Aiken
Islowed my pace in front of Claire’s house, catching a glimpse of the tree we’d decorated in the window. It couldn’t help but put a smile on my face. After we’d put up the tree and decorated it, we’d fucked like rabbits, again—crude, I know, but the truth.
She’s not old (her word, not mine) in the sheets.
After all the holiday joy, we booked tickets to go see my pops, which was the main reason behind the guilt eating away at my gut.
Feeling guilty as fuck as I walked back inside my house, sweaty and spent, I tried to shove the feelings aside. It was the Wednesday after Thanksgiving: The tree had been up for three days, our plans to go home solidified for the same amount of time, and here I was sneaking off to meet Abbie and Allison.
“Shit,” I grumbled, stripping out of my cold-weather running gear and getting into a steaming shower. For a moment, I almost jacked off, needing to calm the hell down. I was strung tight, and if I didn’t get that under control, Claire would know something was up. She was a trained clinician—she already questioned my relationship with Abbie as it was.
Dressed, I grabbed my keys, popped next door, and let Smitty out. He didn’t need it—he’d survived before me—but I liked doing it. Running five minutes late already, I jumped into my truck and gunned it toward the off-campus coffee shop.
I had to make sure Abbie wasn’t playing me. She’d said some pretty unbelievable things to me before Thanksgiving. Some shit and mumbo jumbo I couldn’t hardly believe, but I had to listen for the sake of finding my mom.
Today, Abbie wanted to bring Allison to confer. It was bullshit. This wasn’t happening. Not now. Not when shit was finally going well for me.
My sour mood worsened by the time I made it to the coffee joint. I knew Claire was teaching her graduate symposium, which only heightened my guilt. All this fucking sneaking around, and it was either for nothing, or was going to bite me in the fucking ass.
“Hey,” I greeted the two young women sitting at a corner table, tossing back lattes.
“Hey,” Allison said. Abbie only nodded.
I folded into the chair opposite them and asked, “What’s up?”
Allison conferred with Abbie in whispers before confirming the cockamamie BS Abbie had told me before Thanksgiving.
If I’d thought I wanted to find my mother, I’d been sorely wrong.
“You two need to keep this to yourselves. I’m still not sure I believe this whole thing you’ve concocted. With the Internet, it’s easy enough to find out details. Either way, keep your traps shut until I figure some shit out.”
“We’re not lying,” Abbie insisted.
“Keep your trap shut.” I stood to leave. “And don’t you dare breathe a fucking word of this to your beloved Professor Richards. She’s mine to protect.”
After filling the truck with gas, I went into town for a second black coffee and a vanilla-flavored thing for Claire. It’d been a rough day, and I predicted it would be an equally rough night. I’d bit off too much for one day, but I was a man. I told myself to act like one.
For some reason, I felt like talking to my dad, so I dialed him while I waited for Claire’s drink, taking a long pull of my own.
“Hey, Son,” he answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Pops, how ya doing?”
“I sure like the idea of you being here for Christmas. Quiet now. How’s that lady of yours? She looking forward to coming?”
“Claire’s doing okay. We’re going to pack up Abby’s room tonight. That was going to be her New Year’s resolution, but we’re tackling it early.”
“Sounds like it’s not going to be a fun one.”
“No, it’s not.”
The barista called my name, and I snatched Claire’s beverage and hightailed it to my truck. Our plan was to order a pizza later.
“So, remember I told you about the two girls who’d gotten themselves involved with looking for Mom?”
I tucked the phone in my neck while opening the door and shoved the coffees in the center console of my truck.
“Yeah. Honestly, I thought you’d give that all up by now. You finally found yourself some happiness, not traditional, but go with it.”
