My baser instincts want to prod him for more information, but I doubt that’s why he’s come to my office. This isn’t a session; he isn’t one of my clients. Besides, am I curious about this because I’m trying to gain a little insight into the brusque, stoic man who has managed to stay more than one night, and who has been quietly noting and fixing more things around camp than is even necessary?
Maybe.
Ok, definitely.
But not because he’s got me going to bed these past couple nights confused and swooning over him, having been watching him stalk around here, putting Kai in his place. It’s because I want to know what’s making the sexy grump stay. He’s piqued my curiosity, nudging my inherent need to be a solver, a healer.
Has Evan got nothing or no one else to go home to? If not, why the wedding band? Is it Colton’s mother’s?
The more I’ve seen of him, and the few times I’ve conversed with him, he’s definitely not what I expected at first glance. Looks like Ma was right not to judge. There’s more than meets the eye when it comes to Evan Waters, and I want to know more.
Specifically, why I constantly am catching him watching me, when he thinks I don’t notice. What’s with those looks, the ones that make the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention? The ones that cause me to pause, and my cheeks to flush, like I’m acutely aware of his eyes on me.
I shake those thoughts from my head. “So, what brings you to my office? Anything I can help you with?” I ask Colton.
He gnaws at the inside of his cheek, peering down into his lap where he’s picking at his cuticles. “How long is my dad staying for?” he asks, not making eye contact with me.
My eyebrows shoot up. “I really don’t know.” I shrug. “He’s kind of taken it upon himself to start making repairs around here…”
He does look up and meets my gaze now. “You didn’t, like, ask him to stay to keep an eye on me or something? I know he talked to you before coming here; I’m sure he must have told you all about what a fuckup I am.”
“He didn’t put it like that,” I assure Colton, then I follow it up with, “I’m pretty sure he’s just worried about you, truthfully.”
That much I can say earnestly, because, since meeting him in person, it’s become clear I was wrong about his level of concern toward Colton as well. He cares deeply. He loves his son wholeheartedly. I was initially wrong about that too, I suppose. Emailing is such a hard way of conversing, when you can’t tell the tone and watch body language.
Evan’s oceanic blue eyes, while captivating, yes, give away much more than his emails—or even his mouth—ever would dare to. That much, I know for sure. All I got from Evan in the emails was several warning flags, before we moved onto other topics, like the camp itself. Now, however, Evan alluded to having some life-altering experience of his own at a summer camp years ago—I feel like he’s worried the same will happen to Colton, and since the two don’t interact healthily, he’ll be out of the loop.
Colton’s eyes fall to his lap again. “I wish he wouldn’t worry so much,” he mutters. “He’s overprotective. He makes me feel smothered. Like I can’t be trusted.”
I dip my head until I get his attention again, and ask him, “Be honest with me, did you ever give him a reason to make you feel like that?”
“I got in trouble a little…”
By the correspondence I had with Evan, it was far more than just a little over the past two years, but I don’t pry because it would be disingenuous to tease the info out of him that way. It sounded like mostly petty stuff, anyway. Likely cries for attention. Even if it was negative attention, it was still attention.
I sigh. “It’s going to sound cliché, but I’m going to tell you this anyway… parents,goodparents, worry about their childrenconstantly. What may seem overbearing to you is likely just his inability to be able to admit to himself that you’re growing up on him, and that terrifies him. Trust is an earned object, not a hand-me-down. Is there a reasonyou’re wondering how long he’s here for? Do you feel unsafe with him present?”
He shakes his head aggressively. “No, nothing like that. Dad’s never been”—he looks up, like he’s searching for the word—“abusive or anything like that. I just don’t think he gets me, you know? I don’t think he ever will…”
“Do you guys communicate much?”
He shakes his head. “Dad doesn’t really do the whole talking thing.”
I snort. “I noticed.”
He smirks.
“Well, I guess the answer to your question is this: no, he’s not here because I asked him to stay, but I really do appreciate the help he’s given me over the last couple of days. I’ve been able to do more of the administrative stuff I was backlogged on. I imagine once the weekend’s over, he’ll be leaving to go back home, anyway.”
Colton shrugs. “Dad doesn’t really like working on the boat with Gramps.”
“What does he do for work?”
“He’s a lobsterman for now, but only because I got him fired from his last job,” he murmurs. “He had to leave too many times to make sure I went to school and to pick me up at the police station when me and my buddies got caught tagging…”
I nod. “I suppose that explains the overprotective thing, huh?” I question him.
He squirms in the chair and nods. “I know he thinks I did it on purpose, but I swear I didn’t. I know since Mom died, Dad struggles to make ends meet. He had to sell our house, and we moved into a cheap apartment in town.”
