Chapter 10
Pulling into the driveway and putting my car in park, I drop my head onto the headrest, gritting my teeth as my mom’s voice comes through the speaker.
“Honey, I just don’t know what you expected from us,” she mutters, voice nasally and bothered. “That we would be happy for you?”
“I mean, yeah,” I reply, keeping my voice even. “I’m your son, and I’m doing something that makes me happy.”
“By dropping out of college in your final year.” Her tone is so condescending. Her face is clear as day in my mind; nose stuck up, face twisted in disappointment. I’ve been putting off this conversation, but knew it needed to happen. We live in such a small town; it would only be a matter of time before they realized I wasn’t away at college. Not to mention, they’d find out sooner or later that I dropped out.
After I left the arena, I decided to get it over with and call them on my way home. Now I’m regretting that choice. I should’ve just written it all in a letter and mailed it the old-fashioned way. They don’t deserve my efforts.
Grinding down on my molars, I drag in a deep breath through my nose, exhaling through my mouth, trying to remain calm enough to get through this conversation. “Listen, I know this isn’t what either of you had in mind for me, but I’m an adult, and this is what I want. I hope with time you guys can learn to respect that.”
“Grady…” My mom blows out a long, exaggerated breath. “I don’t see that happening any time soon. Your father and I are disappointed in you. We had such high hopes for where you would go in life, and now you’re going to be nothing more than a low-life, living paycheck to paycheck, working some photo-taking job that’s never going to go anywhere.” She scoffs, just as my chest tightens. “I have to go, Grady. I’ve got things to do, and I can’t sit here and argue with you about your silly little dreams.”
The line goes dead, and I let my eyes drift closed, anger and frustration boiling up inside of me. When I called them, I knew they wouldn’t understand, I knew they’d be unhappy, but some small part inside of me had hoped they’d see it from my side. That maybe, for once, they’d be happy for me. The older I get, the less of a relationship I have with my parents. What’s the point? We have nothing in common, they don’t give a shit about my interests, and I always leave conversations with them feeling shitty about myself. I don’t see a reason to maintain a relationship with people who make me feel like that, family or not. It’s not worth it.
As upsetting as this is, it also feels like the last straw. It’s the instance that finally allows me to cut them off for good, without feeling bad about it. If they can’t be happy for me, and learn to accept my decisions, then there’s no point in holding onto a relationship.
Coming to that conclusion feels freeing, like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders. Like I can breathe again. Before all of this, it was a good day. A long one, but good, and I refuse to let this ruin my night.
I’m ready to forget about that call, stuff my face with some food, take a hot shower, and relax. Grabbing my things off the passenger seat, I climb out and lock the car. Boone’s truck is here, so I know he’s home. He stopped by the arena earlier for whatever reason, and Suzy was with him. She ran over to me, excited to see what I was up to. I don’t care what anybody says, kids are the absolute best hype crew to have around. Or maybe it’s just Suzy, but everything I show her, she acts like it’s the literal coolest thing she’s ever seen and like I’m the most awesome human she’s ever met. It’s great for a guy’s confidence.
Silence greets me as I walk through the front door and kick off my shoes. They must be out back. Padding through the house, the backyard comes into view, and I spot Suzy first. In her mermaid one-piece bathing suit, her blonde curly hair is wet and messy as she runs through the grass, chasing after Mabel. I spot the sprinkler sitting a ways out, but it’s not on.
As I get closer to the glass, Boone comes into view, and fuck me, it’s like freshmen year summer all over again. It’s not necessarily a hot day in Copper Lake today, but the sun is out and it’s decently warm, yet here Boone is, topless, muscles out, skin glistening—from sweat or water from the sprinkler, I’m not sure—as he builds what looks to be a swing set for Suzy. He’s wearing that damn maroon and black tool belt strapped around his waist, and he’s got a pair of black sweats slung low on his hips. Those two seem like a risky combination put together, but I’m here for it. His black hair is hidden beneath a golden rod yellow Powder Ridge baseball hat that’s flipped around, and he’s turned to the side so I can see his side profile.
Kneeling down, he’s reading over the instructions with a screwdriver in one hand, fingers from his other hand smoothing down his mustache—something I’ve noticed he does when he’s deep in thought. The way the sun is beaming down, it’s illuminating the hairs on his arms and casting him in a golden glow. He’s stunning.
My hands are moving before my mind has a chance to catch up as I shoulder off the camera bag slung over my arm. I unzip it and grab the camera out, all without taking my eyes off Boone. Placing the strap around my neck, I bring the camera up to my face, making sure it’s in focus, and I snap picture after picture, admiring his beauty and the hard work that’s evident on his body. He’s focused and serious, and oblivious to how beautiful he looks right now. Well, right now and always.
At one point, he glances into the yard, presumably checking on his daughter. She’s having the time of her life playing with the dog. I capture what I know is going to be an epic shot of him watching them play together, the setting sun as the backdrop. It reminds me of the picture I got of Suzy and Mabel at Stampede Days, and I already can’t wait to edit this one and compare the two.
I wonder if Boone realizes how well he photographs. How much the camera loves him.
Standing up, he stretches his arms above his head, a little patch of hair peeking out from beneath his sweats. Of course, I have to snap a shot of that, but then I hurry and put the camera away, and just in time. Because a moment later, Suzy spots me and starts running over.
“Uncle Grady!” Her little bare feet slap against the grassy yard as she hustles to me. Boone glances over, meeting my gaze, and he lifts his chin and smiles by way of greeting, to which I return the gesture.
Thank God he didn’t just catch me with my camera in hand. That would’ve been awkward.
“Uncle Grady,” she repeats, out of breath, coming to a stop in front of me. I lean down, opening my arms, as she wraps herself around me. “Do you see what Daddy is building for me?”
“I do!” Bringing her with me, I stand back up and brush the wet, sweaty curls out of her face. “I’m a little jealous. Nobody builds me swing sets.”
“You can use it too!”
“Think I might be a little too big for it, pretty girl. Wouldn’t wanna break it after your daddy went through all the trouble to build it.”
Suzy giggles. “Yeah, you are kinda big.”
Somebody said that kids are essentially tiny, drunk adults, and that’s honestly one of the most accurate comparisons I’ve ever heard of. Bluntly honest, they’ll stop whatever they’re doing and pass out, no coordination, no shame, and they constantly say shit that makes zero sense.
Glancing over at Boone, I chuckle, finding him already watching us with an amused look on his face. We lock eyes, and something I can’t explain passes between us. I feel it in my chest, down my arms and legs. I even feel it in my gut. It lasts maybe a couple of seconds, Boone blinking and severing whatever it was that just happened, but my heart’s racing a mile a minute in the aftermath, and I feel on display. Like he somehow knows what I was thinking when I was taking his picture, which is obviously ridiculous. Boone Stanton may be many things, but a mind reader, he is not.
Before either of us has a chance to say anything—not really sure what there is to say—his phone goes off where it’s sitting on the patio table. He startles upon hearing it, his feet moving toward the table in an instant. Pressing a button on the screen, he holds the phone up to his face, and my sister’s voice echoes out of the speaker, acting as a bucket of cold water dumped over my head.
Suddenly, guilt clings to the lining of my stomach and a lump forms in my throat so thick and large, I can barely swallow. I zone out, not hearing anything Boone’s saying to her, but eventually he hands the phone to Suzy, and I set her down. Saying a quick “hey,” I make a beeline for inside. In the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of water, chugging the entire thing in one go as I mentally berate myself for checking out my sister’s husband while she’s out of town. After she so graciously offered me her house to stay in while she’s gone. What does that say about me as a brother? As a person?
You know what? No. Stop it. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with admiring someone’s beauty. I’m a photographer, for Christ’s sake. What I did out there, taking pictures of him in his element, is my job. It’s not creepy or inappropriate, and it certainly doesn’t make me a terrible brother. It’s fine.
Totally fine.
“Yeah,” I murmur to myself as I set my water glass in the dishwasher and head to my room to grab a change of clothes so I can hop in the shower and forget all about this.
It’s fine.