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Which was what I would keep telling myself, even if it felt like I was trying to stave off reality.
“Oh yes,” he said with a huff. “The thrill of dealing with sycophants and whiners.”
I raised a brow at his uncharacteristically bitter tone. “And since when has that ever bothered you? Last I checked, that’s how you described the majority of the people you deal with on a daily basis.”
He sighed. “Yes, but those were different. Now I have a professional and personal life, and both are filled with them. It’s not exactly what I would call an ideal standard to live my life.”
“At least you’re home,” I said.
“Yes, I suppose I should be thankful for that,” he grunted.
“I’m suddenly suspicious that ‘should’ is the word you’re emphasizing in that statement,” I said, watching his face carefully.
“Wonder of wonders, I am not enjoying myself,” he grumbled, finally opening his eyes and looking at me. There was a searching expression on his face, but what he was looking for, I didn’t know. It wasn’t with the same confident, almost knowing aspect to it, however, and I found that more unnerving than anything.
“You could always pass some of the responsibility onto someone else,” I told him with a shrug. “I’m sure plenty of people would be more than happy to take some of the things off your plate.”
“And give my mother more ammunition to use against me because I refused to stick with what she gave me?” he scoffed.
“Not all of it,” I retorted with a frown. “But you’re clearly not enjoying yourself, and you’re always about enjoying yourself.”
“Yes, because being here is so enjoyable for me that I would prefer to spend my time here.”
“Fine,” I ground out in annoyance. “Then do that, and don’t spend your time around here. You’re a full-grown man capable of doing whatever he wants.”
“Well,” he said, sarcasm practically dripping from his words. “I’m so blessed to have you around to remind me of that fact. I had nearly forgotten after thirty years of living.”
“Or,” I said, narrowing my eyes, “you could continue to be a miserable dick and take it out on someone who actually gives a shit about you.”
Something complicated flashed across his face before disappearing under a frown. “And is this your way of showing you care? Harassing me the moment I come in the door? If I had wanted that, I would have gone upstairs to visit my mother and endure her constant barrage of questions and criticisms.”
I was trying to keep my temper in check, but this sudden and unlikable shift in his attitude was quickly getting on my nerves. “Look, if you want to be a miserable bastard, that’s on you. But don’t take it out on me when all I tried to do was talk to you.”
“As if I don’t hear enough talking from everyone else through the course of my days,” he said evenly though I could see something hard in his gaze.
I threw up my hands. “Then, by all means, be a dick. As a matter of fact…”
Standing up, I walked over to the nearby cabinet and yanked it open, grabbing the bottle of liquor I’d seen him take many times before. It was only half full, but I imagined it would be more than enough for him. I grabbed a fresh glass from the cabinet before closing it and marched over to set both down on the table next to him.
“Here,” I said, opening the bottle and pushing it toward him. “Be a drunk dick while you’re at it. Maybe having a bit of your favorite alcohol in your system will calm you the fuck down.”
“Listen,” Shane began, shaking his head. “This isn’t…”
“And maybe after you’ve chilled the hell out, you can find me again. Maybe I’ll even have calmed down, and we can talk. Or hell, maybe we can go back to your cottage and calm down in the best way we know how,” I told him, walking to the door. “Or just come find me when you’re ready not to act like an asshole. Either way works for me at this moment.”
I continued out in the wake of his silence. Despite telling myself I shouldn’t, I still looked over my shoulder before I turned the corner. I felt my stomach twist momentarily when I saw he wasn’t watching me or even looking at the bottle and glass I’d put before him. Instead, he was staring off into space, a pinched expression on his face as though he were working through a serious problem.
Which is how I left him, my heart sinking.
* * *
It was another four days before I saw him again. There had been little change in Sophia’s condition, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign. Sophia’s personality hadn’t changed much, save that she had grown quieter than I was used to.
Not that Shane had been much better. After our spat, he’d all but disappeared. I had almost convinced myself he was staying off the property altogether and planned on staying that way. It wasn’t until the fifth day of his absence I finally saw the lights on in his cottage.
Even in the dead of winter, Sophia liked having the windows cracked open once in a while to air out her room. I was careful to ensure they didn’t stay open for too long and risk her getting cold. It was on one of those trips I spotted the first sign of Shane’s presence in days.
“Motherfucker,” I muttered, spotting it from the window in Sophia’s bedroom overlooking the backyard.
