Page 36 of What You Own
How in the hell was I supposed to choose?
Ryan shifted his weight, practically crushing me into the bed as he curled around me. I let out a deep, content breath, and some of the uncertainty lifted. This was real. This was right. I didn’t know if I could live without it again—or if I wanted to.
Looks like you already made your decision.
For once, I couldn’t disagree.
Chapter 11
Adam
AFTERMYminibreakdown, we were good for a while. We secretly fucked our way through June and into July. My father lived under the delusion that I was catting around, putting notches on my belt until I went back to college and my focus shifted to my studies. He seemed happy living there, so I did nothing to cast suspicion on my actual whereabouts.
My time spent with Ryan was precious. We didn’t date, not in the traditional way. No dinner-and-a-movie nights, unless you counted deli takeout and DVDs. We didn’t go to parties together or walk downtown holding hands. None of that mattered to us. We both understood that every hour we got together was a blessing, and we didn’t take a single moment for granted. Neither of us had said “I love you” but it was inherent in everything we did say or do together.
I wanted this summer to last forever.
Ryan invited me to a barbecue at his parents’ house on the Fourth of July. As scared as I was to face his parents, I turned him down because of my own dad. He was hosting a big cookout for clients, and I was expected to attend and play my part as the dutiful son and heir. I never used to mind. I knew my role. This year, though, I wanted to spend the holiday with my boyfriend.
My secret boyfriend. And I wasn’t brave enough to invite Ryan, or to show him off as my boyfriend to my father’s friends and business associates. I’d get kicked out and disowned before the fireworks display started.
So I wandered the party with a cup of rum punch in hand, occasionally with my dad, mostly on my own. The conversations revolved around my classes and internship, and I used that as frequently as possible to mention the upcoming fundraiser.
“Before and after school programs usually cost money, and a lot of parents can’t afford it,” I said for at least the eighth time in four hours. “So kids go home alone, or they wander without supervision. The center gives those kids a safe place to spend time.”
“It sounds like a wonderful place,” Annette Robinson said. She sipped at her punch, the diamond bangles on her wrist clanking together. Annette had been a friend of my mom’s for years, long before she married my dad. She’d also inherited her father’s mushroom farm, which was doing brisk business again this year.
“It really is. I’ve had a chance to spend time there, helping with some of the extracurricular classes they offer at the center. The volunteers truly care about the kids, and they believe in the work they do.”
“Sounds as if you do too, son. I’ve never seen you so excited about something.”
“I do and I am.” None of those statements were lies, or said for the benefit of making the center look good. I believed in this. “I may have found a passion for charity work that I never knew existed.”
“Well, good for you. Your mother would be so proud of you, seeing you helping others like this.”
The compliment warmed my chest. “You think so?”
“I know so. Jenny wanted your dad’s company to get more involved, to give back to the community more.” Annette sighed and cast her gaze around, searching before settling on me. “Your father is more concerned with power and acquisition, always has been. I’m glad to see his money going toward something like this.”
“Thank you.”
She gave me a sad smile. “It’s hard to believe it’s six years that she’s gone.”
“Yeah.”
I glanced to my left, at the cement patio where the bulk of the barbecue crowd had gathered to snack from tables of food. Beneath that patio was the skeleton of a pool—the pool my mother had fallen into and drowned in when I was fourteen. Mom taught me to swim in that pool. She swam every day during the summer. Dad had filled it in two months after she died.
Annette squeezed my forearm, and the unexpected touch made me jump. “She loved you so much, Adam. You were her life. She never meant to leave you.”
“I know. It was an accident.”
“Drowning was an accident. Drinking was your father’s fault.” She snarled the words, and they made me wonder if she’d had too much punch herself.
“What do you mean?”
Her eyes went wide, then shuttered. “Oh, honey, never mind. Forget I said anything.”
I grabbed her elbow before she could turn away, not caring how rude that was. We were tucked into a corner of the patio, near a hedge, no one nearby. “What did you mean by drinking was Dad’s fault?” I’d seen Mom throw back at parties, even have a glass of wine or two at dinner some nights, but Annette was insinuating something worse. Something cruel and insulting, and she’d damn well better explain herself.
