It breaks him out of his shell, and he reclines his hips against the counter behind us.
“I think Mom and Chaz have been having issues. He’s a good guy, nothing like the trash she used to date, but still. Last time she got dumped…”
Puzzle pieces hang in the air, and I begin to fit them together like the grid over the empty paper.
“Was that the night of her accident?”
He sighs, but bobs his head. “Hard to trust my mom with anyone after that.”
“Oh.” It’s all I say, but I continue to spin the focus wheel. Amantha’s words from our phone call echo in my mind, and I attempt to organize them into something that might help.
“People can change, Brandon. I mean, look at us.”
His chest rises in a soft laugh, then falls still.
“Maybe she has too,” I supply.
“She has changed,” he agrees, but his forlorn expression doesn’t budge. “She does change, over and over again, but it never lasts.”
“What does your dad think of Chaz?” I ask. “I don’t remember you saying anything about him.”
Silence gathers for a long moment before Brandon mutters, “He’s never been in the picture.”
This information sits heavily on my heart, weight expounding by the second. The reverence with which he talks about Tuck’s dad makes so much sense now. Why his concern over his mom is so much more dire.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I murmur. “For the both of you.”
The weight of his pain presses down on us, and I know I can’t be the one to fix it. So I set the exposure timer, slip my hand into his and bear the burden beside him.
As the seconds pass, a weary smile tugs Brandon’s mouth, and a bit of worry fades from his eyes. He pulls me into a long hug, and I drink in the smell and feel of him.
“Thanks, Kate.”
The timer beeps, and I submerge the photo of Brandon and me into the dev solution before pressing my hips back against the counter with a grin.
“You’re welcome, fake boyfriend.”
I think his mouth tightens, but he slips it beneath a charming grin before saying, “Now let’s see these prints.”
thirty-eight
PRESENT DAY
BRANDON
The blue horizon undulates far in the distance, blurring sea and sky. The sun’s rays are hardly deterred by my thick black sunglasses, and I have to squint if I so much as lift my head from the path to the beach.
Cam and I trail Liza and Kate’s conversation about wedding planning with Vivian yesterday as we make our way across the sandy expanse. Kate’s parents had no interest in coming to the beach this afternoon, but I’m not complaining. Pretty sure all four of us were relieved to hear they’d arranged an outing with some country club members they ran into earlier.
I hoist one of the beach totes higher on my shoulder as I clench a stack of towels beneath my arm. As irritated as Kate was about her mom treating me like staff yesterday, she certainly has no qualms about loading me up like a donkey now.
I gave her a hard time, but the truth is I was going to offer anyway. Cam balances a sport umbrella on his shoulder beside a second tote as we make small talk.
Gritty sand floods my flip flops until we find a spot the girls deem optimal for sun-to-water ratio, whatever that means. I plop the bag down as Cam sets up the umbrella. Kate approaches me with a slysmile, taking a towel from the stack. She lifts up and pecks me on the cheek.
“Thanks, fluffy bunny. You’re the sweetest,” she says, crinkling her nose.
“Anything for you, bubbles.”
