroom when he’s here, the beach-themed decor has Cynthia written all over it—seashells and dolphins. Even the mirror is lined with seashells of varying sizes.

After making quick work of undressing, I step into the bathtub. Despite it being a normal-sized shower, it certainly wasn’t made for me. At six foot five, my hair is way out of reach from the shower head, so I do an awkward hunched maneuver to quickly wash it and soap up the rest of me.

With my eyes fixed on the porcelain beneath my feet, I get lost in thought. I glide my palm from my neck, down to my chest, and when it hits my stomach, my lips turn down at the corners.

I used to look so different. There were chiseled abs beneath this skin. Now it more closely resembles a beer belly. Running my fingers through my long beard, I wonder for the umpteenth time if it looks unkempt rather than a symbol of my freedom. I don’t even want to consider the deep lines between my brows.

With a heavy sigh, I shut off the scalding hot water and grab the towel I hung up.Don’t think too hard,I tell myself. It never makes a difference anyway.

I fix the towel around my hips and brush my teeth while avoiding my reflection in the mirror. I open the door and nearly jump. “Jesus, Hendrix. How long have you been standing there?” The hallway is dark, so his face is hidden in shadows. “You okay? I would’ve hurried up if you knocked.”

He turns his head to the side. “Haven’t been waiting long. I heard the shower turn off and came out.” He pushes off the wall, standing straight. “But, um,” he hesitates, “I do need to get in there.” He seems sort of uncomfortable. My brows furrow in confusion. I step into the hallway to get out of his way as he hurries into the bathroom, almost tripping over his own feet, and slams the door shut.

I stand there for a moment, mouth agape.What the hell was that about?

He was never so… tense around me, and I feel like I did something wrong. A sick feeling swirls in my gut. Since Hendrix was a kid, I’ve never had to try too hard with him. He seemed to idolize me, and all I did was be my usual grumpy, prickly self.

If I somehow managed to fuck up my relationship with him, then it seems I’m beyond help.

Smooth. Real fucking smooth.

I pace back and forth in my room. I didn’t expect him to open the door wearing only a towel.Jesus.And the beads of water that were still running down his wide chest—I froze up. The whole scenario rendered me stupid. It’s not every day that you see your childhood crush half-naked. Matter of fact, I’ve never seen him in this state. Shirtless at the beach, yeah. Shirtless doing yard work, yeah. But never fresh out of a steaming hot fucking shower. I grit my teeth as that image worms its way back into my brain.

Nope. Not going there. I open my bedroom window and light a cigarette. As soon as we got home from the hospital, I locked myself in here with no intentions of coming out.

Maybe I should just leave now and make my way to Marina’s place for the summer—just avoid this shit in its entirety. I could pack a bag, climb right out of this window, call her up, and she’d make the drive to come get me.

What difference would it really make? I doubt Grant’s excited about this considering how my mom sprung her wild kid on him as if he couldfix me. He’s a grown man with no kids of his own. He owns a bar, for Christ’s sake. As far as I know, he never ended up settling down with anyone, and he lives in the middle of fucking nowhere swamp land. I’ll only be a nuisance to him, just like I am to her.

I reach up to rub my eyes.Fuck. I take a final, long drag from my cigarette and toss it out the window. The buzzing in my head quiets slightly.

This could all be worse. We could’ve died in that crash, or Marina could’ve died, and I would’ve lived with consuming guilt. Instead of bruises and cuts that’ll heal, I could’ve ended up paralyzed. Might’ve had to learn to walk again.

But we’re both okay. I’m just stuck spending the summer with the now forty-year-old straight man who made me realize I was bisexual.

And most unfortunate of all, I am undoubtedly still attracted to him.

* * *

I wake up to the smell of bacon and cinnamon rolls. Ah, yes. The eat-breakfast-together-like-a-family act for the sake of a visitor. I mentally roll my eyes since I haven’t bothered to open them yet. Maybe I could stay here in bed and pass it off like I slept through breakfast. Solid plan. I hug my pillow tighter and try to doze off, but my thoughts are already racing. The only time they ever shut up is when I’m asleep.

With a sigh, I heave myself out of bed. Seeing as how we’re being the perfect family today, I may as well lead with some false confidence. I pull on some sweatpants and a t-shirt and head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. My mom’s voice filters in through the hallway from the kitchen as I brush. She seems to be in a good mood today, but that may just be for Grant.

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