Page 9

I hear him pull the plug on the tub. Water getting sucked down the drain in a fast swirl. A few seconds later, he’s standing in the doorway, wrapped in his favorite Scooby Doo towel. “Do we have to leave?”
The question stings. Before Simon was born, we moved around a lot. Floated around from town to town. State to state. By the time I was his age, we’d covered most of the mid-west. I’d have to look at my own birth certificate to be able to tell you where I was even born. I don’t know what it’s like to put down roots. Or at least I didn’t. Not until Simon was born. We’ve lived here for nearly five years now and I thought leaving was going to be easy. It was always the plan. Not one my mom was crazy about, but she understood that college wasn’t in the cards for me. That I don’t have time to waste in a four-year university, trying to find my way in life like the people I went to high school with.
It’s why I pretty much keep to myself. A few acquaintances but no real friends. No real relationships. No girls. I secluded myself in preparation for what’s coming. I never thought in a million years that my plans would be in danger of being derailed by someone as sweet and simple as Claire St. James.
I was wrong.
“Yeah, buddy—we do.” I reach down and pick him up, carrying him down the hall to our room. I put him down and give him a good rub down with the towel before handing him his pajamas. He puts them on while I hang up his towel. When I come back, he’s already in bed. “Simon burrito?” I ask even though Claire is waiting for me downstairs because it’s our thing and nothing's more important to me than Simon.
He scowls and nods. “Can we take her with us?”
I like the idea. I like it entirely too much. I let myself think about it for a second. Telling her how I feel. What I want. Ask her to be with me.
Us.
It would never work. There are things about me I can never tell her. Things that would make her run, fast and far, away from me. I’d rather leave her behind than take the risk of having her look at me like I was some sort of freak.
“Fraid not,” I say, tucking his blankets around him as tight as I can get them. “Claire’s got a family that needs her.”
His chin wobbles for a moment before he sets it into a firm frown. “But I need her too.” He glares at me, tears in his eyes, like this is all my fault. Like I’m the reason we have to leave. “I don’t want to leave.”
Neither do I, buddy. Neither do I.