Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89666 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
If that had been me, I would have told her to fuck off a long time ago. She could starve for all I cared. It wasn’t like she had to thank him for physically and financially supporting her, but keeping her mouth shut would have been fair.
But this wasn’t about me and my rage over her treatment of her son. This was about Byron and his pain.
I wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him against my body as we walked to his car. Despite the heat, he felt chilled to me. The only thing that mattered was getting him away from this place as quickly as humanly possible.
“Give me your keys. I’ll drive,” I said, holding out my hand.
Byron opened his mouth but for a couple of seconds, nothing came out. In the end, he closed his mouth without saying a word. He handed his keys over with a nod and allowed me to help him into the passenger seat.
After a few adjustments, I had us racing down the street and winding out of this neighborhood of small homes, chain link fences, and old trees. It reminded me of my childhood home, when my parents were both working and struggling to make ends meet with two kids and a mortgage. The entire area felt so familiar and yet so foreign at the same time. It had been more than a decade since I’d traveled along a street like this, so different from the neighborhoods I’d lived in while in high school and college. A world apart from where my home sat. It left me feeling uncomfortable and out of touch.
Byron sighed next to me, dragging my wandering thoughts away from me and back to him. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He slumped low in his seat, his elbow resting on the door and his head leaning on his hand with his eyes closed. I couldn’t stand to see the defeat in him.
But how could I possibly help him? I’d never felt so utterly helpless in all my life. All I wanted to do was lift this horrible burden from Byron’s shoulders, so he wouldn’t feel so trapped all the time. I could offer to pay for a rehab program for Byron’s mother, or maybe help to place her in an assisted living situation, so someone else was taking care of her instead of the son she clearly hated. None of these things would improve her opinion of Byron, but they might help to ease Byron’s mind and remove some of the hate from his life.
Would he even accept my help with this matter? This whole dating bargain to pay for his brother’s hospital bills had made Byron grumpy. I didn’t know how to frame this to make it easier for him to swallow. Byron rightfully had his pride, and I didn’t want to step on it any more than I had.
On my way to the highway that would carry us north across the Ohio River, another sign caught my attention and led me on a quick detour. A few minutes passed before I was hitting the turn signal and slowing the car to turn into the park. Byron opened his eyes and immediately sat up, taking in his surroundings.
“I’m sorry. Did you get lost? I should have been giving you directions,” he said.
“No, I’m not lost. I thought we could go for a walk. You look like you need to talk, and I’ll do a much better job of listening to you if I’m not trying to concentrate on the road.” I held my breath, waiting for him to argue with me, but he didn’t.
Byron nodded. “Yeah. A walk sounds nice.”
The park was a tiny one, but it appeared well used. There were two sets of swings, a couple of seesaws, and a jungle gym for climbing. Scattered under a thick canopy of maple trees were half a dozen wooden picnic tables. Birds trilled from among the dark leaves and cicadas buzzed low from their hiding spots. The sounds of the nearby traffic were hushed on this lazy Sunday afternoon, and the park was nearly empty as most people preferred to be inside in the air conditioning than out in the heat. I could almost pretend that we were alone in our own little world.
I walked with Byron as we left the car, and I was content to follow him as many times around the park as he needed to walk. He surprised me, though, almost immediately darting into the shade.
“I must be getting too soft. This heat is unbearable,” Byron said. “Do you mind if we just sit?”
“Nope. Sitting works for me.”
He flashed a weak, somewhat shy smile as he selected a picnic table and sat on the top. I climbed up with one step and dropped beside him onto the table. My eyes skimmed over the hundreds of names and random doodles carved into the old wood, a dizzying mix of offensive and loving. I’d never carved my initials into wood with anyone, but something childish in me wanted to do it now with Byron’s initials.