Page 92 of Protect Home
August, too, if I’m lucky.
33
AUGUST
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five thousand too many.Fuck!
I set the heavy dumbbells on the ground and stand with my hands at my hips, attempting to calm my erratic breathing.
It’s useless. My muscles are spent and past the brink of exhaustion. I might as well drop face-first here and pass out till morning.
I’ve been home from my mom’s for an hour and couldn’t stand sitting in the silence of the condo any longer. I needed to work out this tension, and lucky for me, Tenley has a gym in the spare bedroom downstairs she never uses.
Tenley went to visit her parents this weekend, and after the hard conversation I had with my mom before I left, I needed to keep my mind occupied.
For my own sanity.
Goddamn it. I throw my sweat rag on the floor, angerconsuming me, and yank on the nape of my neck. I’m sick and tired of this. Tired of always having to be the adult to an irresponsible mother.
Tired of the crippling worry that my brothers and sisters will be kept safe. That’s the one downfall of my job. The inconsistent schedule. But without this career, not only would I not be playing the game I love, but my family wouldn’t be able to survive off Mom’s lowball hourly wage and shitty tips.
Seeing as how she’s made zero effort to find something more dependable that pays better, I’m the primary source of their livelihood.
Our conversation today only confirmed her inability to make responsible choices.
Thankfully, Marsha agreed to help out more. But still, it’s inexcusable on her end.
The sound of the front door opening alerts me that someone’s here. Since the only person I expect to be getting home is Tenley, I walk leisurely to the threshold and greet her.
Except, I’m not sure I can check my face, and she notices that right away.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Tenley asks me, panic laced in her tone.
I shake my head. “Let me help you with those.” I grab her weekender bag and water bottle before bringing them into the kitchen. “How was the drive?” I ask, turning to face her.
Crystal blue eyes of concern sink like a dead weight into my soul. “It was fine. Horrible traffic. Had to pee zillions of times. Now, tell me what’s wrong,” she rushes out.
I’ve always known Tenley cares for me, although she has a weird way of showing it. But this side of Tenley, theone that’s currently caressing the side of my face and drowning in worry for me, is the side that solidifies my love for her.
The love I now see I’ve buried and find I want nothing more than to resurrect.
“Sorry, I’m drenched in sweat,” I exhale.
“Don’t care,” she admits. “Talk to me. Something’s wrong.”
I’m suddenly ready to take revenge on the people who have misconceived Tenley Abrams, thinking she’s cold as ice.
I’d tell them she’s just severely misunderstood, without anyone in her life willing to dig deep enough to see that.
Inside of her is a heart of gold. A heart that loves too big at times, it intimidates you. I think those are the women us men should be running too. Begging to be the man fortunate enough to be loved by them.
