Craving Resurrection
Page 93

I hadn’t had sex again until Patrick had shown up a few years later, and after that, I hadn’t even been open to the possibility of becoming serious with anyone else. Not until Sam.
On paper, Sam was everything I could have wanted. He was gentle, but he also knew exactly how to touch me. He didn’t put up with my shit, but he didn’t push, either. He was successful, driven and extremely attractive. I really liked him and I’d thought that maybe we were working toward something good.
But now, all I could see was Patrick, and I fucking hated that. I hated the pull he had on my emotions and the way he wouldn’t let go.
He wouldn’t let go, and I couldn’t go back.
“Mum, I’m heading over to Simon’s okay? His mom’s leaving right now.” Nix came to a stop next to me, and I leaned against his lanky frame.
He’d grown taller than me by the time he was thirteen, and now my head barely reached his shoulder. It both amazed me and drove me insane because I knew where he’d inherited that height.
“Are you sure—” my words cut off as his body grew tight against mine. I was being selfish. “Sure, baby. But you need to be home by nine, okay?”
“Mum—”
“Nine, Phoenix. No later. You’ve got school tomorrow and you’re not staying the night over there.”
“I always stayed there before—”
“Nix,” I warned, and his mouth snapped shut.
“Fine,” he grumbled, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. “Love you.”
“Love you too, kiddo.”
He ran down the steps and met Simon’s mom Renee at her car, where she stood waiting for him. She raised her hand and waved back at me with a nod before climbing inside and pulling away. We had a deal, her and I. No matter where the boys were, my house or hers, we kept an eagle-eye on the two of them.
“Ye couldn’t have let de kid stay wit’ a friend tonight?” Patrick’s voice startled me. I’d forgotten for a moment that he was there. “We’ve got shite to talk about, Amy. I let ye have de past couple of days, but it’s time.”
I shook my head and locked the front door, absently looking over the messy house. There’d been too many people inside my small home, but I’d wanted to have the reception after the funeral in my own space. I’d never felt completely comfortable at the church, and I’d wanted to get out of there as soon as I could.
“Yer makin’ him a mama’s boy,” Patrick continued, and I felt unreasonable anger rise in my chest. I’d heard that comment before from an old boyfriend right before I’d kicked his ass out of my house.
“Simon’s not Nix’s friend, Patrick,” I replied, walking into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. It felt like the house had dropped ten degrees without all of those bodies heating it. “He knows he’s not allowed to stay the night there, he was just trying to work the sympathy card.”
“Shite, de boy just lost his nan—”
“That doesn’t mean that I’m going to encourage him at sixteen to go have sex!” I snapped back, turning to face him.
“What?” The look of confusion on his face was almost comical.
“Simon is Nix’s boyfriend.”
I watched as understanding hit him and braced myself. I was used to people saying shit—I lived in a small Texas town, for Chrissake, so it wasn’t like I hadn’t heard the murmurs. I was also pretty sure that Simon and Nix were together purely because it was slim pickins around here for gay teenagers.
But that didn’t mean that I was prepared for any type of scorn from Patrick. It would completely sever any ties I believed were still holding us together.
“Well, shite. I wouldn’t let him spend de night dere, eit’er.” He growled, dropping into a chair at the table. “What’s dis Simon kid like?”
I felt a small smile curve my lips as I turned back toward the counter. “He’s a nice kid. Not very handsome,” I looked over my shoulder with a smirk. “His ears stick out and he’s fighting a losing battle with acne. But he’s sweet to Nix, and that’s all I can ask for.”
“Little fucker better be nice to Nix,” I heard him grumble as I passed him a hot mug.
“It’s fine, you know? He’s a good kid, and he’s respectful. I can’t really complain.”
He was silent for a few moments and I could envision the gears grinding and the wheels turning as he processed this new information. I’d had years to process it, starting when Nix was around…eleven, I think? He’d started asking questions then, and even though it had scared me, I’d answered as calmly and reasonably as I could.
Did I care that my kid was gay? Not at all.
Did I worry about him every single second he was out of my sight? Yes, but I’d been doing that since the day he was born and I didn’t see it changing—ever.
I knew that there were people out there who would hurt him just because they could. Bigots. But for now, we were tucked away here in our quiet town, and we hadn’t had any problems yet. My boy was all boy, strong and masculine, and there were only a few kids larger than him in his high school. As long as he was there, I knew he was relatively safe. I didn’t let myself think of when he’d leave for college. That was a whole new set of worries.
“He havin’ sex wit’ dat kid?” Patrick’s accent was deeper, along with his tone.