I blink so hard my brain almost screws up.
My smile in response is forced enough to curdle milk. “Uh, yeah, Griff, you are good to go.”
Griffin looks like he might argue with that, like maybe he was about to ask for a minute more of my attention, or maybe he was just about to saysomething, but the way his eyes flicker with that tiny hint of disappointment tells me he’s not sure what the words would even be.
And then, as if a switch flipped, he nods.
“Cool,” he says. “Are we… getting together to work on the project again today?”
And there it is.
The question that detonates something deeper and more inconvenient than an active volcano in my chest.
My throat tightens for a second, a stupid second, because this is school, this is work, this is nothing emotional, nothing significant, nothing that should even remotely feel like potential romantic catastrophe.
I force the words out, “No, uh, that’s fine. I’ll just put it together once you email me your portion.”
Griffin’s face falters for the second it takes a breath to pass. Not sad, exactly, more like surprised. And when he nods, slowly, I feel that little tight twist in my chest that I’m trying to pretend is just a muscle spasm and not a catastrophic emotional misfire.
“Okay,” he says, voice measured but with this tiny flicker of disappointment. “Email me when you’ve got it.”
I manage a nod.
And then he turns and walks out with Mack at his side. Mack throws a smile over his shoulder as he leaves and I can’t even muster up the desire to fucking give one back.
“My mom called.”
I really wanted to spew my guts to Hughie about how my brain has somehow decided Griffin Thatcher is my perfect man.
We’ve been parked on the ratty old couch in the living room for what feels like an eternity, watching some supernatural documentary where they’re shouting about portal energies, while Hughie quietly ices his ankle on the coffee table.
He grunts, like he’s trying to make the question sound neutral, “What did she have to say?”
It’s no secret he hates my mom. His dad does too, and honestly? I don’t blame them.
She has this uncanny ability to make every situation about herself, even when she claims to be doing something selfless.The fact that Hughie and his dad have still shown me nothing but acceptance over the years , even when she hasn’t, makes me love them even more. They didn’t toss me to the curb when I needed family the most. They stepped in and acted like I mattered.
I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice level even though there’s this weight in my chest that feels like someone hammered a granite block in there. “She’s not coming home for Christmas,” I say, forcing the words out slow. “She told me to go with you.”
It shouldn’t matter. Logically it shouldn’t. But it feels like I’m a burden almost instantly, like I’m this parcel she’s handing off to Hughie like he has no choice in the matter. And sometimes I swear he needs a break from me. Not because he doesn’t care, but because I take up emotional bandwidth I shouldn’t.
“Don’t do that,” Hughie says, eyes scanning mine like he can’t help but read me which, of course, he can. He’s probably the only person on the planet who knows me better than I know myself. “I kind of thought you would come home with me whether or not she was around.”
I shrug, because he isn’t wrong. Even if she hadn’t been too busy for me, I probably would have preferred to go over to Hughies place. It’s just…I didn’t think I would be forced to ask. I kind of thought it would come up naturally and he would offer, like he does every year. And maybe he would have, it’s still really early. I’m just…still a little raw from my mother’s decision to not include me….again.
“Didn’t want to impose.”
He scoffs, that familiar mixture of amusement and exasperation that only he can pull off, and gives me that deadpan look. “Dude, you’re family.”
I sigh and close my eyes, pressing the heels of my palms against them to fend off that burning sting that comes whenevermy mom’s absence hits a particularly sore spot. “I seriously just don’t want you to feel like you have to let me come. Like it’s cool if you need space or whatever with your dad.”
He lifts the ice pack off his ankle and tosses it onto the coffee table.
“Our dad,” he corrects, sounding more firm than annoyed. “Knock that shit off.”
He says it like it’s obvious. Like I meant nothing and the idea of me not being part of his family is a plot twist he refuses to entertain. And despite the lump in my throat part of me feels this quiet relief.
“Anything else you wanna talk about?” Hughie asks after a moment, when I still haven’t said anything, his voice casual but too knowing to be completely offhanded.
