Page 90 of Turn Me On

But in moments like this, when the world around me falls silent, I have no choice. All my thoughts return to Zane. Our talks, our laughter, our support, our intimacy. I’ve never felt so connected to another person, so greedy for a man, so eager to hear about his life, days, and nights. Pretty sure he felt the same for me.

I picture his face in New York, asking me to stay for two more nights, telling me he didn’t date, but that I was different.

Different good.

My heart aches.

I surface, shaking my wet hair, trying desperately to reset. If I don’t, the memories will sink me and I’ll be a lost cause today.

I swim to the edge of the pool where I left my phone and a towel. I dry my hand, check the phone. No one’s called, so I indulge in the water for one more minute, floating serenely, eyes closed.

Where is Zane right now?

In his hotel room in the nation’s capital before his team plays there tonight? Is he sound asleep still? Is he with another man?

My jaw ticks, and I bat that horrible image away.

Or is he like me, alone and hollow, longing for everything he can’t have?

I miss him so much it hurts.

The second that thought touches down, I get out of the pool, wrap a towel around my waist, and get ready for work.

Soon, I’m at the office, burying myself in paperwork and phone calls and meetings.

I still love it all. Truly, I do. Talking to clients, bringing them deals, engineering their futures, then nailing down a killer contract—that’s my happy place.

But I go home alone, and I don’t feel so happy then.

26

MOMVISION

Maddox

A few nights later, I fly home from a quick trip to New York, then catch a Lyft to my house. The plan for the next hour is to go for a five-minute swim, then shower, and meet Bryan to see a play, then drinks with him and Ellie.

But when the Nissan drops me off, someone’s waiting on the porch.

My mother is here.

That’s weird. We don’t have plans tonight. A flash of worry cuts through me. Did something happen to my dad? I hoist my overnight bag on my shoulder and cut across the stone path to the small porch. She’s smiling. Doubly odd.

“Hey, Mom. What’s going on?”

She lifts a Hydro Bottle and waggles it proudly. “I was in the neighborhood. And I wanted to bring you this as a gift and thank you.”

That still doesn’t compute. “For what?” I ask, unlocking the door and heading inside.

She follows me. “I read about the deal you did. With your new client.”

She’s never come by to congratulate me on a deal. She’s more apt to come by to lecture me. “It’s a good deal. I’m happy for him,” I say, still wary.

She sighs, then her smile disappears as she holds out her hands. “Maddox, I’m trying.”

I turn around. “Trying what?”

“I’m trying to be involved in your life. To understand you. Hydro Bottles is a green-centric company making environmentally-friendly products. I know that matters to you. But it also donates a bottle to a school for every bottle sold. When I read the news, I thoughtmy son did this,” she says, proudly.