Page 67 of Someone to Have
“It’s up to you,” I say casually, trying not to clue either of them in on how my heart is galloping at a breakneck pace at the thought of that.
“I’d like to hear about how she’s helping you. Maybe I can help you study when I get out of here. I’m not saying you wouldn’t still have her as your tutor, but I want to support you. I want to do better for both of us.”
“Sure,” he says, like this is also no big deal. But I hear the hope in his voice.
As panicked as the thought of Taylor meeting my sister makes me, I can’t help but smile. This is new territory for Jen and Rhett. I love this kinder, gentler mother-son relationship, and I like being a part of it. I like helping.
My sister grabs a cupcake and then pushes the box in my direction. “Uncle Eric’s going back to Germany eventually, so it will be the two of us again. Us against the world, right?”
Which is better than the two of them against each other. But my satisfaction at helping shifts in my stomach, taking on the weight of a lead balloon. Of course I’m going back. I’m under contract, and hockey is what I know. It’sallI know. This is temporary. My sister knows it. Rhett knows it.
Hell, Taylor gave me the best sex of my life, and it’s because she knows it. I’m not a long-term deal for anybody. I need to start remembering that.
I excuse myself to the bathroom, like I did on our previous visits, to give Jen and Rhett a little privacy. They’ve each polished off a cupcake when I return, and to my surprise, the colored pencils are back out, and they’re both drawing. Winter sunlight slants through the blinds, casting thin lines across the table where they sit, their heads bent close together. There’s a piece of paper and a couple of pencils in front of my chair.
We spend the next hour mostly in silence, but it’s a good kind of silence—comfortable and relaxed. The only sounds are the soft scratch of pencil on paper and the occasional muffled voices drifting down the hall. At the end of our visit, Rhett points to the picture Jen has drawn.
“Can I take that with me?” he asks. “Taylor’s the children’s librarian, and she’s super into illustrations. She does arts and crafts after story time on Saturdays. I bet if you came to Skylark, she’d want you to show the kids how to draw.”
The look on my sister’s face makes emotion flood my veins. It’s like he’s invited her on a first-class trip to Paris or something.
“I’d like that,” she says, and I wonder how long it’s been since my sister felt like she’s done anything right.
From the little bit Rhett’s been willing to share, her relationships were absolute hell, and her boss at the neighborhood breakfast joint where she worked was a tyrant. We don’t discuss any of that during these visits or get into what happens in the group and private counseling sessions she has to attend while in rehab. I figure when she wants to share more, she will. But today feels like a victory for all of us.
Outside the lobby’s window, snow flurries whirl in the gusts of icy wind. She hugs Rhett, then turns to me. “I’m looking forward to meeting Taylor.”
“Can’t say it enough, she’s a great tutor.”
Her eyes narrow. Damn it, I never could fool my sister. But at least I keep my hand at my side instead of tugging at my ear, whichis fucking annoying now that I know she knows my tell when I didn’t even realize I had one.
“I get the feeling Rhett’s not the only one learning from her,” she says. “Remember your promise.”
The room feels smaller as she watches me, like the walls are pressing in with the weight of that vow. I smile, but it probably looks more like baring my teeth. “I won’t forget the promise.”
Sadly, for better or worse, I also remember vividly how good Taylor felt in my arms last night. We have to be careful because Rhett can’t find out something is happening between us. But I’m also not giving her up—not yet.
It’s a coaching strategy.
As we drive home, fluffy white snowflakes whip around the car, making even the interstate feel cozy.
“How about we grab a pizza and skip Sunday supper at the Maxwells’?” I suggest.
Rhett shrugs. “Whatever. I’ve got a test this week in algebra, so I should probably start studying.”
“Are you okay, Rhett?” With an overly dramatic gasp, I reach out and vigorously shake his shoulder.
“What the hell?” he demands.
“Do you have a fever?” I shout the words at him. They echo through the truck’s interior.
“No. What are you talking about?”
“You just suggested studying on your own.” I mock shiver. “Inadvance.”
“You’re a dick,” he mutters, and I laugh.
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
