A Bluewater Bay Collection

by Witt, L. A.

  I took the book, put it on the nightstand, then sat on the edge of the bed. “You can stay up later and read this weekend. I’d let you tonight, but if I do, you won’t be able to get up to go to school.”

  He frowned, but didn’t argue.

  Blood pounded in my ears. He was about to go to sleep. Was I really going to do this now?

  Then I realized he was watching me. The frown had faded, and instead he was scrutinizing me. He also shrank back a little, pressing against his pillows and huddling in on himself like he sometimes did when he was nervous.

  I took in another deep breath. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you about tomorrow. About skating after school.”

  He stayed focused on me with wide eyes, and I could already see the disappointment pulling the corners of his mouth downward.

  I patted his arm. “I’ll find someone else to give you lessons. Soon. I just . . .”

  “What about Brennan?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. Brennan’s probably . . .” Probably? Oh, there was no probably about it. “He’s . . .”

  “Did you guys break up?”

  I winced before I could tell myself not to, and his eyes got even wider. “We . . .” Why was I beating around the bush? There was no point in trying to gloss over anything. My son wasn’t stupid, and he was old enough that he understood these things more than I would’ve liked. Couldn’t he have been naïve for a few more years?

  “Yeah.” I exhaled hard. “We broke up.”

  His sad face was more heartbreaking than getting kicked to the curb in the first place.

  I squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry. I know you’re disappointed.”

  He nodded. “Why?”

  It took all the restraint I had not to visibly wince again. How was I supposed to explain to a nine-year-old that Brennan had left because being with me was abnormal? I’d very carefully raised him to see same-sex couples as being no big deal. How did I tell him that Brennan had decided our relationship was too weird to continue? That there was something wrong with us? That being with me was inherently less than whatever it was he’d had with the women who’d valued him too little to be faithful to him?

  My heart sank. I wish I knew. “Sometimes these things just . . . don’t work out.”

  “He broke up with you?”

  Didn’t quite stop myself from wincing that time. “He . . . wanted something different, I guess.”

  “Why wouldn’t he think you’re good enough?”

  Fuck. Tariq. You’re killing me.

  Swallowing, I shook my head. “Like I said, he wanted something different. That’s why people date instead of just getting married. So they can see if they really want to be together.” I lifted my shoulder in the heaviest half shrug ever. “If it doesn’t work, they move on until they find someone they do want to stay with.”

  “Oh.”

  This was one of those moments when my parents would’ve assured nine-year-old me that I’d understand when I was older. I didn’t say that to him, though. Mostly because I didn’t know how much older he’d have to be before he understood—obviously twenty-six wasn’t quite there.

  “We both need to get some sleep,” I said quietly. “Maybe instead of going skating tomorrow, we can go out to Port Angeles. To that big bookstore.”

  That brought some life back into his eyes, and he grinned. “Can we?”

  I couldn’t help smiling. Patting his arm, I said, “Yeah. As soon as I get off work, I’ll come home, and we can go.”

  The grin got even bigger. “Yeah!”

  I laughed softly. My bank account wasn’t really in “let’s go to the bookstore” mode, but it gave him something to look forward to. I’d figure it out. “Will you be okay tonight? I know this is kind of . . .” Something you’ve been through too many times already. I am so sorry, Tariq.

  He nodded. “I’ll be okay.”

  “Do you want to talk about it any more?”

  He shook his head.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.” I leaned down and kissed his forehead. “Good night.”

  “Good night. Love you, Dad.”

  “Love you too.”

  I pulled the covers up for him, patted his arm once more, then stood and started to leave.

  “Dad?”

  One hand on the light switch, the other on the door, I twisted around. “Hmm?”

  “We don’t have to go back to the skate shop. If you don’t want to.”

  I swallowed. “You want to keep skating, though.”

  “I know, but . . .” He lowered his gaze, picking at the hem of his comforter.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “We’ll find another one. I think there’s one over in Port Angeles. Maybe . . . maybe we can go there after mosque this weekend.”

  He looked at me again and smiled in that way only kids could—as if my promise to find an alternate place to skate made everything okay. “Okay. Good night, Dad.”

  “Good night.”

  I turned off the light and stepped out into the hall. I left the door ajar, went across to my own bedroom, and left that door open a little bit too. He wasn’t prone to nightmares anymore, but just in case he got sick or upset, I wanted to be able to hear him. Or see the glow of his flashlight if he tried to stay up reading again.

  I chuckled softly as I toed off my shoes. I’d never imagined any child of mine would be the type who had to be told to stop reading and go to sleep. Then again, I’d never imagined he’d get hooked on skateboarding, either.

  My laughter dried up. Tomorrow, I vowed, I’d start looking around for someone to pick up where Brennan had left off. If Tariq wanted to skate, I’d find someone to teach him. How I’d pay for it, or how I’d get him to and from a park . . . well, I’d figure that out too.

  I peeled off my shirt and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

  My own reflection made me pause. In the back of my mind, I could hear all the people who’d ever reminded me how much my appearance stood in my way.

  “They’re not going to hire someone who looks like a terrorist.”

  “Girls don’t want guys who are shorter than them.”

  “No offense, but I’m not into guys who look like you.”

  Even my own father’s voice was in there.

  “Long hair? No beard? It’s like you don’t want people to know you’re a Muslim. Or a man.”

  I closed my eyes and sighed. Thanks, Dad.

  Was that why Brennan had hit the brakes? Because he couldn’t see himself with me?

  Well. Yes. But not because of how I looked. Right?

  “I need to go back to the way I was before.”

  “Back to normal.”

  I pushed out a long breath. There was always something, wasn’t there? Some reason why a person couldn’t see themselves staying with me. Some sort of deal-breaker. If they got past my appearance and were okay with me being asexual, they balked at my lack of education and earning potential. If the Muslim part didn’t scare them off, the single-parent part did.

  Always. Something.

  And yet, I hadn’t seen this one coming. Brennan had struggled to make sense of his sexuality, but he more or less took it in stride now. We’d clicked together. As friends. As more than friends. Admitting we loved each other.

  And then . . .

  Then it wasn’t normal anymore.

  The worst part, though, was realizing how normal we’d become to me. He’d become one of those people who seemed like he’d always been a part of my life. Waking up next to him, eating dinner across from him, shooting the breeze with him when he swung into Red Hot before he went to work, watching him interact with my kid—it had all become my new normal.

  And it was gone.

  Just like that, it was gone.

  I swiped at my stinging eyes. Well, what had I expected? Resting my hands on the counter, I stared at myself in the mirror, silently demanding an explanation from my reflection. My tired, self-pitying reflect
ion.

  Wiping my eyes again, I sniffed sharply and lowered my gaze.

  Come on. This isn’t going to help. Brennan’s gone. He isn’t the first and won’t be the last.

  This is all part of Allah’s plan, remember? You’ll find someone, inshallah. And if you don’t . . . inshallah.

  Yeah, Allah had a plan, and I’d go with it, but that didn’t mean this didn’t hurt.

  Get a grip. Crying about it won’t help anything.

  I didn’t know why I tried to stop it. What was the point? It wasn’t like it distracted me from feeling like crap—trying to hold back just made me feel more like crap. I’d kept myself stoic enough to face my son, and now it was just me, my reflection, and Allah.

  All the frustration left over from my last few failed relationships bubbled to the surface, making the pain of losing Brennan burn even hotter. Going through those breakups, being dumped and deserted because I was never quite up to par, had been worth it when Brennan came along. When I’d realized they’d all been the wrong people for me because Brennan had been in my future the whole time, it had been like those painful splits had existed for no other reason than to make me cherish Brennan when we finally met.

  And now . . .

  I covered my eyes with one hand, gripped the edge of the sink with the other, and released my breath. A couple of hot tears slipped free, and before I could choke it back, so did a quiet sob. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I tried to tell myself this meant there was someone even better than Brennan coming along, someone I’d appreciate and cherish even more after all of this, but even my faith couldn’t erase the bleakness I felt right then. It didn’t matter who was coming along. The only thing that mattered was how hard it was to let go of the first person who’d—

  “Dad?”

  I spun around, realizing a split second too late that I hadn’t done a damn thing to compose myself before facing Tariq.

  Staring up at me in his Minion pajamas, eyes wide, he looked even younger now. Like when he was five or six and he’d come into my room after a bad dream.

  “Hey.” I wiped my eyes, though that probably didn’t do a bit of good. “You’re . . . You should be . . .” I cleared my throat. “You should be sleeping.”

  He didn’t move. “Are you sad because of Brennan?”

  Just hearing my son say my ex-boyfriend’s name was like a punch to the gut. Why did I let them meet? Why did I let Tariq get attached to him?

  Exhaling hard, I nodded, and when I spoke, I hoped he didn’t notice how much my voice shook. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t want . . .”

  I didn’t want you to see me break.

  I crouched in front of him, so he was slightly above my eye level. Smoothing his ruffled hair, I said, “I’ll be okay. It just hurts right now.”

  He held my gaze, and I wasn’t sure if he was about to start crying too, or what was going through his mind.

  What I didn’t expect was for him to hug me.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. It’ll be okay.”

  I just hugged him tight, closing my eyes and whispering a thanks to Allah that despite everything I’d ever screwed up in my life, I’d been blessed with an understanding son who was wise beyond both our years.

  I let him go, but kept a hand on his shoulder as I looked right in his eyes. “I’ll be okay. We both will. And tomorrow, I’ll start checking around for a new place for you to skateboard. Okay?”

  My son nodded. “Okay.”

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I know it’s rough on you. When I date people and it”—blows up in my face—“doesn’t work out.”

  He stared at me with wide eyes that seemed like they were just about to start welling up. “What about you?”

  “Well . . .” I thought quickly. “I won’t lie. It hurts. But remember how we were both sad after Megan and I broke up?”

  His lips tightened as he nodded again.

  I squeezed his shoulder. “But then it got better? And we weren’t sad anymore?”

  Another nod.

  “We’ll get there this time too.” Right? Can someone please tell me we’ll get there? “It hurts right now, and that’s okay. It’s okay to be sad.”

  His chin quivered, and I wrapped my arms around him again.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I wish there was a way to make this easier.”

  There is, idiot. Don’t introduce your kid to your partners.

  I flinched and held him tighter.

  Or don’t fall for your friends.

  “We’ll be okay,” I said.

  “I know.” He sniffed and pulled back, wiping his eyes before he looked up at me. “Brennan wasn’t mean to you, was he?”

  My chest felt like it was going to collapse in on itself. I knew what he meant. Had Brennan been nasty and cruel? Had we fought? Screamed at each other? Had he said anything that couldn’t be taken back?

  I shook my head. “No. He was . . .” I swallowed as my brain replayed our conversation. “He wasn’t mean about it. He just needed to move on.” To something more normal. Something better than me. Just like Megan. And Chris before her.

  “That’s good. Right? That he wasn’t mean about it?”

  Sure. Why not? I nodded, concentrating on not gritting my teeth. “Yeah. It’s always good when you can end on good terms.”

  Tariq gave a sharp nod and wiped his eyes again. No more tears followed. Maybe that was all he needed, at least for tonight, and I envied him for that.

  “Can I go back to bed?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  He started to turn, but paused and looked at me again. “We don’t have to go to the bookstore tomorrow.” His eyebrows pulled together. “If you don’t want to.”

  I ruffled his hair, then gathered him into another hug. “We’ll go. I promise.”

  “Okay.”

  I stood, dabbing at my eyes as subtly as I could. “Go get some sleep. Otherwise we’ll be dragging tomorrow.” One of us might as well be functional.

  He nodded. “Good night, Dad.”

  “Good night.”

  He left the bathroom, and I listened until his door hinges creaked softly. Then I faced the mirror again, resting my hands on the sink.

  I’d done a lot of things wrong in my life, and apparently I wasn’t getting any better when it came to choosing people to date.

  But I could live with that because, somehow, I hadn’t screwed up my son.

  At least I’d done something right.

  Chapter 25

  Brennan

  It was almost eleven when I finally left the skate park, but I didn’t pull into my apartment’s parking lot. I circled the block a few times, my gut tightening every time I went past the driveway without turning.

  Was I really going to go home, go to bed, and go on like nothing had happened? This wasn’t something I could sleep off. I wouldn’t wake up tomorrow and find that everything had returned to normal. If it was going to change, I had to be the one to change it, and why the hell was I spinning my tires instead of doing something?

  Fuck it. I wasn’t sleeping until I fixed this.

  I turned around and drove toward Zafir’s apartment. I blasted the radio and sang along, concentrating on lyrics and the road so I wouldn’t think. Thinking would make me realize how badly this was going to blow up in my face, and then I’d turn around. No. I had to do this.

  His building came into view. Heart thumping, I pulled into the parking lot. Immediately, I homed in on his car in its usual spot, and my stomach lurched. At least he was here.

  I parked in a guest spot as if I had every right to be here, and got out.

  Staring up at his apartment, I tried to imagine how this would go, but all that did was make me want to turn tail and run before he figured out I was here. I’d come this far. I was going through with this.

  The lights were all off. Of course they were. Tariq had school tomorrow. They both had to be up early. Zafir didn’t have the luxury of dropping everything and driving
to someone else’s apartment to wake them up and spill his guts. He did, however, have the brains to not torpedo something amazing so he’d have to drive over and spill his guts.

  I could text him. Call him. See if he was awake, or wake him up.

  No. I didn’t want him to think—know—I was a fucking coward.

  So, despite my throbbing ankle and my lack of a backbone, I walked up the stairs. More like limped. Were there always this many steps? It was only two flights, but it felt like fifty. Whatever. Not turning back.

  At his door, I stopped.

  Okay. I can do this. Just knock, apologize, say your piece, and . . . and hope for the best.

  Holding my breath, I raised my hand to knock.

  But then I hesitated.

  Tariq. Was he here?

  I couldn’t remember if he was staying at his babysitter’s tonight, or if he was home. If he was home, then he had to know by now. It had been painfully obvious how much I’d hurt Zafir, and unless he was an Oscar-worthy actor, there was no way he could keep that hidden from Tariq.

  My chest ached. What had Zafir told him? Did they both hate me now? If they didn’t, they should. God knew I did.

  My shoulders sagged, and a lump rose in my throat. I wanted to fix this, but I couldn’t take the chance of Tariq being home. The apartment was too small for us to be absolutely sure he wouldn’t overhear us. If he knew we’d split up, then me walking through the door would be enough to upset him. If by some chance he didn’t know, he’d figure out something was wrong as soon as Zafir and I started talking.

  Blood pounded in my ears. There was no way in hell I was sleeping tonight unless I fixed things with Zafir, but that was my fault. Not Tariq’s.

  Sighing, I turned around and started back down the steps.

  Chapter 26

  Zafir

  This was one feeling I could’ve done without experiencing again for the rest of my life. All morning long, I’d felt . . . drained. Not like I had when I’d been up most nights with a newborn. That kind of bone-deep exhaustion wasn’t fun, but this was like all the life had been sucked out of me, and someone had beaten the crap out of me for good measure.