Kyle taps me on my shoulder to get my attention. He points to the truck through the windshield. “Mom, does this mean Uncle Dylan is here?”
I shrug my shoulders.
“Sure looks that way.”
Before I can shut off the engine, Kyle unfastens his seatbelt and dashes his way to the front door. I watch with a prideful grin on my face as my son bounces on the balls of his feet, waiting very impatiently for my father to answer the front door. It makes me happy that he’s this excited to see his uncle. With my three brothers running their own HGTV house renovation show, they rarely get any spare time to come back to good ol’ Sunnyville. Which only makes moments like this a true luxury.
I flick my wrist, shutting off the car engine. When I leave the car, I notice that my dad is patiently waiting for me by the front door. Kyle is nowhere in sight, so I can only assume he’s running around the house trying to hunt down his uncle. Once I finish climbing the three steps to the front porch, I plant a kiss on my dad’s cheek.
“Hi, Dad. How’s it going?”
“Well, my carpal tunnel is acting up again. I knew I shouldn’t have decked your brother in the face. He had it coming, though.” He shakes his wrist in the air, similar to the way a wounded puppy shakes its paw.
I reach out and rest my hand on his shoulder. “Nice try, Dad.”
“Ah, you always were the hardest one to pull a fast one on.” He smiles a wide-toothed grin that reaches all the way up to his eyes.
“It never does stop you from trying, though.”
“My carpal tunnel is acting up again, though,” he admits with a frown.
“That’s the part I believed,” I counter, following him into the foyer.
“Your brother’s out back; Kyle is who knows where, and your mom’s in the kitchen,” he calls out from the living room, where I presume he’s already ass deep in recliner cushion. He never does waste any time.
I should swing by the kitchen and say hello to Mom first, no matter how badly I’m dying to see my older brother. But I don’t. As soon as I hear my brother’s voice, I find myself heading toward the sliding glass door to the backyard. With full force, I slide it open and walk outside. The cool air is refreshing as it tickles my nose.
“I missed you like hell, K-man,” Dylan admits. The use of that nickname always brings a smile to my face. Dylan has been calling him that since the moment he was born. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to hear it and not feel my heart swell two additional sizes.
“I missed you too, Uncle D. So, tell me, where’s the latest house you were working on?” Kyle leans forward from his spot on the picnic bench, eyes wide and ears eager to listen. I cross my arms and lean against the nearby column.
“Two words. Las Vegas.”
“Cool,” Kyle coos.
“Did you see Celine Dion?” I ask, cursing myself that I let that little curiosity slip from my lips.
Both sets of male eyes flash my way. They both give me major did you seriously just ask that vibes.
“Chlo, answer me this. What straight guy is going to go see Celine Dion by himself?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m sure some guy would. She’s kinda a legend. An amazingly talented legend with pipes of gold. My Heart Will Go On, All By Myself, Because You Loved Me, need I go on?”
“Please, don’t,” Kyle and Dylan respond in unison.
A tear streaks down my cheek when I think back on all the nights I would sing Because You Loved Me to Kyle when he was a baby. It was the only tune that would put him to sleep without fail. But that’s not the reason I sang it. Instead, I would croon the lyrics at the top of my lungs because they meant the world to me. Cuz in my eyes, my sweet, little boy was my saving grace. He was the one constant light in my life back when I was at my lowest point.
Oh, no. Here come the tears. I need to stop thinking about this right now. Desperate to get out of my own head, I eavesdrop on Kyle and Dylan’s conversation.
“But enough about me. I wanna hear about you. Whatchu been up to, K-man? How’s school?”
“Easy…well, except for Chemistry,” Kyle admits, sounding a little ashamed at the end of his sentence.
Surprised, Dylan knits his brows together to the center of his forehead. “What’s the deal with Chemistry?”
“Being a transfer student, I missed three weeks of fundamentals.”
“Meaning?” Dylan scoops the air with his hand, encouraging Kyle to continue speaking.
Kyle drags a hand through his blond locks before he continues. “Meaning that I was behind going in. Mom asked my teacher to tutor me.”
“Hold the fucking phone. You needed a tutor? Has the world flipped upside down?” Dylan play punches Kyle in the arm. “You’re the smartest fucker I know.”
Kyle’s smile beams with a combination of joy and pride at his uncle’s compliment.
“Dylan,” I warn sternly. I know it will fall on deaf ears because all three of my brothers curse like sailors, but as his mother, I still have to try. And two variations of fuck used so closely together make me obligated to speak up. It’s essentially written in the non-spoken parental guideline charter. I swear there’s some undiscovered cave wall someplace with the words thou shall not say fucketh in fronteth the younglings etched on the side.
“Calm down, Mom. I’m sure the kid’s heard worse,” Dylan patronizes. He turns his attention back to Kyle. Leaning forward, he uses his elbow to prop his chin up on the table. “Tell me about this so-called tutor.”
“Kyle! Your grandma wants you to learn how to stir the meatballs properly this time. We can’t have any Hayden breaking them up when we ask them to stir the sauce,” my dad hollers from the now open sliding door.
Dylan points at Kyle. “That right there is a Hayden birthright. Go get your stir on; we’ll continue this later.”
Feeling energized, Kyle springs up from the bench and runs inside. Moving forward, I take his place on the bench. Dylan takes a swig of his beer.
“Sister.”
“Brother.”
We both laugh at the stupidity of our greetings. It’s been a while, but it feels juvenile to recant the same greetings we used to use to tease each other in front of our friends at school. Dylan pulls me into a quick hug over the table.
“It’s so good to see you again, Chlo.”
“It’s not good to smell you again,” I rag, chuckling under my breath. For reasons I’m not sure of, I eye his beer.
“Want a sip?” he beguiles, outstretching the bottle to me.
I take it. “Why not?”
I bring the glass bottle to my lips and the bitter liquid courses down my throat. It’s cold and refreshing on the way down but warming and soothing as it settles in my chest.
“So, what’s this I hear about you having a boyfriend?”
I sputter, nearly choking as I try to hold back the liquid in my throat. I swallow hard and gasp for air. I hand the beer bottle back to my brother. “Who said I had a boyfriend?”
He scoffs. “Yeah, like that wasn’t the first thing I heard when I drove into town this afternoon.”
My mind is spinning, unable to process this new information as it comes in. “Heard? From whom?”
“Does it matter? Small town, Chlo. People talk.”
“And what exactly are these people saying about me?”
Dylan mimes zipping his mouth closed and throwing away the key. His deep blue eyes flash with whimsy as he fights back a laugh.
“No, no, no. None of that, my lips are sealed bullshit. You tell me now, or you and I will have to duke this out like we did when we were kids.”
Dylan grimaces at the memory and scratches the dark stubble on his chin. “You never played fair. Always went straight for the nuts.”
“Look, I grew up as the only female amongst three testosterone raging brothers. I played to every advantage I had,” I admit. A shudder runs down my spine when I think back on just how much the twins gravitated toward trouble. Officer Malone basically escorte
d them both home by the earlobes at least once a week.
“Yeah. Nut kicking and playing the Daddy’s Little Princess card sure got you out of a lot of shit. In retrospect, you were an evil genius.” He smiles with admiration as he points his beer bottle at me. “Well played.”
“You can’t tell me Matt and Chase weren’t menaces when they were younger. I love them with all my heart. But truthfully, I don’t know how you work with them on a daily basis. I think I’d go insane babysitting the lot of them at our ages.”
“They were handfuls growing up. I’m proud to say that time has smoothed out their rough edges over the years. They still love a good prank now and then. But they’re mostly harmless fuckers now,” Dylan grumbles. He continues to nurse his beer. “Don’t think I overlooked that you’re sidestepping the whole boyfriend thing. Tell me about him.”
I roll my eyes, peeved that he isn’t letting this go—not that I thought he would. Dylan Hayden is known for never letting anything go. “For starters, he’s not my boyfriend. Secondly, he’s Kyle’s Chemistry teacher.”
This catches his attention, causing him to lean backward and raise his eyebrows. Placing down the bottle, he rubs his hands together.
“Ah, the tutor. And the plot thickens.” He takes a beat. “C’mon, don’t leave me on the edge of my seat.”
I explain everything. Going into detail about the incident at the repair shop, to the urgent cupcake request booty shake at the bakery, all the way up until only a couple of hours ago when I played his girlfriend at the grocery store just to get some woman off his back.
After what feels like hours of agonizing silence on his part, I can’t take it anymore.
“Well?” I bite out, unable to control the pitch of my voice at this moment.
His blues meet my greens, locking in what I half-think will turn into one of our classic Hayden Sibling Staring Contests. Thankfully, it doesn’t because I sure as hell blink first.
“I’ve never seen you smile this much talking about a guy, Chlo. So, go after him.”
I furrow my brow, completely puzzled by his take on the situation. “What are you talking about? I can’t just go after him.”
“And why the hell not?”
“Well, he’s my son’s teacher for one. It would be unprofessional of me—”
He raises his hand, which causes me to fumble on my own words. “Let me stop you there. I don’t wanna hear any more excuses you’ve concocted for God knows how long inside that head of yours. If you like him and he likes you, go for it. Simple as that. Life’s too fucking short to deal with what-ifs, could’ve beens, and maybes.”
My mouth falls open. I have never heard Dylan talk like this before. Usually, he’s Mr. We’re Young, We Have All the Time In the World. Now, he’s saying life’s too fucking short? What exactly happened to him in Vegas? I’d ask him, but I know him too well. He will just snide some lame remark like what happens in Vegas…flash me some cocky ass grin, and that will be the end of that conversation. So, unlike him, I let it roll off my chest.
Dylan takes a long drag of his beer and bestows his older by three years, so I am wiser than you advice. “If you ask me, any guy that can make you smile like this, you hold onto and don’t ever let go.”
“Chloe Elise Hayden!” I jump at the use of my full name spewing from my mother’s lips like a toxin. That’s. Never. A. Good. Sign. “How dare you have the audacity not tell your own mother that you finally have a boyfriend!”
Chapter Twelve
Chloe
I pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping to stop the headache I feel coming on in its tracks. Inhale. Hold it. Count to three. One. Two. Three. Exhale. Okay, now that I’m levelheaded, I can deal with the pile of shit that is being flung my way.
I swivel on the bench to face my mother. With brows drawn together tightly on her forehead, eyes glaring, and lips narrowed, my mother marches her way over to me. I swear I can hear the vibrations of her footsteps blasting in my head as they shake the Earth’s surface like a dinosaur in one of the Jurassic Park movies. Boom, boom. Boom, boom. Boom, boom. The syncopated beats synchronize with my quickening heartbeat. Boom, boom, boom. Boom, boom, boom. Boom, boom, boom.
The entire world falls deafeningly silent when she reaches me. Not even the birds are chirping with glee from the overhead branches above anymore. It’s as if they know shit’s about to go down. Cuz it is. About to go down.
“Well…what do you have to say for yourself, Missy?” She snaps, tapping her foot impatiently against the dampened grass. She fidgets with the cloth on her apron. Probably to help keep her anxiety at bay.
“What are you talking about? I don’t have a boyfriend,” I confess, my voice sounding hoarse as my throat dries almost immediately.
Mom smacks her lips, and I hear the faintest chuckle emerge from Dylan’s lips. He’s clearly enjoying the show as he nurses his beer. Can’t he just finish that damn bottle already?
Mom places her hands on her hips. I swallow hard. That was always her telltale sign letting us know we were in deep trouble when we were growing up. The whole idea of seeing it again at my age is absurd. “That’s not what Ethel said. She said she saw you and some guy canoodling down the baking ingredients aisle in the grocery store.”
I facepalm my forehead and sigh before I meet my mother’s fiery gaze of piercing disappointment. “I don’t care what your friend, Ethel, said. We weren’t canoodling.”
“I think there was some canoodling,” Dylan teases. I reach over and smack the side of his head. He rubs at the spot. “Ouch!”
“Shut up, Dylan.” I return my gaze to our mom and dramatically emphasize my words, complete with over-the-top hand gestures. “There was no canoodling.”
She eyes me skeptically, trying to analyze me for a lie—a skill she’s perfected over the years of our youth. I blame my younger brothers for her rapid progress in perfecting that skill. Did I mention they were terrible? We called them Hurricane Matt and Cyclone Chase. Nevertheless, her lie detector won’t come up negative here because I’m telling the whole truth. Lucas is not my boyfriend!
When I see her eyes beginning to soften, I begin to plead my case of exoneration.
“Mom, he’s not my boyfriend. I was just pretending to be his girlfriend for five minutes to get him out of an awkward situation. One of his coworkers asked him out. I made it easier for him to let her down gently. Simple as that.”
Her mouth forms a small o-shape. “I see.” There’s a brief moment of silence before she speaks again. “Well, why isn’t he your real boyfriend?”
“Cuz he’s Kyle’s teacher,” Dylan chimes in with an eye roll on standby.
Mom flicks up one of her perfectly shaped brows. “So what?”
Dylan slams his hand on the table. The sound bellows in the open space. “That’s what I said!”
I massage my temples as the headache intensifies. “You two just don’t get it. I can’t just date one of Kyle’s teachers.”
They both look at each other and blurt out in unison. “Why the hell not?”
“Cuz that’s inappropriate and unprofessional,” I clarify, growing more annoyed at this topic with each ticking second.
“I think that’s a tad dramatic, Chloe, don’t you?” My mom states with a straight face. Like she’s not the one who came out here guns blazing just because she heard through the grapevine that I was canoodling with some guy.
“Grandma, I think the meatballs are ready,” Kyle calls out from the doorway. She turns to him.
“Well, let me go check them then.” Mom claps with excitement as she sashays her way back inside.
And once again, my son is my saving grace.
I just got off the phone with Cynthia, my business advisor, and my heart feels like it’s lodged in my throat. My hands are shaking frantically. I gasp for air, hoping that it will bring me some peace, but it only burns my lungs with each breath. The pain is so intense that I start to hyperventilate as my thoughts start being pulled in a hundred dif
ferent directions. What am I going to do?
I shut my eyes, not even wanting to look at the failure I’ve become, showcased in my reflection. I curl up into a ball on my bed, my body writhing with each silent sob. The disappointment washes over me. The feeling of dread is so heavy that I worry it might smother me in my sleep.
“I’m so sorry, Nana,” I choke out into my pillow. “I’m sorry I’ve let you down and am destroying your legacy. You deserve much better than this. Much better than me.”
I mean, how the hell am I—a globally certified technotard—supposed to increase my online presence? That’s an impossible feat! I loathe social media, and now I’m supposed to go all gung-ho on it? In what world is this all going to work out for me so that I can increase my cash flow and keep my business running smoothly? Maybe I’m just being overly pessimistic, but I can’t help it. Everything just seems pointless.
My phone vibrates abruptly on my nightstand. The rattling sound cuts through the stagnant air of my failure with abandon. Reaching over, I swipe it off the table and bring the screen into view. A smile twitches at my lips as soon as I see the name. His name.
Lucas: This is my most desperate hour. Help me, Chloe-wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.
Chloe: Is that a Star Wars reference?
Lucas: You noticed?!
Chloe: Princess Leia, right?
Holy shit! I was right? Kyle would be losing his freaking mind right now if he knew his mother scoped out a Star Wars reference all by herself. I’m already on my feet, halfway down the hall to show him until I remember who I’m texting. On second thought, it’s probably best that I don’t show Kyle that I’m texting his Chemistry teacher.
I scurry back to my room and close the door, feeling guilting as hell, which is absurd. We aren’t doing anything illegal—just talking. Platonic texting isn’t crossing any boundaries. We will just keep it all PG-13. Or so I thought. That all changes when Lucas fires back his response.
Lucas: You’re making it really hard to resist you right now.
Chemistry: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World) Page 7
