Endless Bonds Copyright © 2016 xXMopelXx All Rights Reserved.

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y mom demands I come home for the weekend.

One excruciating week of Uni later – two hot hookups, another round with Lance Campa and one unfortunate meeting in the Coach's office – I am sitting behind the wheel of my SUV, parked in the driveway of my old house, wondering if I can come up with a last-minute excuse to escape this family dinner.

Family dinner being my mom, her boyfriend Darrell and I. No Natalie. Just us three.

The truth is I miss my crazy lunatic mother. I haven't seen her in over a month and it's not from lack of trying on her part. I just don't like coming home to her and Darrell acting all lovey-dovey.

I like Darrell Winstead. He's my mom's boyfriend of two years and her ex-under boss. He treats her right and she hasn't cried once since getting with him. Truth is, he treats Natalie and I the same way. He's been more of a father figure than my own shit of a father has been.

That's why I like him. That and the fact that he's kept the two women who mean the world to me – my mom and my sister – happy. They're completely enamored by him and I'm okay with it.

What I'm not okay with is the happiness that my mom and Darrell exude. Lately I've been in a pissy mood and happy people piss me off because I'm never fvcking happy. It's a shitty thought to have but it's drilled inside of me and it ain't leaving any time soon.

My mom spots me from the second story, through the large bay window. Her face lights up and she gives me the sweetest smile I've ever seen as she waves to me frantically.

Something in my gut twists. I miss her. I miss coming home and I miss home cooked meals.

I push my aviators higher up the bridge of my nose and grab my duffel bag as I step out of my car.

My mom is a bundle of energy, buzzing at the entrance of the house. Darrell in his glory - tailored suit and oxford shoes and all - stands proudly by my mom's side, his arm curved around her waist. He chin-tips and...that's pride gleaming in his eyes.

I swallow a little roughly as I cross the threshold. Mom's in front of me in three steps and I'm engulfed in her embrace. "Trenton!"

"Mom." I wrap my arms around her petite frame and hug her back, letting her floral perfume evade my senses for a moment. I'm reminded of the past, how that scent has always comforted me and how it's one of the constant in my life. Something that hasn't changed since I was a little boy. "I've missed you."

She sniffs a little bit and I feel like a jackass when I see the glassy quality of her eyes. I should have come home earlier.

My mom reels back, a watery smile pasted to her mouth...before reaching back and slapping me across my left cheek. "That's for not calling me."

I cup my flaming cheek and look at her in disbelief, before my eyes flick over to a chuckling Darrell. I change my mind. I don't really like him that much.

"Mom," I growl, taking them both in with their sincere grins and business attire. "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes." Mom steps up to me again and all but wraps herself around my middle, like I used to do to her when I was a kid, reminding me of how small she is now and how much bigger, taller and stronger I've gotten since. "You're my baby and I missed you and you never called. Therefore that slap was totally deserving, Trent."

"I'm sorry." I pull back and kiss her forehead for good measure. "Won't happen again."

Darrell lets us have our moment before entering. He claps a hand to my back. The crinkles by the corners of his eyes rise to prominence as he grins. "Welcome home, son."

* * *

Mom and Darrell insist I freshen up and unpack my things for the weekend while they finish preparing a steak and red wine dinner. Fine by me, since I'm really not fvcking down to see them making out in between flipping steaks.

My room is clean and the bed is made when I open the door. Everything's been untouched, the way I left it, for a month. Oliver and I were travelling together three weeks before school started – spending two weeks living in Toronto with his cousin, before moving on to Montreal to visit a couple of friends. Between being on vacation and the start of University, I hadn't had much time to call my mom or skype my sister.

Maybe I did deserve that slap. For being a shit of a brother and a shit of a son.

I drop my duffel bag and flop down on my bed. My shoulders deflate and all the tension coiled tightly in my body unravels when my head meets the familiar fabric of my pillow. I'm considering taking a small nap to reenergize before I shower and go downstairs for dinner.

But then something catches my eye and all the tension returns. This time tenfold.

On my nightstand is a picture frame housing a small four by four picture of Rose and me three years ago. It was our first picture together. We took it at a park, after we ditched one of Jared's infamous parties. Nobody suspected why she and I had both disappeared together and the thrill of sneaking around without anyone knowing had driven us to capture the moment in a memory that would forever exist between the both of us. Our own secret in our own little world.

What a fvcking joke.

We looked so happy – like there was nothing else that mattered besides she and I, living in that moment. My chin on her shoulder, her cheek touching mine. My arms tightly holding her body to mine.

She's younger, more innocent looking. Her hair shorter and darker. Her big eyes framed in those thick black spectacles that I loved so much – the same ones she stopped wearing because she thought she looked like a nerd. I loved that nerd. I loved her so much.

I fought a loosing battle with her for three years. Invested my time and effort into twinning our paths so we were never apart. All it took to break that bond was one breath and a few short words. It's over. I'm going to Australia.

Three years down the drain.

And staring into our faces – her face – I'm angered. So angered that she's hurt me. That she didn't trust in us enough. That...I wasn't enough.

I snatch the picture frame, rip out the picture of us, and shred it with my bare hands.

The fallen broken pieces of our memory lay scattered somewhere on the floor. I know longer care enough to mend the pieces. I'm numb. Or, at least, I'm trying to be.

Sleep won't come and it isn't too long until I go through my room and pull apart all our pictures. I start to gather everything she's ever given me and shoot it away in a cardboard box I found under my bed. Who knew there was so much stuff? A silver chain. A stupid paper plane she gave to me in middle school. A blue notebook for me to write fuck all in. A black snapback that I can live without. I throw away everything. Every little thing that binds me to her.

Except...I find myself drawn back to the first picture of us. The one I tore. Grudgingly enough, that's one thing I can't get rid of. I tuck the ripped puzzle pieces of our faces back into my wallet.

I'm just about ready to throw the rest away when my toe bumps a photo frame littered among the rest of the mess that's now my bedroom. My throat closes over as I pick it up, already knowing what I'll find when I flip it over.

Jared, Oliver, Quentin and me. Two days before his boating accident. An accident that took his life over a year ago.

I'm losing it. My hands tremble. I can't stay still.

I sit down on my bed, shaking, my breaths low and shallow, as I clutched the frame in my hands. I have trouble breathing whenever I see his face. Whenever I remember him. Whenever I see that happy grin and laughing eyes.

Life's unfair like that. One second it's giving you what you want, what you think you need, and then it pulling it all away. Gone in the blink of an eye.

Quentin used to say life is short and that it's meant to be lived to the fullest. I never knew the depth of that statement until I stood by his deathbed, watching him take his final breath. Never knowing what he was thinking. Never knowing what he was trying to say. Never knowing if he felt like he lived his life to the fullest, even if it was short.

I'm going to fulfill your promise, Quent. I'm going to do what you were trying to tell us to do when you had an oxygen mask covering your face and death weighing down your eyelids. I'm going to live my life to the fullest and make sure everyone of us does it, too. I'm going to do that. For you.

I'm lost in thoughts of the best friend and gentle brother I lost. I stare way too long at that picture.

* * *

Two familiar knocks rap against my bedroom door, before my mom is stepping through. She's changed into a comfortable looking dress and her hair is up.

Her eyes dart over me and the picture frame I'm holding. Sensing my conflict, the smile turns into a frown. "Honey," she murmurs.

She steps closer to me but makes no move to hug me. I appreciate it. I don't think I could stand one of her motherly hugs right now, because I'm two seconds away from really, really, loosing it. I can tell my eyes are red as they continue to prickle. I'm fighting it.

"I miss him," is all I can muster.

She smiles sadly. "I know, baby. It's hard. It'll still be hard in a few years. But it gets easier."

"How?" It feels like there's razor blades in my throat. "When does it get better?"

"Time," she says simply. "All wounds take time to heal."

I nod, because really, what else is there to say? I feel like everything has gone south and I'm disgusted at the thought that I'm actually pitying myself. "It's been a year."

"And eventually it'll be two years. Then three. Then four. And you'll stop missing him. But you'll start remembering him more. You'll remember the good stuff. You'll remember what a great friend and brother he was. You'll remember what he meant to you, to Jared and to Oliver. You'll forget about the bad and cherish the good memories you had with him. It's how life works."

In a strange way, I think I understand what my mom is trying to tell. I remember him more already. I think about him a lot. I just haven't in awhile and seeing that picture was like a sucker punch. I'm good at pretending what happened to Quentin didn't, that he's not gone, but sometimes it catches up with me and I'm left feeling like shit. Left feeling weak.

"Thanks, Mom." I look up at her with the utmost sincerity. "I...I really love you, OK? Just remember that. I don't say it enough and you're good at holding it against me."

My mom cracks another smile and laughs a little softly. "I love you, too, hon. Quentin was like my son. I miss him, too."

I put the frame down and rub my clammy hands over my jeans.

My mom says one more thing before leaving me.

"And Trent? Cheer up. We both know if he was here today, he'd be calling you chickenshxt for almost crying and passing up a wonderfully homecooked steak dinner by yours truly. Come downstairs. If not for you, then for Quentin. God knows he'd never pass up any of my meals."

I laugh a little before choking up again, feeling my throat being gripped tightly by emotions.

That was Quentin for you. Always a foodie down to the core. Skinny and gangly as hell and never took one trip to the gym no matter how much Jared and I begged him.

I'm about to get up and shower when my phone rings. I glance down and see Oliver's name.

I clear my throat before picking up, but I'm sure I'll sound raspy any way. "Hello?"

"Trent," he says in a way of greeting. "We're all going out tonight. You in?"

"What time?" I glance down at my watch.

"Don't know. The girls say the need to get ready and that'll probably take a decade. Tara's probably planning an entire Sephora for all I know. So not before ten."

I had no fvcking clue with that meant. When Tara - or any other girl for that matter – talked makeup, I zoned out. "I'm not on campus though. Came home for the weekend. Going to have dinner with mom and Darrell and then head out. I may be late."

"As long as you show up, Trent. Don't leave me alone watching them chat about dicks and sex positions while they nurse cosmos. I'll kill myself."

"Jared's going to be there."

"He's got a date tonight. You're my only chance at survival." He's begging at this point. "Please, baby. Do it for me."

"You shxthead," I laugh. "Yeah, sweetheart. I'll come. We can even hold hands and fondle each other under the table."

"Awesome. I'm sure Inga's down for some male on male action."

I cringe, because it's not my thing. "You're taking it a little far, bro."

"Kay, got it. You like our intimate moments to stay private. Respect you for it. Love you, babycakes. Bye."

"Bye, baby."

I text him for good measure as I head towards my bathroom

Well, damn.

She's the last person I want to think about. Especially since her distressed face haunts me when I left her like an asshole in the parking lot. I'm itching to find out how she's doing. If she's okay after that stunt I pulled.

I grit my teeth as I step into the shower. It's not like she's cared about me in all this time. Her sad face might have been a figment of my imagination for all I know.

But... I want to see her. Some masochistic part inside of me wants to see her face.

I try to suppress all the reasons why I truly want to see her. I tell myself that it's because I want her to know I'm unaffected by her presence.

After my shower, I go downstairs to have that steak and red wine.

For Quentin.

* * *

The bar is a fifteen-minute drive from my house.

Oliver texted me to let me know that he's already there with everyone. When I enter Danny's Grill, it's packed as per usual on a lively Saturday night. I have a difficult time weaving my way through the crowd to get to the bar. I order myself a Jack and Coke and flirt with the cute brunette who's sitting with her friends with a pretty smile and an even shorter dress.

Just when I think it may amount to something (because really, all I'm looking for these days is a good lay) I take my drink and salute her with two fingers. I add in a wink for good measure.

She gapes at me when I leave her.

I see Oliver's black mop of black hair above everyone else's. Fear grips me and I'm rooted to the spot for two seconds as my eyes try to scan for Cher. Is she there yet?

I don't know what kind of reaction I'm going to get from her.

A part of me knows why I fear seeing her. Seeing her makes me realize that I'm reluctant to rely on people because she's hurt me once and that means I'm capable of feeling pain when all I want to be is numb. It means I'm scared of being disappointed. But... most of all, I'm scared of being the disappointment.

Cheryl's not there yet.

I don't realize I'm holding my breath until it stutters past my lips. With my head high, I walk towards their table where I see Oliver, Inga and Tara.

Oliver gives me a shxt-eating grin before blowing me a fake kiss. I laugh and bump his fist. Inga, the Russian sweetheart, gives me the sweetest smile and I kiss her cheek. Followed by Tara who shamelessly tries to plant one smack on my lips as a weird-inside joke. I dodge it and kiss her jaw.

"Hey, Panty-Melter," Tara teases with a mean gleam. Apparent Addison McKenna, head cheerleader of some sort, fucked me on the football field and told everyone I was a panty-melter because I'd melted the panties right off her pussy. Which was messed up because I had no idea who the fuck Addison was. Or how someone melted panties. But rumour went around and Tara heard. Then she called me pissing her pants. Now I was known as Panty-Melter around campus. Apparently I melted sixteen panties right off notoriously spread legs. Great. "Nice hat."

She's referring to my beanie. I click my tongue, mockingly. "Thanks, babe. Nice filter. Oh, wait. You don't have one."

"Nah, I purposely left it at home. I just know how much my dirty talk turns you on."

"I'm coming," I deadpan.

She grins then kicks me under the table because she's so mature. I kick her back before taking a sip of my drink.

"She's right," Inga adds in, smiling at us. "You look extra handsome tonight, Trent."

I wink at her, too. "Have to compete with your boyfriend for you love. Gotta look topnotch."

"Oh, piss off, Trenton." Oli chides as he scrapes a hand over his stubble. "Stay away."

"That's not what you said last week when you were drunk and trying to grope a feel of my junk."

I'm obviously kidding. Oliver and I got drunk last week and he was so horny that he booty-called Inga six times so she could come fuck him blind in the back of my SUV. As if I'd let anyone get it on in my backseat.

Inga chokes on her drink and Tara maybe pisses her pants. Oliver narrows his eyes, "You're a piece of shit. Now my girlfriend's really going to think I'm gay and dump my ass."

"Maybe she should. My bed's warmer and bigger than yours."

"Boys," Inga cuts in. "I love you both equally. Now stop fighting. Tell me, what's new with everyone?"

"I cockblocked, Jared, and I'm hella proud of it," Tara states casually, taking a sip of her dirty martini. She's so extra; she's wearing a red faux fur coat and a tight leather dress underneath.

"Again?" Oliver asks.

Tara huffs. "I needed him to help me with my complimentary psychology class and he blew me off for a date. A date, can you believe it? Like, c'mon. Best friend here. I'm more important."

Inga flicks her pale blonde hair over her bare shoulders and her blue eyes light up. "Didn't you cockblock him last week, too?"

Tara shrugs like the diva she is, and taps away at her phone with a wicked gleam. Her long pink nails are a blur. She's obviously mass texting Jared right now to piss him off. "That's how our friendship works-"

I cut her off, watching as Oliver frantically looks over the table, taping away our coasters and sliding away our drinks. He glances under it the table as if he's searching for something. His golden eyes are glazed with worry. "Oli, what's wrong? What are you looking for?"

"Be right back," he barely spares us a glance as he hops off his stool to crouch under the table. "I'm looking for Tara's filter."

I bark out a laugh and Inga covers her mouth to hide her unladylike laugh as Tara looks us over with a beseeching look, her eyes wide like saucers.

"My filter?" she bares through clenched teeth. "Look at that Oli." She crunches a paper napkin into a ball and shoots it at a grinning Oli when he sits back on his stool. "I found it and it's returned with a giant 'fuck you'."

They're in the middle of arguing when I hear a small throat clearing behind me.

I pause mid-sip when a gentle hand taps my shoulder.

"Um, you're sitting on my seat."