Chapter Six
Twelve years ago…
Sloane shut her bedroom door and slid down to the floor with her phone clutched in her trembling hand. She studied her recent calls. Reaching out to her sister or brother was always a viable option. They would always be there for her, but… no. Sloane shook her head. She didn’t want to worry them. They didn’t know how bad things still were, and they had their own lives to worry about. So she called the person she knew who would always listen.
August answered on the second ring. “Hey, Sloane.”
Hearing his voice—so friendly and open—freed the emotions she’d tried so hard to keep locked up. A sob escaped. She covered her mouth with her hand like that could stop the flow of tears.
“Sloane.”
She tried to answer, but only a watery whimper eked out.
“Sloane, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. She wished she could do the same to her ears. Anything to block out the screaming argument her parents were having down the hall.
She sucked in a breath and tried again.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.” She spoke in a whisper, although there was no need. Her parents couldn’t possibly hear her over their yelling. “You’re probably with your girlfriend or something.”
He’d dropped that bombshell a few conversations ago, all casual- like. “Yeah, Melinda thinks I should take a sociology class next semester.” She was totally cool with it because they were just friends.
“Hey, what’s going on? I’m by myself.” His voice was quiet, yet sure. “You can tell me.”
This is why she’d called him. She’d known he would be supportive.
Sloane rubbed her right temple with her free hand like that had a shot in hell of easing the headache that was currently pulsating there. “My parents are fighting about money and my dad’s gambling debts again. He can’t or won’t pay the child support he owes. I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh, Sloane. I’m sorry.”
“And here I thought a divorce would end all of our suffering.”
“A logical conclusion. Too bad they couldn’t comply. Hmmph.”
August’s judgment of her parents made her chuckle. It came out a little watery, but it was better than the crying jag she’d almost given in to. “Then I hate myself because…”
“They’re your parents, and you don’t want to be insensitive to their feelings.”
Sloane dropped her head back against the door. “Yeah. I should be used to the fights by now, but tonight is different. They’re not using their inside voices. I think they forgot I was here.”
“Parents are the worst.”
The response, stated so matter-of-factly, had more laughter bubbling in her chest. “They are. Speaking of, how is Papa Hodges?”
August’s sniff of derision came through loud and clear. “Still running his business empire and uninterested in his only child.”
She wished with all her heart that she could reach through the phone and offer him a hug. “August.”
“It’s okay.”
Except it wasn’t. She could hear it in his voice. “Do you mind if I ask about your mom?”
During their first call, she’d asked for—okay, more like demanded—he give her his number, so she could call for math help in the future. His vibe was way chiller than her brother’s when it came to helping her. Now, they talked at least once a week. Their conversations had morphed from mostly about calculus to the normal everyday highs and lows of life. They were friends. Though August never said much, he said enough for her to know his dad wouldn’t be winning any “Father of the Year” awards. But he never talked about his mother. But maybe he needed to.
After a moment of quiet, he sighed. “No, I don’t mind. She died when I was seven, and I spent most of my childhood with my grandfather because my dad was off working.”
Sloane’s hand fisted into a tight ball. She knew August’s mom had passed away, but not that it happened so long ago. Her heart ached for that sweet, young boy. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Do you know a lot about her?”
“My dad doesn’t like talking about her, so I only got bits and pieces growing up, but I always wondered about her.” He paused. “Can I tell you something?”
“Anything.” She’d never answered a question so quickly.
“I wonder if I’m making her proud.”
“Of course you are.” Of that, she had no doubt.
“Well, it’s sure as hell not happening with my dad.”
“We’ve already established that parents are the worst.”
His chuckle made her smile.
“That we did,” he said. “A few months ago, I found some of her journals.”
“Oh, that’s dope.”
His voice lightened with happiness. “Yeah, she was really funny. And she loved cooking all types of food, but baking was her first love.”
“Do you bake?”
August scoffed. “Me? No, I’m no good in the kitchen.”
“Maybe you should. To honor her memory.”
He paused for a second. When he spoke, his voice was soft. “Maybe I should.”