Page 5 of The Weight of Your Wishes

This is going to be a disaster.

CHAPTERTWO

GRANT

It wasn’t surprising to me that Cynthia had called. She called somewhat often—usually once a month or so. She usually updates me on her current relationship, her work drama, and Hendrix. I care about Cynthia, but he’s the one I stick around for. If it weren’t for him, our friendship would’ve probably taken a dive a long time ago. It’s no secret that I can’t maintain a friendship or relationship to save my goddamn life.

What was surprising to me, however, was that she wanted me to take the boy in for the summer, and what… teach him a lesson? Her exact words were, “Teach him how to be a man.”

I scoffed at that but agreed without hesitation. She’s always been overly critical of him, but it’s true that he’s fucking up lately. In the past, I’ve tried to come to his defense, but what’s there to say to this? Failing college, losing his financial aid, drunk driving…

I reposition myself in my seat. I don’t remember long drives ever making my back ache like this, but after four hours, I’m more than thankful to see Cynthia’s house come into view. The pale-green exterior makes it hard to miss, even through my tired eyes.

After shifting my truck into park and turning off the headlights, I scratch at my beard and heave a sigh. The last time I saw the kid was at his high school graduation, and it was short-lived. He was more concerned with getting to his friend's party. He was jumpy. We were in the middle of the crowd of families congratulating their children on their life accomplishment, and Hendrix’s eyes flitted around from person to person, meeting everyone's gaze except mine. We used to have a sort of telepathic connection when he was a kid. It was the product of him not feeling like he could voice his true thoughts and feelings to Cynthia. He’d shoot me a look, and I’d speak for him.

His avoidance of me that day was unusual, but I can’t fault him. I guess I skipped out on some of the most important years of his life. Figured it didn’t matter because he was older, and his mom pulled herself together and started being a responsible adult. What did they need me for anymore?

I scrub my hand down my face and swing the door of my truck open. I don’t know why I bought this stupid, new truck in the first place. My old one did the job just fine.

Before I can get my bearings, the front door to the house opens and out walks Cynthia. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and I can see the way her eyebrows are scrunched together from here. “He’s not happy about this,” she warns.

I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting a little, but I hide my flinch. “Well, what the hell, Cynthia. You had me drive all the way out here.”

“Oh, he’s definitely going with you. There’s nothing else to it.”

I shake my head but grab my duffel from the seat and head up the driveway. This just doesn’t sit right with me. He’s twenty-one years old and should be able to make these decisions for himself.

In the faintly flickering light of her porch, the wrinkles on her forehead and around her eyes become more pronounced. It’s hard to ignore how much she’s changed over the past twenty-plus years. She’s far too young to look this burdened and exhausted, but I guess that’s what struggling through life with a kid will do to you if you let it.

“You’re doing the whole bearded lumberjack thing now?” She chuckles, breaking her prickly demeanor. I give her a blank look and step past her, into the house. “A man-bun, too? Jesus, Grant.”

“So what if I don’t want to drive into town for haircuts every month.” I shrug. I looked more put together when my dad was still around. He thought a man’s hair should be closely cropped and face smooth—it didn't matter that we were dirty construction workers; we still needed to be well-groomed. My brows furrow as I shake off the thought. It’s annoying how certain things still remind me of him.

My gaze roams over the living room to the adjoining kitchen, searching for Hendrix.

“He’s holed up in his room, as usual.”

I bristle at her words but give her a clipped nod. When he was a kid, he’d greet me excitedly at the door every time I came over, but I guess he isn’t a kid anymore.

“Are you hungry? Want some water?”

I shake my head. “No, but I could use a shower and some rest.”

My phone’s ringtone cuts through the silence.Shit. “It’s Veronica,” I let Cynthia know before answering the call.

“I went by the house and by the bar and didn’t see your truck,” she starts. I rub my forehead. I didn’t want to talk about this yet. Something tells me she won’t be thrilled about my new plans for the summer.

I clear my throat. “There’s been a bit of a family emergency. I had to come pick up Cynthia’s son, Hendrix. We’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon, I’m sure.”

“We?” she repeats.

“Yes. He’s going to come stay with me for the summer. I’ll explain the situation in person.” I don’t want to divulge all the personal details, seeing as it’s not really her business.

She scoffs. “Whatever, Grant. I don’t understand how this has anything to do with you. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again; it’s not normal to still be this close with your ex.”

My lips thin. There it is—one of the most common issues women seem to have with me. At first, they act like it doesn’t matter and brush it off under the guise of being understanding, but it always ends up different. Cynthia puts a cup down on the counter with more force than necessary to get my attention. “Hang up,” she mouths.

I shake my head in exasperation. “We’ll talk more when I’m back, Veronica. Just give us a couple of days before coming over so he can get adjusted.”

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