Finn can't stop thinking about Winter and the night and he'll do anything to make her a permanent part of his life, even if it means separating Winter from the only family she has.
Their love was supposed to be unrequited but one grief stricken guy and one girl with too big of a heart results in disastrous consequences.
"Are you humming?" Bo asked.
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I looked up from pulling on the dingiest carpet I'd seen in months. This house I'd picked up was vile, worse than usual. Bo had suggested it was a meth factory, given the needles, rotten egg smell, and burnt patches on the walls and flooring. It could have been, or it might just have been an ordinary addict's house, but there was shit everywhere.
If I was humming, I didn't realize it, but I was in a decent mood. I figured once I got Winter to just sit and talk with me, we’d work it out. That was something worth humming about.
I just shrugged and went back to work. "Just trying to block out the god-awful music you choose to play. You've been up north here for almost a year. Can't you play anything but country songs?”
"I could." Bo paused to toss a handful of staples in the trash. "But I know it annoys the hell out of you. And that makes the music sound that much sweeter."
"Too bad you don't know shit all about constructing a house and you still have to hang on my dick until you can get it right."
"Which is why I play music you hate. It fits our dysfunctional relationship."
"I thought you were going to therapy to fix your problems."
"If by ‘therapy’ you mean having a ton of awesome sex with my girlfriend, then yes, I'm in therapy all night and random times during the day." I snorted but wisely said nothing. "But speaking of therapy," Bo continued. My response was a loud groan that I hoped would be hint enough that I didn't want to talk about whatever it was that followed. Bo ignored me. "How's your mom?"
"Well, she texted that she got up and had coffee today, so I count that as a win." I reached down to tug harder on the carpet. Did they glue it down instead of just stapling the edges?
"Mal says 'Paradise lies under the feet of your mother.'"
That made me stop. I gaped at Bo. He threw up his hands, one still holding a crowbar he was using to pull up the tacking strips, the long thin lumber pieces that held the carpet on the edges of the room.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"Apparently it means if you don't make your momma happy, you ain't gonna be happy."
"If I knew what would make her happy, I'd do it," I replied.
"I suck at this comforting thing." He pulled off his hat and scratched his head. "But maybe you outta talk to someone else?"
"Like Lana?" I grunted. "No thanks. Between her and Mal, it sounds like I should be taking my mother on a date."
Jen Frederick lives with her husband, child, and one rambunctious dog. She's been reading stories all her life but never imagined writing one of her own. Jen loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at jensfrederick@gmail.com.
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