Truck Me All Day Long

Chapter 2

I got home around eight that night. Since it was Friday, the other residents of the trailer park were having a bonfire and cookout in the open area I’d cleared out for that purpose years ago. The chill of winter was still in the air, but it was tolerable. I parked Dave—my old Dodge pickup—near the other vehicles and ambled toward the crowd.

“Evening, folks,” I said as I stopped near the fire. A chorus of “hellos” greeted me.

Bud Reinholt, a sixty-seven-year-old retired veteran who’d been living here for two years, called out to me from where he manned the grill. “You hungry, Adrian? We’ve got lots of grub.”

“Thanks, but I ate earlier. Sara,” I addressed the sixty-five-year-old widow and former head nurse standing next to Bud with an empty plate, “I’ll be over to fix your sink on Sunday morning.”

“Appreciate it, sweetie,” she said.

I turned to the other residents. “Y’all have a good night. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Chuckles followed me as I continued down the road separating the units to the last one where I lived, which was right up against the tree line of the forest.

The trailer park—and a large sum of money held in trust for its care—was the legacy left to me by my grandfather, Andrew Bartholomew Mitchell. There were seven homes in all, mine being the biggest on the lot, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms.

Grandpa Andy had raised me after my parents died when I was eight. He taught me everything I knew about life, including how to be a controlling bastard, just like he’d been. Everything had to be the way he wanted it, no exceptions. And that was how I’d lived as an adult. That was all I’d known.

Until Brandon, I’d never considered that I was causing harm to others. It was good to be in the driver’s seat, so to speak, especially in areas like business, for example. Relationships? Well, I knew better now.

I unlocked the door and headed straight for the bedroom. The house had a lonely feel to it, one of the reasons why I rarely ate here anymore. I didn’t want to be reminded that Brandon wasn’t around, and even though the Residence Inn was just ten miles away, it felt like a thousand.

It didn’t help that Brandon’s cooking was to die for, either. There were so many things that he’d done around the place to please me, that I’d either taken for granted or hadn’t noticed until he was gone. It made me ashamed of my behavior.

A half an hour later, I was showered and ready to call it a night. The mirror over the bathroom sink reflected newly formed strands of gray hair. I’d been blond for so long, this was stark evidence that I was truly getting older. I lay down in bed under the covers and took the picture of me and Brandon off the nightstand. I cradled it gently in one hand and used a finger to trace the features of the man I desperately wanted back in my life, if he’d let me.

Brandon Perez was the most beautiful guy I’d ever seen. His mother was black, from Honduras, and his father’s family hailed from Cuba, originally. He had caramel-colored skin, thick, curly black hair with gray on the sides, and striking hazel eyes. He was taller than me, and broadly built. As attractive as he was, he could be intimidating because of his size at six-foot-four. Truthfully, though, he was a teddy bear, and very sweet-natured. He had been forty when we’d taken this photo. That was two years ago, now.

Sad to say, I’d taken advantage of Brandon’s laidback ways and submissive nature to push him to a place he never knew existed within him—and neither did I. Yes, his cheating was wrong, and I’d been pissed for a long time. But then, I tried to see things from his point of view, and it was like a slap in the face.

I’d had eight months to realize just how much of a control freak I must have been for him to even consider doing such a thing to us. I’d been so rigid. Everything had to be done according to my say-so, not one thing—even in the bedroom—done from his wishes, though the s*x was always good. I stared at the two of us, holding each other and laughing at the camera on the beach in Costa Rica, a vacation we’d taken a month after he’d moved in with me. We’d been so happy together. I’d been so happy.

I kissed his smiling lips through the glass and placed the frame next to the lamp. I turned off the light and snuggled down after thumping my pillow twice. My eyes closed as I sent up a prayer that tomorrow’s dinner with Brandon would move us a step closer to getting back together. I couldn’t go on like this anymore. I was lost without him.