Always Have: A Bad Boy Romance(17)

So I keep making excuses and avoiding the entire situation. Great plan, right? Real grown up of me.

But today, I can’t make an excuse and I can’t ignore them. It’s Mother’s Day, and the three of us have a tradition to keep.

I don’t particularly like Mother’s Day. Both parental holidays are tough on Selene and Braxton, so that’s certainly a part of it. But whereas Father’s Day just means the three of us hang out with my dad, Mother’s Day is tough on me, too. Talking about my mother still doesn’t come easily to me. I haven’t spoken to her in years. She left my dad for another man when I was little. Moved off to California and started a new family, leaving Dad and me behind. I didn’t see her much as a kid, other than the two weeks I was forced to stay with her every summer—until I was thirteen and refused to go.

I didn’t get in trouble for that act of rebellion. There was no coaxing or cajoling me to get in the car and drive to the airport. Dad acted upset, then had a phone conversation with my mother behind a closed door. And I never went to California to stay with her again.

It’s more or less impossible not to feel pretty f*cking abandoned when your mother leaves you. What was so wrong with me that she didn’t want me? It wasn’t that she didn’t want kids; she had three more. I looked her up on Facebook once, a few years ago, and her feed was full of posts about my half-siblings. Bragging about their accomplishments, posting pictures of them all together. What a f*cking shit show. I blocked her, even though she’s never made any attempt to contact me.

So with Selene and Braxton’s mom gone, and mine being the unloving narcissist that she is, we’ve always spent Mother’s Day together. It’s just what we do.

I head over to Braxton’s gym where we’re meeting up. There are a couple of cars parked out front—Braxton’s being one of them—but no sign of Selene. I consider waiting in the car until she shows up. This isn’t a bring a date sort of day, so I’m positive Aubrey isn’t here, but I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I don’t like the idea of being alone with Brax right now.

I blow out a long breath. This is stupid. I’m building this up in my mind so much that I’m all worked up over nothing. I’ll see Braxton, and it will be the same as it always is. We’ll go do our weird little Mother’s Day ritual: a ferry ride from Seattle to Bainbridge and back, then dinner at this little hole-in-the-wall Mexican place in Belltown, before we go visit their parents’ grave sites. I can totally handle it.

I walk in the front door and find Braxton putting equipment away on the other side of the gym. The sight of him hits me like a train; my lungs go empty like he’s just sucked all the oxygen out of room. Burned it up with the heat of his body.

He gives me an easy smile and I do my best to smile back.

See? This is fine. Completely normal.

“Hey, baby girl,” he says, as he saunters over to me. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

I lift one shoulder. “I’m good. Same. How about you?”

He nods. “Good. Same.”

We both pause and I hate the fact that I feel awkward around him.

“So, did you have a client this morning?” I ask.

“Yeah, finished up a little bit ago,” he says. “So hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you—have you started the freelance thing yet?”

“I actually put a website together,” I say, “and I’m looking into a few options for finding clients, but I haven’t decided on a direction yet.”

His eyes light up, and I’d be lying if I say it doesn’t make me feel damn good to see him look proud of me. “That’s awesome,” he says. “I actually think I have your first client for you.”

“Really? Who?”

“Me.”

“What?” I ask. “You?”

“Yeah, the gym needs a new logo,” he says. “I don’t know why I didn’t have you do it originally. I have this generic thing I use now, but I want to get new signage made, maybe t-shirts and stuff. What do you say? Can I hire you?”

I hesitate for a second. Is there anything wrong with this setup? Any reason I should say no? I’d love to design his logo. The thought of tapping into my creative side again is exciting. And it would give me something real to add to my portfolio—something other than mockups and old school projects.

“I’d love to,” I say.

He smiles—that ridiculous brain-melting smile of his—and I fight back the temptation to hug him.

“Great,” he says. “We can talk more about it later. I need to go shower. Selene’s running late anyway, and she’ll bitch if I smell.”

I think he smells heavenly, even from several feet away, but I shove that thought away as fast as I think it.

His phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pocket. A smile crosses his lips, and my back clenches. I’ll bet anything it’s Aubrey.

He pockets the phone and smiles again. “Shower. I’ll be right back.”

I close my eyes and shake my head while he walks away.

The door opens behind me and I inadvertently gasp when a man as tall as Braxton walks in the door. I recognize him instantly—Derek Marshall.

I’ve seen him on TV, so seeing him in person is a trip. He definitely looks like a football player. He’s wearing shorts and an Under Armour compression tank that shows off every line of muscle he has. And he has plenty—all of them, in fact.