Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
With a sigh, I got out of bed. I’d basically spent the last forty-eight hours in this room. I was being a coward by not going to see my mom, and hoping Blond Curls—Lawson—hadn’t told her I was in town. If he had, Mom likely would have called. Since she hadn’t, I could only assume he didn’t get involved.
But I did have a rental to look at today and a job interview later this week, so I needed to get my shit together. I was lucky to even have gotten the interview this soon. It was a newer clinic, and they had a NP spot to fill.
The shower was hot, which was nice. I spent more time than needed in there, letting the hot water pelt my sore back muscles. When I got out, I dressed, brushed my teeth, took my meds—fiber and PrEP—before shoving my phone into my back pocket, grabbing my keys, and heading out.
First stop, coffee. Real coffee, not hotel-room coffee, which tasted like crap.
After that I typed Mom’s address into my GPS because I was a shitty son who had never even seen his mom’s house or been to her hometown until now.
I smiled when I pulled up in front of the small yellow home with white shutters. It looked quaint, comfortable, and so my mom and absolutely nothing like my dad. I never understood their relationship, and still didn’t to this day. Yeah, they were divorced and had moved their separate ways—he and I had nothing to do with each other—but I didn’t ever remember my parents appearing in love with each other. I didn’t remember them smiling at each other and laughing with each other. On the surface, they had probably looked to others like they had things in common, but they hadn’t. Mom had always had simpler tastes than him. She had never been flashy, or intent on appearances, or strict, which was why it had been so hard to handle when she found out I was gay and told me to deny myself. If Mom couldn’t accept me, how could anyone? That had sent me into a spiral of depression and denial that had taken me a long time to shake. I was out now, had been for years, and she’d changed her tune, but things had never been the same between us. It probably made me an asshole, but I couldn’t make myself forget.
“You got this, Callum,” I told myself, turning off the car and getting out. As soon as I did, I saw her. She had her back to me, and was sitting on the grass with her hands in the dirt. The fence had prevented me from seeing her from the car.
Mom had always loved flowers and would spend hours a day out in the garden. Sometimes dinner would be late because she’d lose track of time, and Dad would get annoyed. “You don’t have anything to do all day, and you can’t get dinner done on time?”
Fuck, I hated him. Would always hate him. He wasn’t abusive, but he was an asshole. No matter how hard I’d tried, I’d never been good enough for him.
“Like this, Cal. See, you need to dig the hole a bit deeper.” Mom’s voice flooded my head, and I smiled at the memory. I’d forgotten how much I’d liked gardening with her. How could I have forgotten that?
Suddenly I saw Mom’s shoulders stiffen, like she knew someone was watching her. She turned slowly, and the moment her eyes landed on me, they widened in surprise. “Callum?”
I stood there, not sure what to say. Then I shrugged, kept standing on the sidewalk, looking at my mom over the small white fence. “Surprise.”
“Callum,” she said again, this time stronger, steadier, and shoved to her feet. We both moved toward the open gate, and then she threw her arms around me and held me. “You’re here. I can’t believe you’re here. Is everything okay? Good God, are you okay?”
“Yeah, Mom.” I pulled back a little, looked at her. “I’m all right. I…” Missed you…needed my mom.
“It’s okay. As long as you’re fine, it doesn’t matter why you’re here. I’m just glad you are. Oh God, I got dirt all over you.” She tried to wipe the brown from my shirt.
“I don’t care,” I told her, and pulled her into my arms again.
CHAPTER TWO
Knox
My cell rang, and I looked over at where it sat on my workbench to see my daughter’s name on the screen. Charlotte was only ten, and while that was young for a cell phone, I’d wanted her to have one so she could get in touch with me anytime she wanted. Carol, my ex-wife, had moved back to Colorado after the divorce a few years ago to be close to her family, and it was hard being so far away from my kids, only seeing them over the summer and every other major holiday. So this way, Charlotte and Logan, my son, could at least call me anytime, anywhere. Both my kids knew that no matter what, I’d always pick up.