Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84002 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“I can’t stay in his house,” she said, shaking her head, and he saw the pain in her features. Wondered if she felt any of that pain when he’d left. “Everywhere I look there are memories of him. Of our life together. I can’t do it. Jonathan said I should call you about the house.”
Hot anger shot through him. Jonathan said she should call? She hadn’t wanted to? He’d assumed when she had called for his help with the house and getting things in order, it would have been because she wanted him there, not because Jonathan said to do it. “I don’t want it, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You can say that so easily?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“He was your father. I know he had his problems, but he was your father and he loved you.”
“Christ, Max. What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you so dense?”
Max’s head snapped back at the pop from his dad’s hand.
“You’re too goddamn soft. Keep acting like that and people will think you’re light on your feet. You act like you’re queer. You queer?”
The breath got knocked out of him as he was shoved against the wall. “Christ, I don’t know how I ended up with such a fuckup for a son.”
No, his father hadn’t loved him. That wasn’t love.
“He left you money. He hadn’t seen you in twelve years, and he left you money.” She said it as if that were proof of his love, as if money could make up for how things were.
“I don’t want that either.”
CHAPTER THREE
Van hated sleeping in this house. Hated thinking back to the person he’d been when he’d lived there.
He’d spent most of the night lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wishing he had a paintbrush between his fingers and a canvas in front of him.
When he’d grabbed his bag the day before, he’d left those things in the car. Somehow pulling them out felt more permanent. Felt like he was bringing his new life into his old life, and the thought made him nauseous. He couldn’t handle the thought of blending the two, of dirtying it that way. No, he didn’t think he could ever paint in that house. Not with all the memories there.
He and his mom hadn’t spoken much more, and it had been late afternoon when he’d gotten in. After her mini breakdown, she’d stood, wiped her eyes, and assured him she was fine. That was the mother he was used to, the one with the hard armor he’d been forced to wear for eighteen years as well. Sullivans were strong. Smart. Confident. Wealthy. At least that was the image they were always supposed to project.
They sure didn’t run away from home as fast as they could and work as a waiter while putting themselves through art school. They didn’t paint pictures and take photographs of naked men, bodies locking together in the most intimate way. They didn’t lick the sweat off another man’s skin, or take another man into their body, or love the feel of a cock in their mouth, either.
When his body got too restless to stay in bed any longer, he pushed out of it. He was in his old room, only it wasn’t the same. His parents weren’t the kind of sentimental people who kept his things for him and he was fine with that. Nothing he’d had back then had truly been Van anyway. They’d been who he was supposed to be. Who his father wanted him to be. The boy next door with the perfect grades, who loved sports and girls. The American fucking dream.
He made his way down the hallway and toward his mom’s room. The door was cracked open. She lay on her side, eyes closed, facing him.
It was early…early enough that he had a good excuse not to wake her, when he just wasn’t prepared to dive into anything with her yet. He still didn’t totally understand why she’d called him back, besides the fact that Jonathan said she should—oh and money he didn’t give a rat’s ass about. She could have told him about it over the phone, and he could have rejected it from home, just like he would have if she had been able to get ahold of him in time for his father’s service. He sure as hell wouldn’t have come for that.
Van went back to his room, changed clothes, brushed his teeth, and then scribbled a quick note about going to grab breakfast.
Van’s car nearly drove itself to Lucky Rose. It was down Main Street about a block from the movie theater that only played one movie at a time. He hadn’t realized where he was going until he pulled into the parking lot and parked.
Motherfucker.
It was where he’d always gone with his friends.
He’d spent hours there with Jonathan and their other friends, eating French fries, milkshakes, and sneaking Jack into their Cokes before taking off to go make out with whatever girls they had with them at the time.