All Yours: A Second Chance Romance by Ellie Bradshaw

Author:Ellie Bradshaw [Bradshaw, Ellie]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: TWeiss Publications
Published: 2020-11-18T16:00:00+00:00

Machiavelli Couldn't Be Prouder

Cam

This house is huge, and there are plenty of unused bedrooms, but it honestly would not have surprised me at all if Dad had rented out my bedroom as soon as I moved out for college. It still shocks me somewhat when I return home and it’s still there with all the same stuff in it I had in high school.

Maybe the old man is getting sentimental in his old age.

Maybe he just hasn’t thought about it.

I drop our bags on the floor by the bed. Since we’ll only be up here a couple of days we packed light, and I was able to bring our small suitcases in a single trip.

The window looks out onto the back yard and the fields behind the house. A prominent elm that has stood in that field near the yard is gone. The hill dips down so that I cannot see where the stump of that tree still anchors in the ground, but a column of black smoke rises from that spot to curl in the spring air. I know that my father, my brother Eli, and Eric are gathered around the smoking remains, probably drinking beer.

I should go out to see them, but I have trouble finding the reserves of energy to interact with Dad right now. Instead, I plop back onto my bed.

It’s a king size—of course. Probably more than a high school kid needs. It’s about an acre of mattress. I feel myself smiling. I had a lot of fun on this bed, back in my wild and wooly teenage years. My mind briefly drifts to escapades with old girlfriends…and with friends’ girlfriends…and with girlfriends’ sisters…and I realize that none of them ever really belonged in this bed.

I stare up at the familiar ceiling, tracing the lines of texture familiar as the back of my hand. All I see in those lines is Aimee’s face.

We will share this room tonight. This bed. Something I’ve wanted to do for so long. Months that seem like years. And now that we will be, it feels…awkward.

Because it’s not what she wants. This is something she’s only doing for me, as a favor.

I find myself wishing for things. Wishing that I was better at saying what I feel. Wishing that Aimee could just know how I feel without me having to say it. Wishing I hadn’t fucked things up between us.

If wishes were horses, or something like that. No sense dwelling. Go handle business.

Time to go see Dad.

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