Page 8 of Always Mine

I finish off my sandwich, my mind roaming back to my brother. I wish that I’d made more of an effort with him over the last three years. It’s not that I didn’t try, I did, but he was upset and I was wrapped up in college and ball, so it was easy to become distant. He’s visited me a few times with our parents over the years, but it’s always been stiff between us. He’s angry with me, that much I know, but I’m at a loss on how to fix it—considering I don’t knowwhy.

“Guess I need to make more of an effort to listen to you then,” I finally concede, standing and rinsing my plate in the sink. “Even though I still stand by what I said. I do listen…sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” There’s the mom tone again. “I’d say almost never. You’re hardheaded, stubborn, and think you’re always right—”

“Damn, Ma. You wound me.” I press my slightly damp hand to my chest. “It hurts.”

Waving me off, she continues, “You’re just too much like your dad. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it gets you into trouble.”

Washing and putting the plate on the rack, I dry my one good hand and tuck it into my now-clean sweatpants. “Shots fired. Stop the bleeding.”

Yeah, I’m dramatic, sue me.

“I’m not saying this to be mean. I’m just saying… you’re stubborn.”

I tilt my head, searching for memories of this so-called stubbornness but come up blank. “I’d say strong-willed.”

She laughs, and the sound soothes me. I really did miss her. “Oh, dear, you’re something else. You’re being stubborn right now.”

My lips jut out in a pout as I assess her. “I am not. I’ll prove to you that I can listen. You tell me to do anything and I will.” And I mean it… As long as it’s not murder or something crazy. Even I have my limits.

“Listening and stubbornness are not the same thing.” She sighs before taking a long sip of her drink. “You do fall in both categories, though.”

“Well, they go hand in hand.” I pause for effect, and yeah, okay, I’ll admit I’m being a tad over-the-top. “I will do anything you want me to do… and I won’t complain.”

“You seem very sure of yourself.” She rests her elbows on the counter, staring at me from across the kitchen as she takes in my face. “But what I’m thinking of, you won’t do.”

I appraise her, taking in her Cheshire smile and unreadable eyes. Yeah, not really sure if I’m liking this, but it’s too late to backtrack now.I’m in it.“Why do you look like you’re about to ask me to commit a crime?”

“It’s not illegal.” Yeah, I’m really,reallynot liking this.

Biting down on my lip, I try to think of what it is she wants me to do, but I’m clueless. This would be one of those times where it’d be really nice if I could read her. “Okay, lay it on me.”

She looks away from me, eyes gliding across my kitchen before settling on the far window. She’s thinking, that much is obvious, but about what?

I’m on edge as she leaves me in limbo for several seconds, and I’m about to press her when she nods her head, clearly coming to a conclusion of whatever idea was bouncing around in her brain. Zeroing in on my face, she hits me with something I wasn’t expecting. “Go pack a bag, you’re coming home with me.”

We stand there, and I’m sure she can hear the rapid increase of my breathing as her words slam into me with the power of a Mack truck. I’m too stunned to speak, and I begin to think I misheard her. Surely she didn’t suggest that of all things. Only, the challenging look on her face lets me know I did not in fact hear her wrong. The room suddenly feels suffocating and I reach up with my good hand, pulling my shirt collar a bit, trying to fan myself.

Did we turn the heat on? Why in the hell is it so stifling all of a sudden?

“Ma.” My voice cracks and I hastily clear it, trying like hell to come up with what to say. She can’t be serious. Go home… to Hixley? Where my entire past is? Whereheis? The thought alone makes my stomach churn. “Ma—” I start, but she lets out a long sigh, cutting me off.

She crosses her arms over her chest, looking unamused. “You said you’d do anything.” Her tone is firm, which shows me she isn’t letting this go without a fight.

Fuck, I did.

“Yeah, but, Ma…” I scramble, trying to think of an excuse, any excuse to get me out of this. “My arm. I have to start physical therapy soon—”

“I’m sure there are physical therapists in Liberty—that’s only a town over from Hixley.”

“But my apartment…” I try again, but it’s no use. She’s ready for me as I should have expected she would be.

“Isn’t going anywhere.” Taking another long breath, she folds her arms over her chest and rips me open with her next words. “It’s been a long time, Pax. Don’t you think you should?” It’s not the words exactly, but more so her tone. The emotion there guts me, because even though she didn’t say it directly I know what she’s getting at.

Wyatt.

The weight of our breakup sits heavy on my chest and I release a shaky breath, willing those feelings to go away. It’s crazy how some days I feel like I’m over this, and others I’m back at the starting line. Do I want to face him? Face the memories I’ve been ignoring for the last three years?

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