My breath is quick, heart rate is up. The treadmill's belt whips beneath my feet. I keep up with no problem. I'm killing it today.

"Damn, Heath. Are you trying to make me look bad?" Brett looks at my screen. His pace is half of mine.

I lower my speed back to my normal jog and smile. "I have . . . a lot of . . . energy today," I pant.

"Yeah, I can see that. What's up with you?"

I laugh. As if I could tell him anything.

My energy is coming from everywhere right now. My need to get out the frustration, anger, rage, whatever you want to call it, is higher than it has been in a while. Talking gets nothing out. I need to work out and fuck.

My time with Teagan last night was too short. I got what I wanted—what I needed—to clear my head of what happened right before. My stress and anxiety faded the second I tasted her. Nothing else is on my mind when I'm inside her, but fucking her against that door was everything. Making Teagan, the bossy control freak, bend to my will . . . Just thinking about it makes my blood rush downward.

I should have stayed for a second round, but after seeing her look at me like I was some kind of sex god, my ego was exploding. I'll let her have her little quip at the end if it means I get to use it against her next time. The hours can't pass quickly enough.

"Nothing's up," I dodge Brett's question.

"Nothing's up?" He gives me a suspicious look. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open when it clicks. "You're getting laid?!"

Ugh. "Try to sound a bit less surprised."

"Sorry," he laughs. "This is big news! I didn't think you were still dating that girl from the party."

"I'm not." When he gives me a confused look, I add, "We're not dating. It's just sex. Like . . . great sex, bro."

Brett laughs. "No shit? Who is this girl?"

I smile. "No one you need to know. Stop asking."

Our machines beep to signal our twenty minutes is up. Three and a half miles. I haven't done that in a while. We slow to a cool-down pace, and as I catch my breath, I see Brett still staring at me.

"Stop looking at me like that. I'm not gonna tell you shit."

"Why not?"

"Uh, because it's not your fucking business?"

"Come on," he whines. "This chick has you buzzing. You like her! Bring her out on the boat and let us meet her."

Just imagining how that would blow over makes me cackle. "Absolutely the fuck not." He looks down at his screen with a pout. Against my better judgment, I acknowledge it. "What?" I huff.

"Nothing, I guess."

"Oh, really?"

"It's just that . . . I always kind of hope you'll find someone." There it is.

I scoff. "Why? I don't want that. Especially not right now."

"I think you think you don't want that."

We climb off and stretch. Brett always acts like I've never been in a relationship. I can't tell if he wants me to be in another one because he thinks it would be good for me, or if he wants me to be in one so he isn't alone in his misery. "You've been married too long, bro. Let me live."

He acknowledges the end of our conversation with a frown. "As long as you're happy or whatever."

"I'm definitely happy or whatever." I wipe my face with my towel. When I'm done, he's still staring at me. "Bro, if you don't stop . . ."

"I just . . . I haven't seen you this way about a girl in forever. Since high school, forever," he says. My eyes narrow. "I think you're really into whoever this girl is."

"I'm not into her. I just like getting into her. A lot."

He smiles. "Whatever you say."

"I gotta go."

"You don't wanna grab lunch?"

"No, not today. I have to go see my mom."

I wait for his response, but his attention stays on packing his bag. "Next time then? We gotta try out that new tapas place on 85th. It's all over Instagram right now."

Brett never asks about my parents, especially not my mom. His dad is just as image- and money-obsessed as mine, but he loves it. He has his boats, his cars, and now he has his little wife to go with them. Everyone has problems, but I can't have mine wiped away with tapas and a yacht.

"Yeah, for sure."

. . .

Pulling up to my parents' spikes my blood pressure. I enter the code and the gate begins its slow crawl. When it's open enough to fit through, I hit the gas and snake my way down the long driveway through the trees.

It pulls into view and still feels unreal. I still haven't gotten used to this place. We lived in six different houses while I was in school. Dad bought this one two years ago. Mom says it reminds her of home, but I don't see why.

The house is a renovated mid-century mansion. A sprawling, low rectangular swath of wood and glass floating between black metal posts. The only angle created by the half-gable roofline extends over the entryway like an awning and braces the stone chimney. The glass wall of the main room is folded into its open position. A sign someone's home. It is the epitome of my dad's personality. Cold, overbearing, filthy rich. If it were just like him, it'd be full of shit.

The Audi R8, my dad's everyday car, isn't out front. He either isn't here or he isn't in town at all. I'm hoping it's still the latter. I pull around in the arched driveway and park right in front of the door.

Our house manager, Silas, comes out, greeting me when I approach. He has been with us in all the houses since I was eight. His silver hair matches the light gray suit he wears. "Master Heath. Welcome home."

This isn't my home. He's a well-meaning old man, just stuck in a world long gone. "Did you miss me?" I ask him, trying to hang on to the last of my good mood.

He grins at our inside joke the same way he always does. "Always, Master Heath."

We walk inside together. "Where is Mom?"

"The dining room, last I saw her."

"Cool." I take a step in that direction, but Silas stops me with a hand on my arm.

"She's doing well," he says. Deeper meaning stirs behind his tone and intent expression.

"Good."

Mom sits inside, staring at the gardeners tending to the Japanese Maple through the glass walls. She absentmindedly fingers the waves of her long hair draped over the arm of her chair. "Tinā!" Mom, I call to her in Samoan. I can't remember much, but it always makes her happy to hear me speak what I can.

She turns in my direction and her face lights up. "Talofa, loʻu atalii!" Hello, my son, she greets me like she always does. She stands, inviting me into a hug. I wrap her in my arms. Only an inch shorter than me, I rest my head on her shoulder and squeeze her tight. "Oute alofa ia oe." Another phrase she will always say to me: I love you.

"Is Dad here?"

"No. It's just us. Come, sit."

The chair's legs sputter against the floor as I pull it out. I watch every move she makes. She sits and crosses her legs, pushing her hair over her shoulder to keep it from getting trapped beneath her. She wears a taupe cardigan, but underneath it, a loose, floral dress. Its red color looks pretty against her brown skin. I know she dresses like she's back home to make herself feel better.

I wish we had more family back on the island. But when Titi, my grandmother, passed away, our yearly trips stopped and things got worse. My mom was the only daughter of a Samoan model who had a child with a white man who left her. Now, I am the only child of a Samoan model who married a white man who didn't want kids. History has a funny way of repeating itself.

It's a great feeling knowing you were never wanted, only tolerated, by your own parent.

"How are you feeling?" I ask her.

"I'm good." The dimple on her left cheek deepens when her smile spreads. I want to believe her, so for the moment, I do.

"Are you hungry, son?" She doesn't wait for an answer before she waves over our housekeeper from the kitchen. Homa brings over juice, a plate of fruit, and traditional Samoan bread. Irresistible carbs. Mom gestures for me to take some while she pours our cups. I watch her even closer.

"Tell me about your summer plans this year?" Mom asks. "Which of your friends getting married soon? Ryan and then Ritchie, right?"

"Yeah, it's hard to keep track." After a sip, I add, "For now, it's just Ryan. I don't think Ritchie's thing is going to happen. His relationship is really toxic and I think he's close to figuring that out."

"Well, that isn't good." She pops a grape into her mouth. "I still hope you get married soon. But I'll be patient until you graduate."

My chewing slows. "Graduate? Mom, you know I'm not in school anymore."

"Not graduate," he shakes her head with a laugh. "Whatever it's called when your residency is over."

"Oh." My skin still crawls. It's a red flag when she's forgetful like this. When she mixes things up in her mind or crosses timelines. "Yeah, well . . . That gives me a couple years."

"Is Teagan excited about that?"

My muscles tense. "Teagan? What do you mean?"

"About all the wedding events," she says. "All of you drag her around like she's one of the boys. You have to let her be a woman sometimes."

I relax. "It's not like we're forcing her to come with us. She prefers doing stuff with the guys more than the bridesmaids." Because the girls prefer doing their nails, and Teagan prefers doing girls.

"That doesn't matter. She is unique. She has needs and desires you and your friends can't understand. You should let her tell you what she needs, listen when she shows you. It will help get you in touch with your feminine side as well."

"My feminine side?"

"Yes. Your full range of emotions. The way they make you see the world around you. "

"That's feminine?"

"Not exactly. But it's different from you boys who never discuss those things," she says. "Not everything has to be a struggle. You shouldn't hang onto this anger. Letting yourself connect to your emotions is much healthier than being angry all the time."

"I have good reason to be angry."

"Heath . . ." She grips my hand in hers. "You shouldn't have reasons. I'm sorry you keep getting caught in the middle."

I shrug. "I'll always be there for you, Mom. You know that."

She smiles. "You won't have to any longer. This is the last time this will happen, I swear it." Her hand leaves mine and settles under her chin. The smile on her face makes me almost believe her. "Besides, I'll always be okay when I have my two boys to take care of me."

"Does he?" I ask. She tilts her head in confusion. "Does he take care of you?"

She sighs and takes my hand again. "Yes. I know you and your father don't see eye-to-eye, but we love each other very much. He is not perfect, but he is doing his best."

Maybe his best isn't fucking good enough, I want to say, but they've been doing this same dance for years. Putting each other through hell, all in the name of love.

I've only been in love once in my life—blind, stupid, crazy in love. Now, that girl is long gone, and it's for the best. Love is only a gateway to pain, and I have enough to deal with already.

"No more frowning," Mom brings me out of my head. "It's the weekend! Do you have fun plans for tonight?"

I chuckle. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

. . .

I left Mom feeling much better than I had the last time. It's a relief. For a second, it feels like things will be okay. At least they will be for the next hour or so. 

Teagan walks up to my door at the same time I do. Her heels tap against the wood, while those tiny shorts and thin, button-front shirt make her body draw my eyes like magnets. I don't care if she sees the smile on my face or not. 

She crosses her ankles and then her arms, and I can see the shitty words coming.

"Looks like you're on time for once," she snips. 

If she only knew how bad I've wanted to hear her bitchy little comments all day. I unlock my door and open it for her. "Don't get used to it."

_____

What's going on with Heath's mommy? And when is this momma's boy gonna get his mess together? We'll find out soon(ish).

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