“Thanks, I appreciate the offer. It means more than you know.” There’s a pause before he releases a breath. “I keep telling myself that it’s a slump and it’ll pass, but so far, that hasn’t turned out to be the case.”
As I rub his thigh with long comforting strokes, his gaze drops to my hand. Our muscles tense before I hesitantly remove it and clear my throat, shifting away and fiddling with the hem of my shorts. My gaze bounces around the room, looking everywhere but at him. I notice a couple of photos with Colton, Jenna, and Warren. One where they’re skiing in Colorado. Another with them posing in swimsuits on a tropical beach. My gaze settles on a framed picture from high school graduation before shifting to an eight-by-ten taken with Beck. The two boys are wearing their high school football uniforms. Their arms are thrown around each other’s shoulders as they beam at the camera.
He talks about Warren and Jenna, but he’s never mentioned his mother. I’ve heard the whispered rumors that swirled through the hallways of our high school, but I have no idea where the truth lies. When we were together, I was too afraid to bring her up. As curious as I am, the question sits perched on my tongue, but still...I’m unable to release it into the atmosphere.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
My teeth sink into my lower lip as I shrug. The words are so close to bursting free, but I’m afraid to push for more information. I’m fearful that he’ll shut down, and this little bit of intimacy we’re sharing will vanish in the blink of an eye, never to reappear again.
With a slight tilt to his head, he narrows his eyes. “Come on, I can tell there’s something on your mind. Out with it already.”
Even though we’re not together and haven’t been for a while, Colton is still able to easily read me. It’s both disconcerting and reassuring at the same time.
“There are pictures of Jenna and Warren, but none of your mother.” Hastily, I tack on, “You never talk about her.”
My breath gets clogged in my throat when his expression darkens. Too late do I realize that my question has crossed an invisible line.
“No,” he mumbles, “I don’t.” His lips curve into a frown as his forehead creases.
The moment stretches uncomfortably between us as he remains mute.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“Don’t be.”
In one swift motion, he reaches over and plucks me off the couch before depositing me on his lap so that I’m straddling his thighs.
Searching his gaze, I recognize the naked vulnerability that ricochets within the blue depths. “Forget I asked. We can talk about something else.” Or nothing at all.
His hands wrap around my waist to hold me firmly in place. The heat of his flesh burns through my clothes to the skin below. It’s like a tattoo that will always be there, branding me as his. Even if no one else is able to see it, I’ll know.
“It’s all right. You can ask me anything.” There’s a pause. “It might not seem like it, but I’m really trying to open up.” He shrugs. “Just be patient with me. I’m not used to discussing my feelings. Or her.”
That’s all it takes for my heart to shatter into a million broken pieces. The need to touch him pounds through me, and my hand drifts up to cup his shadowed cheek.
Without further prompting, he says, “My parents met when they were young. My father was attending college, and Candace—that’s my mother’s name—was in art school. The way dad tells it, they met at a party and fell instantly in love. A couple of weeks later, they hopped on a plane and flew to Vegas to tie the knot.”
Wow. That’s actually a super romantic story.
Before I can pummel him with questions, he continues, “For the most part, they were happy. Dad finished school and found a job working in finance. Candace rented a studio space so she could paint. Two years later, I was born. That’s when their marriage turned rocky. She resented anything that took her away from her work. Dad hired a nanny to take care of me, hoping that would help. Days would slip by, and we wouldn’t see her. It was like she’d get lost in her art and lose all track of time.” His voice trails off as his eyes take on a faraway quality.
When Colton remains silent, I ask, “What happened then?”
It takes a moment for him to blink back to the present. “When I was five, she decided it wasn’t possible to be both an artist and a mother.”
My heart clenches painfully as I realize how the rest of the story will unfold.
Any emotion filling his voice disappears even though I see hints of it in his eyes. “She packed her bags and left.”