Goodbyes and Second Chances (The Bleu Series Book 1) by T.I. Lowe Read Free Book Online Page A

I’m in the same boat. But I don’t
sit around and whine about it and do nothing. I grab up my bicycle and go to
work. Ugh.  
    It’s
late by the time I snuggle in the bed this night. I’ve been restless, so I went
through all of my clothes and trinkets and have gathered a bagful of potential
sales at the thrift store. I’ll swing by on my way to cleaning tomorrow and
hope to scrounge up at least a tank of gas out of the deal. I lay here
listening to Dillon serenading the trailer park. He’s playing his promise of a
song, and the melody feels to be longing more so tonight. Maybe it’s just me
who’s longing and feeling it in the song. Dillon and I seem to be on the same
page a lot of the time.
    There’s
always been a solid bond between the two of us from the very start. At around
the age of ten, I remember an eight-year-old Dillon coming down with an awful
bout of the stomach flu, so severe that the boy couldn’t even keep water down.
Cora was told to either show up for her work shifts or never come back. She had
no choice but to leave her sick little boy in Aunt Evie’s care. He was too weak
to even speak those few days. Aunt Evie had Kyle stay with the twins in the
hopes that he would be spared, but I refused to leave.
    I
wanted to help tend to Dillon, but Aunt Evie kept warning that I would get myself
sick, if I didn’t stay away. I still didn’t listen. The few times she would
step outside to check the mail, I would hear him in the small living area,
crying. He tried to be brave, but Dillon really wanted his momma. And who could
blame him? What sick child doesn’t distinctly want his mom when he’s sick? When
my aunt would sleep or wash those few days, I would sit on the floor by the
couch and hold his hand while he slept. I just couldn’t stand to be away from
him, knowing how miserable he was.
    Three
days later, Aunt Evie asked if Dillon felt up to eating something, and he
requested two pimento cheese sandwiches. At that point she declared him better.
Unfortunately, by sundown I was puking my guts out. I felt like I was dying.
Aunt Evie told me in so many words that was what I got for not staying away
from Dillon. I was exiled to my room with a trashcan placed by the bed. Each
night of my three-day virus, I would wake up to Dillon on his knees by the bed,
holding my hand and begging God to heal me. We have always hurt when the other
hurts and it started way back then.
    I’m
laying here now, near tears at the helpless situation we are in, when I notice
the music has stopped. I peep out the window and find Dillon gone. The next
thing I know, he is pushing through my door. He sits on the floor, his back
against the bed. I’m still perched on top of the bed, so I slide down to the
floor and sit by him. It’s a tight fit. His feet actually touch the opposite
wall of the bed.
    He
says nothing. Just sits here in the dark. It’s a bit cloudy out tonight, so I
can barely make out his somber features in the muted moonlight. “What’s wrong,
Dillon?” My instinct is to always want to protect and soothe him.
    “You
just been on my mind tonight,” he whispers as he looks over at me. “You
alright?”
    I
don’t say anything because I don’t want to lie. His hair slips in his eyes, so
I reach over and brush his soft locks away. He gives me a weak smile, and I see
concern in those deep dark eyes.
    “You
want to talk about it?” he asks.
    “Not
really,” I whisper as I tear my gaze away from his and stare off into the dark.
    He
nudges the bag I gathered earlier with his foot. “What’s this?”
    “Just
some junk I’m gonna try to sell to the thrift store tomorrow.” I brush it off,
but I can tell he’s not buying it.
    He
shakes his head in aggravation. “It isn’t always gonna be this tough. Things
will get better.” I hear him making a promise, but has no business doing so.
How can he be so sure? I know I’m definitely not sure. Seems to me things just
keep getting worse.
    We
sit here with our