The One You Can't Forget (The One, #1)

forty-two

Emyln

Monday is a busy, busy day for the mountain bike shop. By the time Hains and I are finished our ten-hour shift, we're both exhausted and ready to pass out. Goddamned tourists can sure be a pain in the ass sometimes. But I'm not complaining about the working part – it's the only time I can seem to prevent myself from thinking about Hainsey's mom and her addiction. Now I fully understand why he didn't want to tell me. Things seemed drastically normal in the kitchen on Saturday; she seemed like the same loving, caring mother that used to feed us bowls of spaghetti and garlic bread before every hockey game. Not some drug addict suffering from a broken heart and a painful past.

When it's time for Hains and me to go our separate ways, we say goodbye in our usual fashion. I do, however, remind him that I'm coming with him if he has to go out tonight. He tells me there's no way, considering the amount he bought last time. He's given me no reason not to trust him, so I drop the subject and tell him I'll try to contact my dad after a quick run to the grocery store. Mom texted me an hour ago saying we're out of milk and also asked me to pick something up for dinner.

"Sounds good, Ems," he says, planting one more kiss on my cheek. "I'll talk to you later."

"Tomorrow," I correct. "We both know what you're doing as soon as you get home."

He grins. "You caught me – I'm definitely going to bed."

Opening the driver's door to my vehicle, I get in and start the engine. My most recent playlist blasts through the speakers while I watch Hains break into a jog up the trail that leads to our houses. Watching him do any kind of physical activity is a total turn-on. I mean his body is sexy as hell.

My trip to the grocery store takes about half an hour. I grab the milk, and I also pick up a pre-cooked chicken, some naan bread, and the ingredients needed for coconut butter chicken. Though I'm tired from working all day, I'm actually excited to make dinner for everyone tonight, which surprises Mom when I get home. She asks if I need any help, but I shake my head and tell her to go find something to do.

As the rice is cooking, and the chicken, coconut milk, and curry mixture is simmering on the stove, I text my sister and ask if Dad has arrived home yet. She replies almost instantly with a simple "nope," and I stuff my phone into my pocket, rolling my eyes. Damn. I had hoped Dad would be home by now – I'm really tired and want to go to sleep as soon as possible.

Twenty minutes later, Rosa texts me just as I'm setting the table: Dad won't be home until late tonight. Can I get him to call you in the morning?

I breathe a sigh of relief. I'm exhausted, which is something I don't want to be for the bombshell of a conversation we're going to be having. Tomorrow would probably be the best option. I quickly fire off a response: Sounds good, sis. Thanks!

No problem, she replies.

Satisfied with the plans we've arranged, I arrange the final components of the dinner I've made onto the table. Just as I'm about to call everyone down, Mom comes walking into the kitchen and gives me a hug. I'm shocked – it's odd to see her do these kinds of things because she's never really been one to show affection. Can't say I don't like this side of her, though. It makes me feel more like her daughter than an acquaintance.

"This looks and smells delicious, Emyln," she gushes. "You really didn't have to make dinner tonight after such a long day at the shop."

I shrug. "It's no big deal, Mom. I wanted to make dinner. I've taken a certain liking to it after Hainsey's birthday dinner." And it's true – there's just something about cooking that's fun and relaxing.

"Do you want me to get the boys?" Mom asks.

"Sure," I reply, glancing at the table. "I'll be waiting here."

Mom smiles at me and then heads downstairs to where the boys are watching a baseball game. I shudder. Baseball is almost worse than football – there's nothing fun about watching men run around in tight pants. Hockey is the only sport I will ever be able to watch.

I look over the table once more, feeling a sharp sting of longing. Sitting down and having dinner with my mom and step-relatives isn't the same as having dinner with Dad, Mom, and Rosa was back in the day. I miss those days, but I suppose this situation somewhat resembles them.

It's hard to forget the past, but the one thing that's key about it is learning from it so you can prepare for the future. If I keep dwelling on the past, if I continue rereading the last chapter of my life, I can't start the next.

It worked with Hains.

So maybe, just maybe, this is where I truly start with my mom and her new husband.