Second Chance Boyfriend (Drew + Fable #2)(51)

He tilts his head, screws up his lips. Looking far older and world-weary than any fourteen-year-old should. “I just worry about her. I worry about you too. I’m supposed to be the man of the house.”

My jaw drops. “Who told you that?”

“Mom. A long time ago. She said I had to watch out for the both of you and I promised I always would. I haven’t done the best job of it but I swear, I try.”

My heart breaks for this kid. He’s gone through so much at too young of an age. He’s seen too much. Grabbing his shoulders, I bring him in for a quick hug, not holding on to him for too long since I know he’ll just wiggle out of my grip anyway. “We’ll take care of each other, okay? It’s not all on me or all on you. We’ll share the load.”

“I’ll help you with whatever you need, Fabes. I’m on your side. I promise.” He clings to me again and I hug him close, savoring it for a little while longer. I love him so much. I hate that he’s conflicted between Mom and me.

“Go take a shower,” I tell him once I get up off his bed and start out of his room. “And when you get home today, I want you to clean this room. It sucks.”

His laughter follows me down the hall as I head toward the kitchen. I’ve been up for over a half hour, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Thinking of looking for an apartment today, talking to Owen about it, maybe gathering up the courage to talk to Mom about her moving out.

Trying my best to not think of Drew.

What the hell happened last night, anyway? Our fight had started out of nothing. I tried to be honest with him and he got all macho-man-how-many-guys-have-you-f*cked-anyway on me. I accept him for who he is, flaws and all, so why can’t he accept me?

I get irritated just thinking about it. So it’s best I don’t.

A knock sounds at the door and I scowl. Who the hell is here at seven in the morning? Stomping over to the door, I look through the peephole but I see nothing. I throw open the door and peek to the left, then the right. No one’s there.

Then I glance down and find a gorgeous bouquet of wildflowers sitting on the thin, faded doormat. The vase is full of a riot of colorful blooms, I can’t identify any of them beyond their pretty colors. I know in an instant who they’re from.

Drew.

Grabbing the vase, I clutch it in my hand as I step farther outside, my gaze steady as I study the parking lot. But I don’t see his truck. I don’t see any indication he’s been here at all but the flowers in my hand.

How the heck did he get them here and then disappear? I know he’s fast on the football field but come on. Where did he go?

“Who the hell was knocking—oh. Lover Boy.”

I turn to see Owen grinning at me, wearing a stained T-shirt with some unknown and I’m sure crappy band’s logo on the front, and black faded skinny jeans. We both walk back into the apartment together. “That’s what you’re wearing to school?”

He glances down at himself. “I’m not going to the prom. Gimme a break. Hey, you got any smokes?”

“Owen! Promise me you’re not smoking.” The guilty look on his face says it all. If the flowers weren’t so beautiful, I’d hurl the vase at him, I’m so pissed. “You’re too young to smoke. It’s a horrible, nasty habit.”

“You do it.”

“Not all the time. I mostly quit.” Yeah, that sounds lame as hell.

“I only smoke every once in a while,” Owen whines. “It soothes my nerves.”

“Such a bullshit answer. I’m sure if I dug around in your room right now, I’d find some weed too. Am I right?” I raise a brow, just daring him to deny it.

His eyes widen the slightest bit right before he goes for pure defiant nonchalance. “Oh, who cares? You act like you’ve always been on the straight and narrow. I bet you’ve smoked a few bowls in your life.”

Not really. Drugs don’t do much for me. I smoked a joint here and there through high school but nothing major. Cigarettes were my major vice. The occasional keg party would do me in, too. Make me do stupid things. After a while, that’s why I avoided them. “I’m twenty, you’re fourteen. There’s a difference between what I’m doing and what you’re doing.”

“Such crap,” Owen mutters as he walks away from me, heading toward the couch where his sweatshirt is flung over the back. “I’m outta here.”

I set the vase down on the kitchen counter, my pleasure at receiving the flowers evaporating when I realize I’ve not only just got into a huge fight with my brother, but I did the same thing with Drew last night.

Who’s the one with the problem, hmm?

“Owen, look. I’m sorry.” He stops at the door, as if he’s waiting for me to further explain myself. “I just hate to see you make a bunch of stupid mistakes like I did. I wish you could learn from me.”

“I’m going to do what I do no matter what, Fabes. I wish you could see that.” He turns to face me, looking like a ragamuffin in his faded black sweatshirt streaked with bleach stains. Who the hell does his laundry? Oh, that’s right, he does. “I’m not a bad kid. I get decent grades. I only skip class sometimes. And I have good friends. So I smoke here and there. So I get high and forget about my troubles for a while. Is that so bad?”

Yes, I want to shout at him. I want you to be perfect and well behaved and never give me any problems. I don’t want you doing drugs or smoking or drinking or fooling around with girls. I want you to be eight years old forever.