“I think Cole would tell you if he had siblings, wouldn’t he?”
Against my will, my spine instantly straightens. His tone is chastising. Of course, Cole would tell me if he had siblings. I’ve known him for long enough.
“Right,” I reply in a rush, shaking my head like I was in a fog and that was why I’d asked such a dumb question.
“Besides I’ve never been married,” he adds, his Adam’s apple moving up and down. “Having multiple kids from multiple women wasn’t a mistake I wanted to keep making.”
I remain still, watching him and kind of feeling bad. Cole was completely unplanned and, even to a small degree, unwanted by his teenage parents. Some of the mystery of their poor relationship starts to come into focus.
But I also appreciate his pragmatism. It didn’t take a young Pike Lawson long to learn that making babies with just anyone wasn’t what was right for him. That was a consequence I never wanted to experience, not even once.
He seems to realize what he’d said and how it probably sounded, because he stops and looks over at me, thinning his eyes in an apology. “I didn’t mean it… like that. I—”
“I know what you meant. It’s okay.”
I jerk my thumb behind me and back away. “I’m going to go study. I’m taking a few credits this summer, so…’night.”
He turns back, loading the dishwasher with soap and starting the machine.
“Thank you again for letting us stay here,” I say.
He glances at me. “Thank you for dinner.”
And before I leave, I step over to the table where I left a scented candle burning. I should’ve asked him about that. He might not like frilly scents in his house.
Leaning over the table, I close my eyes, take in a breath, and make my usual wish Let tomorrow be better than today. And I blow, almost instantly smelling the pungent stream of smoke curling into the air from the extinguished wick.
It’s always the same wish. Every candle. Every time. I want a life I never want to take a vacation from. That’s my goal.
Except for the match I blew out at the theater. I made a different wish that night.
When I open my eyes, I see Pike watching me. He quickly straightens and turns away.
And as I leave the kitchen and head toward the stairs in the living room, I drop my magazine on the end table next to the couch.
Now someone lives here.
Pike
I blink awake, my eyelids heavy and slow as the dim room comes into view.
It’s still dark. I don’t normally wake up before five-thirty. Why am I…
No, wait. I grunt, opening my eyes a little wider and noticing the faint glow dancing across my bedroom wall.
Raindrops. Ah, shit. It’s not dark out. It’s cloudy.
I turn over onto my back and squint at the ceiling as I wait a moment and listen. And then, almost immediately, I hear it. The pitter patter of little dings bouncing off the rain gutters outside.
I let out a sigh. Goddammit. Not good. I dig my palms into my eyes and rub away the sleep before I glance at the clock on my bedside table. Five-twenty-nine.
Yep. Like clockwork.
I stopped needing an alarm clock years ago, my body just getting used to waking up at the same time every day. I still set it, though, just in case. Reaching over, I feel for the switch on the side and nudge it over two spots, turning off the alarm before it goes off.
The rain could really set us back today. I don’t need to be at the site for another hour and a half, but half the guys will probably try to call in, thinking we won’t be able to put in a full day anyway, so may as well stay in bed.
Not gonna happen, though. We’re working on something today—anything—because I don’t feel like side-stepping my kid’s bad mood and foul looks all day if I stick around this house. I’d rather be at work.