“He’s right,” Graham gruffs. “You’re going to have to make some decisions. You have to decide what you want in life and make a plan and follow it.”
The innuendo isn’t lost on me and I want to lash out. But I don’t. Because at the end of the day, these men want what’s best for me.
“I’ll think about it,” I say. That seems to pacify them all, except Linc who looks disgusted by it all. “I have some meetings, so if you all can excuse me . . .”
They get the point and head to the door. Linc is the last to leave. Before he exits, he turns to me. “You know what I have to say about all that, yeah?”
“What’s that?”
“Fuck it. Do what makes you happy.”
The door closes behind him and for the first time in my life, I take my youngest brother’s advice.
Alison
“Did you get everything?” I ask, giving his backpack one final glance before zipping it up. “You guys are going to have so much fun.”
“We will. Even if we catch nothing, it’ll be great because I got to miss school today,” Huxley points out.
It’s ten in the morning and I need to be studying. Instead, I’m being a mom, my favorite job in the world. I’ll have to catch up on the other part later.
“Tell Grandpa to make sure you wear a life jacket, okay?” I ask, kissing him on the head as he tries to bolt for the door. “If you fall out of the boat, we’ll have to miss using up those season tickets.”
He looks horrified. “Don’t even joke about that. I wish it was time for baseball season already!”
“I know,” I grin, remembering how he jumped up and down when I told him about the tickets. “But it’s not, so have fun with Grandpa.”
“Okay, Mom! Love you!” he says.
By the time I get to the door, he’s in my father’s truck. Dad rolls down his window.
“I’ll make sure he wears a life jacket,” he winks.
“And no leaning over the boat. I don’t care how big the fish is,” I wince. My heart wobbles in my chest. “Okay?”
“I’ll keep him safe. I raised you, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, but he’s my baby.”
“And you were mine.” He winks and rolls up the window. I wave as they back out of the driveway and are out of sight.
My phone rings in the kitchen and I grab it on the fourth ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, Alison,” Barrett’s voice melts through the phone. “How are you?”
My stomach flurries, a smile painted on my face without me realizing it. I take a seat at the table and try to seem chill.
I’ve been thinking about him a lot, preparing for this phone call. It was hard to sleep last night after the game. I spent the endless night hours searching my heart for my truth, what I wanted and what I think I can and should handle. Even though I tried to talk myself out of it a hundred thousand ways, I always came back to wanting more of the feeling I get when I’m with him. I’ve missed it, the sensation of feeling like a woman.
Sometime around six this morning, I made a deal with myself: I’ll see him again when he calls. And if he acts like an ass again, I’ll walk away and feel good about it.
And if I happen to actually see his ass in the meantime, I’ll consider it a bonus.
“I’m good. Well,” I say, caving to my anxiety, “not really. I just sent Huxley off with my father for a little fishing. I’m a nervous wreck.”
“Ah, skipping school for some sun? My kind of kid,” he jokes.
“He never gets to do that kind of thing, so why not?”
“You can learn just as much outside the school walls as you can inside.”
“Yeah, now if I can just block out the drowning aspect, it’ll be great.”
He laughs, a smooth, sexy sound that distracts me. I’m glad for it.
“We used to go boating every weekend in the summer,” Barrett says. “It’s good to have some experience with water in a controlled environment. I’m sure your dad will watch him.”
“He will. I just feel like it all falls on my shoulders, you know? And I feel like I’ve let him down so many times in his life already that I need to be especially vigilant.”
“I doubt that’s true.”
“It is, but let’s not talk about it. What are you doing today?”
His sigh drifts through the line. “Meetings. Committees. Interviews. Battling back this statement from Hobbs’ campaign today.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No. Not really.”
I can tell he’s bothered. It’s in the strain in the edges of his voice, the grit that scratches at his tone.
“I’d rather talk about you. How are you? How was your day?”
“Good. Busy. A touch lonely,” I hint.
“Have you given any thought to seeing me again?” he asks, his voice soft.
“A little,” I lie because it’s dominated my thoughts.
“I hope that it’s only a little because it took you two seconds to realize it was a good idea.”
“I want to . . .” I stand and try to keep my head clear.
“What are you afraid of, Alison? Talk to me.”
I decide to bare my soul. Leave it all out there, and then, maybe, my decision will be made for me.