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"I appreciate the offer, Mom, but I'm doing fine on my own," he said without looking at her.
Barbara sighed dramatically. "I just worry about you, Aiden. At the time, I hoped living on your own would force you to appreciate everything you had here. Instead, it only reinforced your worst habits. You've never been good at making responsible choices. Now you're spending time with Seth McCall again? After everything that happened?"
Aiden focused intently as he screwed the washer into place. He wished the leak was worse, so he'd have an excuse to avoid eye contact, but the drip slowly tapered off and then stopped completely. He sighed and wiped his hands on a towel.
"Seth's a good guy," he said wearily.
"Maybe." She propped her chin in her hand and quirked one perfectly filled eyebrow. "I'm sure he tries his best, but I think he's always been a very selfish boy. He and his father used you for manual labor, and then he abandoned you as soon as his father died. I suppose he realized how much work you can be. Are those the actions of a true friend, Aiden Nathaniel?"
Aiden groaned and rolled his head around on his stiff neck. "Not the middle name, Mom."
"I gave you that middle name," she said superciliously. "I'll use it when I feel like it."
Aiden chuckled; he couldn't help himself. Sometimes, her high-handed sense of humor was almost charming. It hinted at something beneath the brittle edge—hinted but never confirmed.
"Seth and I have a history," he said with a trace of affection still lingering in his tone. "It's complicated."
"Complicated?" Barbara echoed disdainfully. "'I see 'complicated' every day in my practice. It never ends well for the party making excuses for someone else's bad behavior. Seth has always tried to drive a wedge between you and me. You never talked back to me before he entered your life?—"
"Pretty sure that isn't true," Aiden said with a grin. "But it doesn't matter. I'll live my life how I see fit. You stopped having a say in that a long time ago."
Her spine stiffened like a piece of rebar. "I'm your mother," she said, eyes flashing. "I made you. I gave up everything for you. I'll always have a say in your life!"
"Okay," Aiden agreed, smiling slightly. "I'm going to check on Bandit before I leave, okay?"
Through the kitchen window, he could see the distant figure of a horse plodding, head down, through the small pasture.
"We aren't finished with this discussion!" His mother tossed her balled-up napkin on the table and followed him to the mud room.
"I'm finished."
"You don't get to decide that! It's high time you take accountability around here. I want you to move home and help when I need you." Her voice crept up in register, thinning to a tone that verged on shrill. He could practically see her shoulders tensing toward her ears beneath her fluffy cashmere sweater.
"I can't do that, Mom."
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "You're a very selfish boy," she hissed. "Just like your father—wherever he is. You'll see how much you've hurt me one day. I just hope, for your sake, that it isn't too late by then."
Aiden didn't even blink; he'd heard the same refrain his whole life. He squeezed gently past his mother and stepped into his boots before closing the door respectfully behind him. His heart was heavy, but the sight of Bandit trotting toward the fence lifted it.
He was a goofy-looking animal, but Aiden loved that about him. An adventurous local stable had experimented with breeding an Italian trail horse with a Mustang, resulting in a wonky cross of features. Bandit was a leggy, coal-black gelding with a small head, big ears, and a prominent jaw. He'd been a gift for Aiden's fourteenth birthday, and to this day, he'd never loved anything more.
Bandit stretched his neck over the gate, reaching for Aiden, and let out a welcoming chuff.
"Hey, old man," Aiden murmured, stroking his velvety muzzle. "Missed you."
He didn't ask if Bandit missed him; he knew he did. He studied his horse with expert eyes, taking in the condition of his coat and the tone of his muscles. He'd be healthier if he could be ridden regularly, but Aiden's mother had never been a horsewoman.
Aiden leaned against the fence and tangled his fingers in Bandit's mane, resting his face against his warm neck. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, lulled by the soothing rise and fall of the horse's breath. Bandit patiently tolerated the embrace, but he eventually grew bored enough to begin nibbling Aiden's hat brim.
"Okay, okay," Aiden chuckled, digging into his jacket pocket for the apple he'd tucked away. His eyes stung as he watched the horse carefully lip the treat from his palm, but he knew that returning to his mother with red eyes was the worst mistake he could make, so he clenched his teeth and willed the tears away. "I'd take you with me if I could, old man. You know that."
But horses couldn't talk, so Aiden wasn't sure about that. It was just something he told himself.
He stayed as long as he could, stroking loose hair from Bandit's neck with nothing but the calluses on his palms. Then he fetched a curry comb from the barn and worked the old hair and dried mud from his coat. He talked as he worked, rambling about nothing, just bathing his spirit in the peace of his longest and truest friend. It was easy to lose track of time, but eventually, he gave Bandit one last pat and headed back to the house.
He didn't look back when he left—he never did.
Once he'd completed the mud room ritual and removed his boots, he realized his keys were missing from the brass tray. He patted his pockets, but they only turned up the empty bag of candy from that morning. Retracing his steps turned up nothing, and neither did checking the floor, toolbox, and kitchen. A sinking feeling began to settle in his gut.
