Chapter 10 #2
“They're good. Talia is killing herself with overtime but refusing to admit she's tired. Micah and Poppy are doing better in school than I did.”
“That's incredible.”
“Yeah, they're all pretty fucking great.” I said it with enough pride that it probably sounded ridiculous, but I didn't care. “They've been through a lot of shit, but they're still standing. That's what matters.”
“What about you?” Rook asked. “You standing okay?”
I had to look away from him before I answered. “Most days. Some days are harder than others, but I'm managing.”
“You shouldn't have to just manage, Soren.”
“Yeah, well. That's life. Not everyone gets the clean path forward. Some of us just do the best we can with what we've got.”
We passed a coffee shack that was somehow still open despite the cold, and Rook stopped without asking if I wanted anything.
“Two coffees,” he told the teenager working the window. “Black for me, and—” He looked at me, eyebrows raised.
“Same,” I said, because I wasn't picky about coffee as long as it was hot.
He paid before I could even reach for my wallet, and when I tried to argue he just handed me the cup and said, “Let me buy you coffee, Soren. It's not a big deal.”
Except it felt like a big deal. But I took the coffee anyway because arguing would've made it weird, and we kept walking.
The park opened up into a wider field where a handful of dogs were running loose, chasing tennis balls and each other with the kind of chaotic joy that only dogs could manage.
A golden retriever immediately zeroed in on Rook like it had found its long-lost soulmate, bounding over with its tail wagging hard enough to create a small windstorm.
“Hey, buddy,” Rook said, crouching down to let the dog assault him with affection. “You're friendly, huh?”
The dog's owner jogged over, apologizing for the invasion, but Rook just laughed and said it was fine.
He spent the next five minutes getting thoroughly loved on by a dog that clearly had no concept of personal space, and I watched him the entire time because apparently I was a masochist who enjoyed torturing himself.
A smaller dog, some kind of terrier mix, decided I looked interesting and started circling my legs like it was trying to herd me toward an invisible pen. I crouched down to pet it, and it immediately tried to climb into my lap despite being covered in mud.
“You're a mess,” I told it, but I was grinning anyway because the dog's enthusiasm was impossible to resist.
“Looks like you made a friend,” Rook said, standing up and brushing dog hair off his jeans.
“Looks like we both did.”
We eventually extracted ourselves from the dogs and kept walking, following the path around the edge of a pond where a group of ducks was loitering like they owned the place. They looked peaceful enough from a distance, just floating around and doing normal duck things.
That should have been my first warning.
“They're kind of cute,” I said, stopping near the edge to watch them.
“Yeah,” Rook agreed, and he sounded genuinely charmed by them. “Harmless.”
One of the ducks looked directly at me, and I swear to god I saw murder in its beady little eyes.
“Rook,” I said slowly. “I don't think these ducks are harmless.”
“They're ducks, Soren. What are they going to do?”
The duck I'd made eye contact with started swimming toward us with a sense of purpose that sent alarm bells ringing in my head. Two more ducks joined it, and within seconds there was a small flotilla heading straight for the shore where we were standing.
“We should go,” I said.
“They're just coming to see if we have food.”
“We don't have food, which means they're coming to be violent.”
The first duck made it to shore and waddled toward us with an aggression that should not have been physically possible for a waterfowl. Rook laughed like this was charming instead of the beginning of a horror movie, and then the duck lunged.
“Holy shit!” Rook jumped back, and the duck followed him like a tiny feathered assassin. “Okay, yeah, you were right. These ducks are assholes.”
“I tried to warn you!” I was backing away too, because more ducks had joined the assault and they were moving in formation like a well-trained military unit. “Why are they so angry?”
“I don't know! Maybe they had a bad day!”
One of the ducks went for Rook's shoelace and started pulling on it with a determination that was honestly impressive. Another one decided my ankle looked like a good target and started pecking at my jeans with enough force that I felt it through the denim.
“Retreat!” I shouted, already turning to run. “Tactical retreat!”
We took off across the field like we were being chased by zombies instead of a gang of pissed-off ducks, and the absurdity of the situation hit me halfway through and I started laughing so hard I could barely breathe.
Rook was laughing too, that full-body kind that made him stumble over his own feet, and we didn't stop running until we were a safe distance away and the ducks had apparently decided we weren't worth the effort.
We collapsed onto a park bench, both of us breathing hard and grinning like idiots, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd laughed this hard at anything.
“That was ridiculous,” Rook said between gasps. “We just got chased off by ducks.”
“You're a professional athlete,” I pointed out. “Captain of a hockey team. And you got outmaneuvered by a bird.”
“So did you!”
“Yeah, but I'm not the one with the athletic reputation to maintain.” I was still grinning, chest warm despite the cold air. “This is going to haunt you forever.”
“Don't you dare tell anyone about this.”
“Oh, I'm absolutely telling everyone about this.” I leaned back against the bench, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. “This is going in my permanent memory bank under 'Times Rook Kincaid Was Defeated By Nature.'”
He shoved my shoulder lightly, but he was smiling, and the expression was so open and genuine that I felt my chest tighten with want I couldn't afford to feel.
We sat there for a while longer, just breathing and existing in the aftermath of duck-based chaos, and I let myself pretend for a minute that this was normal. That we did this all the time. That this easy warmth between us wasn't going to end the second reality came crashing back in.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see a text from Talia asking if I'd be home later to grab the rent money. Right. Because real life didn't pause just because I was having a good time.
I called her instead of texting back, and she picked up on the second ring.
“Hey,” I said. “Yeah, I'll be home in a bit. Can you send me your half now? I'm going to swing by and pay it on the way back.”
“Sure, give me a sec.” I heard her moving around in the background, probably grabbing her phone to transfer the money. “Done. You good?”
“Yeah, I'm good. Thanks, Tal.”
“Love you,” she said, and hung up before I could say it back.
I stared at my phone for a second, watching the notification come through that she'd sent her portion of the rent. Then I looked at Rook, who was watching me with an expression that was too perceptive for my own good.
“Rent?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I pocketed my phone and tried to figure out how to explain this without sounding pathetic. “Talia sends me her half every month, and I pay the landlord.”
“That's responsible of her.”
“It is. Except her half doesn't actually go to rent.” The words came out before I could stop them, and Rook's eyebrows shot up. “I put it in a savings account for her. She thinks she's contributing, but really I'm covering the full amount myself.”
“Soren—”
“Before you say anything, I know it sounds stupid. But she needs that savings more than I need her to help with rent. She's drowning herself in overtime at that finance job, and one day she's going to want out. So I just let her think she's helping, and I handle the rest.”
“That's not stupid,” Rook said quietly. “That's you taking care of your family.”
“Yeah, well. That's kind of my full-time job.” I stood up from the bench because sitting still was making me feel too exposed. “Come on. I need to actually pay this before the landlord starts sending passive-aggressive emails.”
Rook followed me without question, and we made our way out of the park and back toward where he'd parked his truck. The drive to my place was quiet in a way that felt comfortable instead of awkward, and I directed him through the streets until we pulled up in front of my building.
Except there was someone standing on the front steps, and my stomach dropped before I'd even fully registered who it was.
My mother.
“Fuck,” I said under my breath, and Rook immediately clocked that there was a problem.
“What's wrong?”
“You should go.” I was already unbuckling my seatbelt, moving on autopilot toward a confrontation I'd had a hundred times before. “Thanks for the walk, but I need to handle this.”
“Handle what?” Rook's eyes were on the woman standing at my door, and I could see the tension creeping into his shoulders. “Who is that?”
“My mother. And she's only here because she wants money, so I really need you to leave before this gets ugly.”
“I'm not leaving.”
“Rook—”
“I'm not leaving you to deal with this alone.” His voice was firm enough that I knew arguing would be pointless. “So let's go.”
I climbed out and walked toward the steps with Rook right beside me, and my mother's eyes tracked both of us with the kind of calculation that made my skin crawl.
“Soren,” she said, like we were old friends instead of people who barely tolerated each other's existence. “Been trying to reach you.”
“I know.” I stopped a few feet away, keeping distance between us on purpose. “What do you want?”
“Can't a mother check in on her son?”
“You're not here to check in. You're here because you need money.” I said it flatly, without emotion, because I'd learned years ago that showing how much this hurt only gave her more ammunition. “How much this time?”
Her expression shifted into something that was probably supposed to look hurt but mostly just looked annoyed. “That's a hell of a way to greet your mother.”
“How much?”
She named a number that made my chest tighten with anger I couldn't afford to show.
It was always like this. Every few months, one or both of my parents would show up with their hands out, expecting me to bail them out of whatever financial mess they'd created.
And I always did, because saying no meant they'd go after my siblings instead, and I'd rather bleed myself dry than let them touch my siblings.
“I'll transfer it tomorrow,” I said.
“I need it tonight.”
“Then you should have asked earlier.” I pulled out my phone anyway, because arguing would just drag this out longer. “Give me your account info.”
She rattled off the numbers, and I transferred the money while Rook stood next to me radiating protective tension that my mother definitely noticed. When the transfer went through, I pocketed my phone and crossed my arms.
“We done here?”
“For now.” Her eyes flicked to Rook, assessing. “You gonna introduce me to your friend?”
“No.” I turned toward the door without waiting for a response. “Go home, Mom. We're done.”
She left without another word, and I stood there on the steps watching her walk away until she disappeared around the corner. Only then did I let myself breathe, and the exhale came out shaky enough that I hated myself for it.
“Soren,” Rook said quietly, and his hand was on my shoulder, warm and steady. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I wasn't, but admitting that felt like weakness. “This is normal. They show up when the money runs dry, I give them what they want, and they leave me alone for a while. It's been like this since I got custody of the kids.”
“That's not normal. That's fucking awful.”
“Yeah, well. Welcome to my life.” I unlocked the front door and stepped inside, needing distance from the street and the ghost of my mother's presence. “Thanks for being here. You didn't have to stay.”
“I know,” Rook said, following me in. “But I wanted to.”
I looked at him standing in my shitty entryway, and the kindness in his eyes was almost too much to handle. Because this was Rook seeing the absolute worst parts of my life and choosing to stay anyway, and I didn't know what to do with that except hold onto it as tightly as I could.