Second Chance Boyfriend (Drew + Fable #2)(25)
Author: Monica Murphy

He’s quiet for a moment and I look at him, see the shock and disbelief written all over his face. “You want to move? And leave me with Mom all alone?”

“No.” I shake my head. “No, no, no. I would never do that. I want us to leave Mom. I want the two of us to live together.” When he doesn’t say a word, I forge on. “She’s never here. She’s always with her new boyfriend and she doesn’t have a job anymore so she can’t pay rent. I’m paying for everything and trust me, it’s hard. I don’t make a ton of money. I work freaking part-time though my new boss is willing to give me more hours.”

“That’s great.”

“It is, but we still have too much apartment here. I bet I could find a two-bedroom in a better neighborhood for way less money. What do you think? You want to do it?”

“I’ll go wherever you go,” he says but I can hear the hesitation in his voice.

“But what?”

“But…I’m only fourteen. Aren’t there legalities or whatever about that sort of stuff? Like won’t Mom have to make you my guardian or something if I go and live with you?”

“Why would she need to? Let’s not pretend that she wants us around here so bad. She won’t care if you come live with me.”

“She might.” He drops his head, bunching the comforter up in his lap.

Crap. He wants to believe Mom actually cares about him. After all, he’s just a kid. No one wants to face the realization that their mom doesn’t give a rat’s ass about them. I still don’t like facing it. But I’ve put up a wall against the pain and tell myself it doesn’t matter. I don’t need her.

“Owen.” I grip his knee and he looks up, his gaze meeting mine. We both have the same eyes as Mom, though I always thought his were prettier. He has the thickest, darkest lashes I’ve ever seen, and I don’t know where he got them from considering his hair is a dirty blond. Girls are going to go crazy for those eyes someday, if they aren’t already. My brother is handsome. Cocky and full of attitude. I feel sorry for any girl who falls for him. “I want you with me. I don’t want to do this alone.”

“What about Drew Callahan? Wouldn’t you want to move in with him? Isn’t he rich?”

I grimace. “I have no idea what’s going on with Drew. But you and me? We’re blood. We’re family. I’m not about to leave you. We’re all each other has.”

“What’s Mom gonna do? Don’t you think she’ll get mad?”

“I doubt it. This way she doesn’t have to worry about us and she can go live with her boyfriend. I can find a nicer place that’s smaller and pay less rent. It’s a win-win for us all.” I can’t think about Mom getting upset with me for wanting to do this. Why should she care? I’m making her life easier.

“What happens if it doesn’t work out for her and Larry the Loser? Then where will she go?”

“Owen.” I grip his knee tighter. “She’s not our responsibility. She’s an adult. She can take care of herself.”

He tilts his head, screws up his lips. Looking far older and world-weary than any fourteen-year-old should. “I just worry about her. I worry about you too. I’m supposed to be the man of the house.”

My jaw drops. “Who told you that?”

“Mom. A long time ago. She said I had to watch out for the both of you and I promised I always would. I haven’t done the best job of it but I swear, I try.”

My heart breaks for this kid. He’s gone through so much at too young of an age. He’s seen too much. Grabbing his shoulders, I bring him in for a quick hug, not holding on to him for too long since I know he’ll just wiggle out of my grip anyway. “We’ll take care of each other, okay? It’s not all on me or all on you. We’ll share the load.”

“I’ll help you with whatever you need, Fabes. I’m on your side. I promise.” He clings to me again and I hug him close, savoring it for a little while longer. I love him so much. I hate that he’s conflicted between Mom and me.

“Go take a shower,” I tell him once I get up off his bed and start out of his room. “And when you get home today, I want you to clean this room. It sucks.”

His laughter follows me down the hall as I head toward the kitchen. I’ve been up for over a half hour, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Thinking of looking for an apartment today, talking to Owen about it, maybe gathering up the courage to talk to Mom about her moving out.

Trying my best to not think of Drew.

What the hell happened last night, anyway? Our fight had started out of nothing. I tried to be honest with him and he got all macho-man-how-many-guys-have-you-fucked-anyway on me. I accept him for who he is, flaws and all, so why can’t he accept me?

I get irritated just thinking about it. So it’s best I don’t.

A knock sounds at the door and I scowl. Who the hell is here at seven in the morning? Stomping over to the door, I look through the peephole but I see nothing. I throw open the door and peek to the left, then the right. No one’s there.

Then I glance down and find a gorgeous bouquet of wildflowers sitting on the thin, faded doormat. The vase is full of a riot of colorful blooms, I can’t identify any of them beyond their pretty colors. I know in an instant who they’re from.

Drew.

Grabbing the vase, I clutch it in my hand as I step farther outside, my gaze steady as I study the parking lot. But I don’t see his truck. I don’t see any indication he’s been here at all but the flowers in my hand.

How the heck did he get them here and then disappear? I know he’s fast on the football field but come on. Where did he go?

“Who the hell was knocking—oh. Lover Boy.”

I turn to see Owen grinning at me, wearing a stained T-shirt with some unknown and I’m sure crappy band’s logo on the front, and black faded skinny jeans. We both walk back into the apartment together. “That’s what you’re wearing to school?”

He glances down at himself. “I’m not going to the prom. Gimme a break. Hey, you got any smokes?”

“Owen! Promise me you’re not smoking.” The guilty look on his face says it all. If the flowers weren’t so beautiful, I’d hurl the vase at him, I’m so pissed. “You’re too young to smoke. It’s a horrible, nasty habit.”

“You do it.”

“Not all the time. I mostly quit.” Yeah, that sounds lame as hell.

“I only smoke every once in a while,” Owen whines. “It soothes my nerves.”

“Such a bullshit answer. I’m sure if I dug around in your room right now, I’d find some weed too. Am I right?” I raise a brow, just daring him to deny it.

His eyes widen the slightest bit right before he goes for pure defiant nonchalance. “Oh, who cares? You act like you’ve always been on the straight and narrow. I bet you’ve smoked a few bowls in your life.”

Not really. Drugs don’t do much for me. I smoked a joint here and there through high school but nothing major. Cigarettes were my major vice. The occasional keg party would do me in, too. Make me do stupid things. After a while, that’s why I avoided them. “I’m twenty, you’re fourteen. There’s a difference between what I’m doing and what you’re doing.”

“Such crap,” Owen mutters as he walks away from me, heading toward the couch where his sweatshirt is flung over the back. “I’m outta here.”

I set the vase down on the kitchen counter, my pleasure at receiving the flowers evaporating when I realize I’ve not only just got into a huge fight with my brother, but I did the same thing with Drew last night.

Who’s the one with the problem, hmm?

“Owen, look. I’m sorry.” He stops at the door, as if he’s waiting for me to further explain myself. “I just hate to see you make a bunch of stupid mistakes like I did. I wish you could learn from me.”

“I’m going to do what I do no matter what, Fabes. I wish you could see that.” He turns to face me, looking like a ragamuffin in his faded black sweatshirt streaked with bleach stains. Who the hell does his laundry? Oh, that’s right, he does. “I’m not a bad kid. I get decent grades. I only skip class sometimes. And I have good friends. So I smoke here and there. So I get high and forget about my troubles for a while. Is that so bad?”

Yes, I want to shout at him. I want you to be perfect and well behaved and never give me any problems. I don’t want you doing drugs or smoking or drinking or fooling around with girls. I want you to be eight years old forever.

“Maybe we can talk later?” I suggest. “I should be here when you get home from school.”

“What else is there to talk about? You’ve already made up your mind. We’re moving without Mom, you hate that I smoke and you think I’m a fuck-up. Whatever.” He leaves the apartment without another word, slamming the door behind him, and I’m left standing there, so shocked my mouth is hanging open.

Holy. Crap. I’ve stepped in it all over the place. Why am I so confrontational lately? What the hell is my problem?

Regret settles over me and I sit heavily on the creaky barstool. Way to go and screw up that conversation. Clearly I’m the one with the bad attitude. I keep picking fights with my favorite people. Not the smartest move I’ve ever made, that’s for sure.

I run my finger over one of the soft flower petals. It’s a bright, sunny yellow, such the complete opposite of my morose mood.

Look at me. A man leaves me flowers on my doorstep and I’m all mopey. I should be the one apologizing and he’s the one making grand gestures. No guy has ever brought me flowers.

Ever.

My gaze catches sight of a small cream-colored envelope nestled among the blooms and I snatch it up, opening the envelope with trembling fingers.

Fable is…

Faithful

Amazing

Beautiful

Loving

Exquisite

I’m sorry. – Drew

A wistful sigh full of longing escapes me. I think he’s trying to slowly tear me apart so he can be the only one who puts me back together. His words kill me. Slay me dead.

And they fill me with so much hope I don’t know how I could’ve ever doubted him.

Drew

My head is throbbing when I wake up, my brain foggy. I lay awake in bed most of the night, replaying my conversation with Fable. Unable to figure out exactly where everything went wrong but since I’m a world-class screw-up, it had to be my fault.

I finally gave up pretending to sleep and climbed out of bed, threw on some clothes and went to a local supermarket. Found a beautiful arrangement of wildflowers and bought it without thinking twice. Yeah, maybe I should’ve got her some roses since they’re twice as expensive and supposedly are more romantic, but they didn’t seem Fable’s style.

The note made me work a little harder. I wanted to get it just right. No way could I use the word “marshmallow.” She would’ve killed me. I’d like to see her use it on me again. The one time she did, I almost blew it and didn’t show up.