“Noah Maitland.”
“Olivia McKenna.” I hold out my hand, and he clasps my fingers pulling my knuckles to his lips and touching them with a soft kiss.
“Here’s to the start of a beautiful friendship, Olivia McKenna,” he replies.
I roll my eyes. “Really?”
“What?” He blushes. “It was the best I could come up with.”
“We need to work on your cheese level, Noah Maitland.”
We both smile and I feel relaxed for the first time in the last few weeks.
ISAAC
Movement wakes me and I bolt upright moving straight into a defensive position. I relax when I see Shelly. She knows how to approach me when I’m asleep without getting hurt.
“Sorry, your mum called. I think you’re needed.”
I nod, scrubbing my hand across my face. Yesterday was hard. I’ve been keeping eyes on Via, and when those eyes reported back that she had met with pretty boy from the dance studio, it wasn’t anger I felt, it was pain. Worse, it was pain laced with fear. I’m not giving up on her, not until she has a ring on her finger and a legal document taking someone else’s last name. Even then, I’m not sure I’ll stop fighting.
“Thanks,” I answer.
Shelly nods before leaving. When she does, I get out of bed and stride my naked arse to the en-suite, needing to shower and wake up before calling my mum back. I can’t help acknowledging the morning wood standing strong and proud as I get under the water stream. Groaning, I wrap my palm around my dick and picture Via on her knees with her lips wrapped around me as her moans vibrate along my shaft. With the image of Via at my helm, I release quicker than a teenager watching porn with only a sock covering his dick. My orgasm is hollow though, I feel no satisfaction as I turn the water off.
“Mum,” I say the moment she answers my call.
“Isaac.” The pain laced in her tone is fucking hard to hear, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
“Shelly said you called, is everything okay?” I question sitting at the window in my room and watching the street distractedly.
“We’re… well, we’re as good as can be expected.”
I nod, not that she sees me.
“It’s your Uncle Dane.”
I sigh. I thought it might be something to do with him.
“He’s not coping,” I state.
“No. He’s shut himself off. I think he’s drinking, but I’m not sure. We’re not allowed to visit the house.”
“Mum, it’s been what? Three days since Aunt Libby died. What exactly is it you expect from him?” I ask rubbing my temple.
“Isaac James!” she snaps, and I roll my eyes. Luckily, she can’t see me. “If this was one of us, would he leave us be? Let us wallow in our pain?”
Pinching the bridge of my nose, my body submits to her words and my shoulders sag. She’s right, Uncle Dane wouldn’t leave us to wallow alone, he wouldn’t let any of us shut him out, not ever.
“What do you need me to do?” I ask.
“What do you think? Go around and see him. You’re the one person he can’t keep out. Not physically anyway, and besides, you always had a bond with him, one that not even his kids can understand since, you know, they don’t know about either of you.”
“Sure, Mum, I’ll go see him today.”
“Thanks, baby boy,” she says and hangs up. I shake my head but smile. I love my mum, but she still sees me as this helpless young kid who needs looking after. Hell, maybe she’s right.
“Uncle Dane,” I announce walking into the dark living room of his house. A pungent smell greets me, but there’s no response from the man himself. He doesn’t even look up to acknowledge me with his eyes. The only reason I know he’s alive is because of the lurching movement as he shoots down the rest of his drink. Scotch, going by the bottle on the coffee table. Yep, definitely scotch, I conclude as he grabs said bottle by its neck and fills the glass again.
Rounding the table to face him, I can’t help but stare. It’s been only days since Aunt Libby died, but it’s been a couple of months that she’s been battling with a life-ending illness and that time has taken its toll on my uncle. He’s lost weight and is looking gaunt. His hair is longer than ever, appearing greasy and unkempt. My uncle’s scruffy and worn like a homeless person. His eyes are sunken on his pale face, and if it weren’t for the fact that I know how much my aunt dying has affected him, I would assume he had a terminal illness too, just from his appearance.
“Uncle,” I snap, swiping the bottle from his loose grip.
His eyes stumble up my large frame until they reach mine, and I painfully watch as he tries to focus and clear his haze.
“Isaac?” he coughs out, a frown appearing on his forehead.
“Hey,” I say, softening my voice. Dropping the bottle back on the table, I seat myself in the chair next to his. He struggles to follow my movements, blinking almost continuously.
“She’s gone.” His words are spoken raggedly, like a wounded animal.
“I know,” I reply sadly.
“I c-can’t… t-there…” Fumbling over his thoughts, he stops talking completely as the sobs rise from his throat and spill over onto his broad shoulders causing them to shake. Placing one arm around my uncle, his body sags limply into mine, and I hold him as he silently cries into my shoulder.
Uncle Dane is one of the few people who had a role in helping me become the man I am today. He helped me get my
