Page 39 of A False Start
I can hear them chat. But I need a few seconds to get a grip on the swelling in my pants. And also, to beat myself up for thinking this was a remotely good idea.
By the time I’ve composed myself enough to join them in the kitchen, my mom has cornered Nadia and is talking her ear off about the dog and how he came to be as she gets started making a coffee.
“Has Griffin told you about pour-over coffee yet?”
Nadia smiles, and it’s genuine as she drops her elbows onto the kitchen island to watch the painstaking process go down. “Not yet.”
Each coffee is going to take like ten minutes to make, which means I’m going to be stuck here watching Nadia bend herself over the counter like she’s fucking asking for it.
I don’t need coffee. I need a cold shower.
“Griff, you didn’t tell me you hit a dog.” Her brow crinkles like she’s concerned as she scans me. I know what she’s thinking, and I feel like shit for giving her enough reasons in the past to think about it at all.
I give a brief shake of my head to help do away with her concern. “I took my eyes off the road to reach for my gum.”
Cinnamon gum is my new whiskey. So, I’m not sure it’s any better than being drunk.
“Ah.” My mom turns her focus down at the dog, who is drinking out of a small glass bowl she’s put out for him. “Well, you never have done things the easy way, so why just go get a dog at a shelter when you can do it this way?”
I laugh, because how can I not? She’s one hundred percent correct.
“In a roundabout way, Griffin kind of saved him. When he brought him in, the dog was malnourished and matted. I think he’d been on his own for a while. In definite need of a little TLC.”
Nadia smiles down at the dog, oblivious to the way my mom is looking at us. I can see the questions in Mom’s eyes. I know it’s killing her not to ask why I brought Nadia here. But also know that she understands me well enough to know that if she asks too many questions, I’ll pull away.
So, I look at Nadia instead. She’s not normal or happy. She’sso much more.
“That’s a lovely way to think of it, Nadia,” my mom says, knocking me off my train of thought. But I still don’t look at her. I can’t peel my eyes off the girl bent over the kitchen counter. The curve of her ass, the swell of her breasts above the marble countertop.
I eye fuck the hell out of Nadia to keep my gaze away from my mother’s. I’m a mess. This is why I live alone in the woods. Because it’s never enough. Never enough wins—until I crash. Never enough whiskey—until I’ve pissed my life away. Never enough friendship—because the longer I stare at Nadia, the more certain I am that I’ll let Stefan down eventually, too.
“Yeah. Lucky dog. I had to hit him to save him. Just call me a hero.” I roll my eyes and drag my hand through my hair, trying to lighten the mood. Trying to make these two women stop treating me like I’m a saint.
That’s the exact moment that the front door flips open. “Babe, that coffee smells incredible.” I don’t need to see my dad to recognize the sound of him dragging his clubs and propping them up in the hallway. “I can’t wait to—”
He walks in, his vast frame and barrel-chest filling the hallway. He stops what he’s saying as the dog runs up to him, body vibrating with excitement at another person to see. He’s gonna be in for a shock when we head back up the mountain in a couple of months and it’s just the two of us.
And then, in all his excitement, the dog pees at my dad’s feet, yellow liquid spraying all over the floor. I drop my face into my hands and groan, but my dad’s boisterous laugh fills the room.
“Joan, why don’t you get this excited to see me anymore?”
My mom giggles. Shegiggles. “Because I’d be the one stuck cleaning it up.”
At that, I hear Nadia laugh. It’s melodic and laced with just a bit of disbelief.
Thisis what I wanted Nadia to see. That two people can be happy together. Gentle together. There can be trust and love, and she isn’t too broken to have this.
She just hasn’t met a man who deserves it with her yet. One that’s willing to work hard enough to have it. Because this side of Nadia will have to be earned.
“Hey, little fella.” My dad bends down and scoops up the small dog, chuckling as he does. He steps over the mess on the floor, like it’s no big deal. “What’s your name?”
“Tripod,” Nadia pipes up.
I scoff as I push past her to get some paper towels, poking a finger into her ribs as subtly as I can. “I’m not naming my dog Tripod.”
“I already named him. So, you don’t need to.” She laughs, but everyone else is quiet.
“You call him what you want. I’m not going to name him something that’s a joke. He deserves better.”
