“Do you know what he does for a living? Does he even work? It wouldn’t surprise me if he didn’t. Mom always brought around deadbeat assholes. They were always shit.”
“He does marketing and design for companies.”
“Just because he works doesn’t mean he’s not trying to get money. Maybe now that he knows my mom died, he knows she left me a bunch of money. He could just be a money grabber. It could be a scam Morgan pulls with him.”
“Brandon, he’s not coming after your money.”
“No?”
“No.”
“How do you know? Just because you spent an afternoon with him, doesn’t mean you know he’s not a money grabber.”
“Brandon, he’s not interested in your money, or mine for that matter. His brother—your other uncle—is Hollis Ward.”
Brandon’s narrowed eyes relaxed a bit as the recognition set in.
“The fighter guy?”
“Precisely. So your father isn’t looking for money.” I tugged him closer and kissed the angry, wrinkled line on his forehead. “I told him that it would be up to you if you wanted to meet him and when.”
“Yeah, great. I’ll see him sometime, I guess.”
“It’s completely up to you, pup.”
“I know.” Brandon sighed. “I’m going to go take a shower before dinner,” he said.
“I’ll get the food started.”
He nodded once more, and before he stood, I reached for his hand to pull him closer again.
“I love you, Brandon.”
“I know. I love you too.”
“Better.” I playfully swatted his ass as he headed toward our room.
I went into the kitchen and straight to my wine chiller. After today, we could both use a glass of wine with dinner. I picked a bottle of white wine out and set it on the counter. I turned to look in the direction of our room when I heard the water to our shower turn on.
I went to the cabinet and took out a couple of wine glasses. I thought about our conversation, and so much stuck out to me.
The sarcasm.
The detachment.
The anger.
The confusion.
The indifferent attitude.
As I connected all the dots to his behavior and demeanor tonight, I took off in a sprint to our bathroom. He had done all the things that he usually did when he was trying so hard to let me see the pain and turmoil.
When I reached the doorway of the bathroom, my stomach sank. Brandon was sitting on the floor of the shower, letting the water cascade down over him. In his hands was a pair of scissors; one of the blades was pressed against the skin on the inside of his thigh. He was biting down on the washcloth to prevent me from hearing his cries.
Goddammit.
He looked so small in the large shower as he looked up at me with such sad eyes. As I walked to him, he dropped the scissors and let his head fall forward. I stepped into the shower and sat beside him against the shower wall, leaving the water on. I wrapped my arm around him and pulled his shaking body against me. I reached for the washcloth and tugged it free from between his lips. I hated seeing him in so much pain.
