Heather drums her fingers on the table. “Have you seen Dad lately?”
“Yeah. I saw him before I came here.”
“How’d he look today?” she asks apprehensively.
“Okay. He has a big bump on his head from falling face first out of his wheelchair. I guess he was reaching for something and hit the floor.” I rub my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “I was able to talk to the doctor today about switching medications. I don’t want him to be drugged up, but something needs to change so he doesn’t bust his head open.”
“Yeah, we need to get him into a better place with more staff.”
“Oh, that would help for sure. But places like that are expensive.”
Heather looks down at the table, dropping her I don’t give a shit attitude. She knows the stunt she pulled that got her arrested took away a lot from Dad. I spent money on her lawyer, and she obviously can’t work and contribute to the medical bills anymore.
“Why do you have so many scratches on your hands?” she asks.
“Kittens.”
“Awww, I want a kitten. Are they at the house?”
“No, Wes—my boss—has a sister who really likes cats. We hung out yesterday.” I say it almost like a confession, because Heather knows how far from normal this is for me. After picking up Jackson from school, I met Quinn and Emma at the farmers’ market downtown. I really like her, which surprised me more than anyone. Never in a million years would I think I’d be talking and laughing with someone like Quinn.
“You’re really making yourself at home. I thought one of your cardinal rules was not to get involved and make personal attachments or whatever.”
I shake my head, stomach tightening. “This isn’t my usual situation. I told you, Wes doesn’t have a trust fund. I don’t know…” I pick at the lint that’s stuck to the sleeves of my sweater, angling myself away from the chick who’s still looking at me. Judge away, bitch. You can’t be much better considering we’re both visiting someone in prison. “I’ll figure it out.”
Heather lets out a huff. “Do it fast. I’m almost out of money, and I really like being able to buy snacks.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I’m glad you have your priorities in check.”
“Is everything okay?” Wes asks softly. We just finished dinner, and I’ve hardly said a word throughout the meal. Going back to the south side, seeing my sister and my dad, and walking down the streets I’ve haunted since I was old enough to venture out on my own…it reminded me who I am.
Of the shit I’ve done.
And all the thoughts I’ve wrestled down are fighting to come up. To remind me how shitty of a person I am.
That there is no such thing as redemption.
“Yeah, just…just thinking.” I force a smile.
“Okay.” He doesn’t believe me, but he’s not going to press it. His phone buzzes again, and I eye it.
“You’re mister popular tonight.”
He flips it over and glances at the text. “It’s my brothers trying to get me to go out to the bar tonight.”
“On a Wednesday?”
“Yeah. There’s a twenty-first birthday celebration going on, and it’s always entertaining to watch.”
“You should go,” I tell him. “I’m here to look after Jackson after he’s asleep.”
Wes considers it for a whole two seconds. “Honestly, I feel bad going out.”
“Don’t. I’m here, and if you put Jackson to bed, then it’s not like you’re missing out on time with him, which is what I think you feel bad about, right?”
He smiles. “Right. They have been bugging me for ages. And I’ll only stay for an hour.”
“Stay as long as you’d like. I have a wild night planned, and having the law here is going to cramp my style.”
Wes laughs. “Then maybe I should stay.”
I gather the plates from the table and take them to the sink. “It’s going to get crazy up in here. It’ll start with me singing off-key to Def Leppard and will end with tea and a few more chapters of a rather steamy werewolf-vampire romance.”
“You like Def Leppard?”
“I do. Motley Crue, KISS, and Skid Row will be on repeat as well.” I turn on the sink to rinse the dishes. “You sound surprised. Are you judging me, Mr. Dawson?”
“I am. I am judging you hard, and I will admit you do not look like someone who’d be a fan of 80s hair bands.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“Apparently so.”
I laugh and start loading the dishwasher. “Don’t be mad if I teach Jackson the words to ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me.’”
“Oh, he already knows them.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Weston comes up behind me and grabs a plate from the sink to put into the dishwasher. “Add in Bon Jovi, Poison, Van Halen, and Ratt and you’ve pretty much named my whole playlist.”
“Did we just become best friends?”
“You like 80s rock and you made a Stepbrothers reference? It’s like you’re not real.”
I laugh, finding twisted humor in his words. I’ve never been this real with someone before.
“I’m not. You’re imagining everything right now. It’s all a dream.”
“At least it’s a good one.”
Dammit, Weston…if only you knew.
His phone rings, and he wipes his hands on a towel with a sigh.
“Your brothers really want you to go out.”
“They won’t stop until I do.”
“It’s cute, you know. And nice to see you all still be close as adults.”
“So close I’m going to send this call to voice—oh, it’s my mom. Never mind.” I finish loading the dishwasher as he talks to his mom, and it sounds like she’s stopping by to drop something off.
“Remember how I said my mom likes buying Jackson clothes?”
I start the dishwasher and grab a rag to wipe down the counter. “Yeah.”
“She’s bought ‘a few things’ and is bringing them over.”
“Awww, that’s so sweet.”
“Hey, Jackson!” Wes calls, and Jackson comes in from the living room. “Grammy is bringing you something.”
“A kitten?”
I can’t help but laugh.
“No, not a kitten.”
“Oh, man!” Jackson throws his head back dramatically. “But I really, really want one.”
“You should let him get a kitten,” I say, flashing Wes a sweet smile. “We played with them yesterday, and they’re so sweet.”
“I’ll think about it,” Wes says flatly, and Jackson starts jumping up and down. He runs back into the living room to look out the window for his grandma.
“The kittens are cute,” Wes agrees.
“They are so stinking cute, and oh my God, your sister’s house is huge,” I blurt, and it feels good to finally say it out loud.
Wes laughs. “Yeah, it’s…it’s something.”
“She has enough room for more cats.”