The Best Next Thing ((Un)Professionally Yours 1)

“I used to read them when I was a kid. But as I got older, I got busier and I didn’t have much time for reading. About eight years ago, I happened to see a commercial for my favorite author’s new book. When I saw it was available on audiobook, I didn’t hesitate. I haven’t looked back since.”

“Why fantasy?”

“You’re full of questions tonight,” he said, with a tiny smile, taking a nibble from his fourth sandwich. Charity was still on her second.

“Just interested.”

“Why do you think I love fantasy novels?”

“Because it was so very distant and different from your reality?”

He didn’t reply but his smile widened.

They were both silent for a few moments as they polished off a few more sandwiches.

“I think you underestimate the strength of your relationship with your siblings,” she said, and he lifted a quizzical eyebrow.

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ve seen the way they vie for your attention, and constantly try to include you in their activities. I always thought you were just being a total douche when you’d brush them off and sit in your corner with your headphones. I assumed you were working and didn’t have the time or patience to spend time with them.”

“No…I…” His voice trailed off, and his brow puckered into a formidable frown. One that would have had her running scared a week ago. “I was listening to my books. Not working…I always thought they were just inviting me along because they felt they had to. I’m not exactly Mr. Hip and Cool.”

She chuckled. “The fact that you used the words ‘hip’ and ‘cool’ kind of highlights the point you were making about being neither of those things. They weren’t inviting you out of some sense of duty. They always looked so crestfallen whenever you rejected their invitations.”

“I wasn’t rejecting them,” he denied, his voice heating defensively.

“I’m just telling you how it looked to me. And possibly to them?”

“Fuck.” The word was rife with remorse, self-recrimination and frustration.

Feeling terrible for pointing out what had seemed so obvious to her, Charity covered his hand on the table with her own and squeezed reassuringly. She didn’t speak, lending silent support because she could sense that he needed that more than any words.

He flashed her a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I sometimes—” He stopped and cleared the gruffness from his throat. “I’m not always great around people. Not even my own family. When I was a kid, I kept my emotions under lock and key. My mother did so much for us, she didn’t need to be burdened with my fears and frustrations. Not when she had so much to deal with already. Work, Hugh’s needs, and then Vicki started acting out when she was older. She needed to be able to depend on me, you know?”

“I know.”

“I was old enough to understand what it would mean for us if she lost any of her jobs and couldn’t make the rent. We’d all be out on the streets, or worse, the kids and I would have been taken from her.” Charity found it telling how he often referred to his siblings, but not himself, as kids. He really had been old before his time and she found that knowledge more than a little tragic.

“She has no idea,” he continued, unaware of her troubled thoughts. “That I know how many nights she came home and locked herself in the bathroom and cried. I didn’t want her to have to worry about what was happening at home with the kids. I strove to be dependable. Took care of the little ones, got good grades, even though it meant staying up till the early hours studying. I promised myself that one day I’d be successful and my mother would never have to work or worry again.”

“You were. So why don’t you cut yourself some slack once in a while, Miles?”

“I’m afraid…” His voice faded as if he was having second thoughts about what he had been about to say.

“Of?” she prompted him.

“I’m afraid that if I stand still or stop for too long, I’ll lose everything I’ve built. And I won’t be able to take care of them anymore.”

“Do they still need you to take care of them?”

His forehead puckered, and he shook his head abruptly.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been banging on about this for way too long. This was supposed to be a relaxing evening. Tell me about you.” He looked troubled for a second before adding, awkwardly, “You, before everything.”

“Before my marriage you mean?” she asked frankly.