Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 82173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“It’s different, being a woman, especially one in a family like ours. Everyone back in Fresno was ready to match make for me, months after your father passed. And the ring became a bit of a shield, maybe? I’m not sure. There were certain things...certain truths I wasn’t comfortable sharing with anyone, but I knew I didn’t want to marry again. And the ring made it easier to send that message.”
Well, that certainly sounded ominous. Apollo tried to make sense of her words. “But you loved Dad, right?”
“Of course, I loved your father. But...not all of marriage was for me. And I could no more get mad at you taking the ring off than I could be upset at you for wearing it. We all do things for our own reasons, even if those reasons aren’t so apparent to others. And habit can be a powerful thing.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, head swimming.
“But right now, we paint.” His mother always had a way of sensing when he was overwhelmed, giving him the sort of outlet he needed. “Let’s order pizza tonight. It is a happy day.”
Apollo nodded, surprised to discover that he actually agreed. It was a good day. A weird day, but also a necessary day. And yes, a happy day.
* * *
Apollo’s room smelled too much like paint to sleep there, but he was too keyed up from the day of painting to sleep anyway. Long after the girls were asleep, and his mother was watching a movie in the living room, he paced, as restless as he’d been the night before leaving for his first mission. All full of adrenaline and uncertainty and impatience. Maybe a shower would help.
He had to use the upstairs bath, dodging the twins’ bath toys, since the master bath was still drying and the downstairs bath had too many Dylan memories still. Getting out of the shower, he caught a glimpse of himself in the big vanity mirror over the double sink. Hair needed a trim, as did the rest of him, and all the meetings lately meant his body wasn’t quite as ripped as when he was out training with the teams. But still, not bad, Floros.
Same old body. Same old—
Tattoos. His eyes landed on his “Blessed” tattoo and for the first time in two years, he didn’t want to shake his fist at the sight. Instead he felt a bit wistful, yes, but also...peace. He was blessed. He had two amazing kids, whom the kindergarten teacher had nothing but praise for, a mother who had spent all day covered in yellow paint without complaint, a family who loved him, and Dylan. Well, he didn’t exactly have him, not yet anyway, but more than once over the course of the day, Apollo had pictured Dylan in the sunny space, thought about what he’d say. Dylan’s words he could imagine easily. His own...
Yeah, still working on that part.
Turning away from the mirror and questions he still didn’t have answers for, he scooped up his clothes from the floor.
Thwunk. His ring tumbled from his pocket, skittered across the tile floor to land precariously near the vent. He plucked it up, spinning it around his palm.
Neal. What would he think of Apollo blithely declaring himself “blessed” again? Daydreaming about showing their master bedroom to some young—
Happy. He’d be happy for you. Apollo almost dropped the ring again he was so startled by the reply echoing inside his head. He didn’t feel Neal out at Singing Hills where he was buried, didn’t sense him at important events, no matter how much he tried, but every so often he’d caught a whisper of him in the edges of life—the corner of the garage where he used to work on his bikes, the chaise in the bedroom where he’d curl up and read, the old rocker in the twins’ room, but never here.
He fiddled with the ring, rubbing the beveled edge.
After his father’s death, he used to catch his mother talking to him, sometimes serious, sometimes irreverent, little casual asides that Apollo always felt casual about witnessing. But as much as his mother had been a model for how to cope with loss, Apollo had never deluded himself into thinking that Neal could hear him or that talking would help with anything other than making him feel worse, but with everyone pestering him to find someone to talk to, maybe...
“I don’t know what to do,” he whispered, voicing aloud his dilemma of the past few weeks for the first time. “How do I let you go?”
The universe had no answer for him, his head as empty as ever.
“Soon as I met you, the only thing I ever wanted was to be a guy worthy of you. And that’s all I’ve wanted since. To be the man you’d be proud of, but here’s the thing. I also want to be a guy who’s worthy of him, and it’s tearing me up.”