CHAPTER FOUR
Rory
I stare at my phone, at the blank text thread I just opened. Everything I type out feels weird and I delete it before I can hit send. Hey, just checking in … delete delete delete. How did you guys sleep last night … backspace backspace backspace. Breck’s not my friend—not really. I tap my fingers along the side of my phone while worrying my thumbnail between my teeth.
Yesterday was friendly, right? He seemed genuinely glad to see me… but I think that’s just Breck’s nature. According to Wes, he’s never met a stranger, and after years of hearing him talk about his friend, I feel like I do know him. When we met for the second time in Hawaii, I was terrified and heartsick over how close I came to losing my brother, my favorite person in the world, so those interactions are blurry.
Otherwise, I’m sure I would’ve embarrassed myself like I did at their graduation all those years ago. But then, show me a fourteen-year-old girl who wouldn’t think their big brother’s friend with the blond surfer curls, strong cut jaw, and swoony Australian accent was the hottest guy on the planet.
Did I harbor a secret crush on him? Of course. I was a teenager and it was harmless. He lived half a world away, was eight years older than me, and was never an option. Not that I wanted him to be an option. He was a fantasy… again, a crush. It’s always been there though.
Now he’s here, and if I’m completely honest with myself, he’s even more crush-worthy than ever. The past thirteen years have done nothing but increase his appeal. The rugged, thirty-five-year-old Breck beats out the boyish twenty-two-year-old one by miles…
I shake my head. Even if he wasn’t here to escape what sounds like a shitty situation, I’d never, ever date Wes’s best friend. I wouldn’t chance our relationship, and Lord knows he never liked his Navy buddies sniffing around when I would visit him in Lemoore, where he spent most of his career.
Why am I even thinking about this? I look back at my phone with a sigh and finally type out a message… No more overthinking. This is Wes’s friend; I can help him get settled without thinking about his sharp jawline and deep-cut dimples, or the way his lips look when they… Nope . Rein it in .
Me
Hey Breck, it’s Rory. What are you and Willow up to this afternoon? I could show you around, maybe grab lunch?
The three dot bubble pops up almost instantly and I watch it dance with anticipation.
Breck
That would be great actually. We spent the whole morning unpacking. Could probably use a break. What time?
Me
I can walk over now.
Breck
Great, see you soon.
See, was that so hard?
I pull on my heavy puffer jacket and a mint green beanie low over my ears. The walk between my condo and theirs is short, but it’s in the low thirties outside. My fleece-lined jeans keep my legs toasty as I walk out my door and down the steps to the sidewalk, my breath puffing out in white clouds around me.
I stomp up the stairs to their porch, knocking the snow off my boots as I go. I reach a gloved hand for the doorbell but before I can press it, the door swings open and I falter back a step. Willow’s sweet smiling face is a welcome sight, settling the surprise of the moment before.
“Rory!” she squeals and launches herself at me, and I smile ruefully. Like father, like daughter .
I’ll never forget when I walked into Wes’s hospital room and Breck enveloped me in a hug that could only be described as life-changing. If I couldn’t have a hug from Wes—who was laid up and unable to move from his bed—Breck’s was the next best thing. It was different from yesterday’s, which had an edge to it, something under the surface, almost like he was touch-starved.
You’re reading too much into it, Rory. It was just a hug.
I squeeze Willow a little tighter, just in case I’m not all that far off the mark and she could use one too. I gently shuffle us into the entryway so I can close the door behind me. It’s cold and she’s in nothing but little sleep shorts and a T-shirt. This girl needs flannel pjs or she’s going to freeze.
“Hey, sweetie. How’d you sleep?” I ask, then let my eyes travel over her head to Breck standing just inside the kitchen. He’s leaning against the island, a grin spread across his face like it was carved there. He seems almost normal, so close to being the over-the-top golden retriever type guy I remember. Then I remind myself he’s likely not that guy right now and that appearances can be deceiving during a crisis.
“Probably would have been better if someone ,” Breck says, shooting a pointed glance at Willow, “hadn’t slept with her feet in my face half the night.”
Willow’s bright giggle escapes her, and she releases me to run over to her dad.
“At least they’re not as smelly as yours.” She sticks her tongue out at him and bolts.
“I’ll get you for that, little ankle-biter.” He lurches forward but she’s already out of reach, running past me for the stairs to her room. Her laugh cascades through the house as she goes.
“Ankle-biter?” I inquire with a raised brow. He lets loose a laugh, settling against the counter again. He’s dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a thermal Henley that hugs his chest and arms. His hair is damp and a little disheveled, like he ran his hands through it just before I walked in the door.
“I guess they don’t call kids that here? It’s a term of endearment in Australia… at least, it is when they’re being little pests.” He says pests with affection and humor. “Anyway, come on in. She’s going to get changed but wanted to wait to see you.”
His Australian accent wraps around me, a hug in itself. Damn, I love the way it sounds.
“She’s a really sweet kid, Breck.”
His face softens at my words, and my heart melts a little with it. I might’ve only gotten the Cliffs Notes version of what happened from Wes, but I couldn’t imagine putting on a brave face and trudging on like he is.
“She really is.” He clears his throat and pushes off the counter, walking around it to rinse his coffee mug in the sink. “Thank you. For the groceries. You’re a gem.”
“You’re welcome. That was actually Wes’s idea. He told me that you and—” I break off, scrunching my eyes shut, hoping he didn’t notice my near-misstep. “He told me you had pizza and beer waiting for him when he got to Sydney. So yeah, just returning the favor!” I wave my fingers in the air, and oh my god. I need to calm down.
He runs a hand over his lips, hiding a grin, and the tension that was lingering in his shoulders eases.
“Everything else okay with the house?” I say, moving to a safer topic. “I had dinner with my mom and dad last night and they wanted me to make sure you were comfortable.”
“It’s great. Better than, actually. Maybe if I’d actually looked at the listing I would’ve known this place had a foosball table. Willow mopped the floor with me this morning.”
“She plays foosball? Isn’t she like eight?” I ask, surprised.
“Seven, at least for two more months. But yeah, her school has a table and she’s a full-fledged champion now.” He chuckles. “We bought our own table earlier this year. You should see her go toe to toe with Wes. The two of them trash talk each other like crazy.” He rubs at his chin. “I might’ve let that get a little out of hand though, so now I’m attempting to reel it back in.”
“She’s a little competitive, huh?”
“You could say that. She and Wes feed off each other like a couple of feral kids, which of course, she is, but Wes…” Breck laughs and shakes his head. “He’s always right there with her.”
“He would be. I swear he’s just a big kid at heart. So, are you and Willow hungry?”
“Yes!” Willow’s enthusiastic voice comes from behind me, and I twirl around to see her standing at the foot of the stairs in a pair of lightweight leggings, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes.
“Umm, Breck?”
“Hmm?” He steps up behind me, a questioning hum coming from much too close. My body tenses at the unexpected proximity.
“Please tell me she has warmer clothes than that.” My voice is quieter, embarrassingly breathy as I catch my bearings. “Otherwise, I think our first stop will need to be Target.”
“That’s a complicated answer. She has some warmer clothes, but I’ll need to supplement her wardrobe now that we’re here. Would you mind looking at what we have and helping me come up with a list of what she still needs?”
I turn and come face-to-face with his chest. He steps back but only enough so I can look up at him. He’s about six inches taller than me, even with my boots on, and is much more comfortable with this closeness than I am apparently. A sandy blond curl falls across his forehead and he shakes it back. Behind the persistent strands are piercing sky-blue eyes. I’m entranced, a little unsettled, and warmth blooms across my cheeks.
“Sure.” My voice squeaks out and I feign a cough in order to continue at a normal decibel. “Do you want to do that now? Or later? We could go get lunch first and then come back, take stock, and go from there?”
“I’m guessing from your reaction that Willow isn’t dressed appropriately for lunch, so maybe a quick inventory and then lunch, and you can pick out something warmer while we’re at it?”
I turn back to Willow, taking my first full breath since he walked up behind me. “Alright, girly, lead the way.”
We walk into pure chaos when we get upstairs. Her luggage is splayed open on the bottom bunk and there are exactly zero items still inside—and it’s not a small suitcase. The dresser drawers sit partially open and a few things are hanging haphazardly in the closet. Mostly, there are piles of what used to be neatly folded clothes all over the floor. The only things that look like they were placed with care are her tablet and a small frame holding a picture of Breck, Willow, and Talia.
My eyes catch on it and can’t seem to move on. I’ve seen pictures of Talia before, from Wes’s time in Sydney the last six months, but it seems to shine a light on the situation even more. Willow’s resemblance to her mom is uncanny—to both her parents really, but there’s so much of Talia in her. I’m struck anew by how hard that must be for Breck. Willow, too.
Her dark hair reaches long down her back exactly like Talia’s. It’s stick-straight and shiny, like inky black curtains. Her coloring is closer to Talia’s too, more olive than the sun-kissed bronze of Breck’s. They have the same straight nose and matching crinkles at the corners of their eyes.
She’s a beautiful little girl, and one day she’ll be a stunning woman.
Breck walks in, and his proclamation of “holy shit” draws both my mind and my eyes away from the photo and back to the task at hand.
“Ha! Swear jar for you, Daddy,” Willow says, a gleam in her eye. “Wait, you did remember to bring the swear jar, right?”
“Of course. How could I forget the swear jar? I’m pretty sure it’s how we’re going to pay for this condo,” he jokes, and she rolls her eyes. She’s got attitude for days.
I stifle a laugh behind my hand. “Oh, you can’t be that bad.”
He grimaces but quickly follows it up with a smile. “Let’s just say Willow has a real chance at Taylor Swift tickets if I don’t clean up my act.” Willow jumps up and down like that would be the ultimate prize in life.
“I bet Uncle Wes had to contribute to the swear jar quite a bit, didn’t he?” I say, looking at Willow, and she bursts out laughing, her nod emphatic.
Breck laughs too. “He started prepaying with a twenty every time he came over because it made more sense than paying as he went. The Navy really did him no favors on that one.”
“Yeah, the whole swears like a sailor thing rings true, doesn’t it?”
Wes was a fighter pilot in the Navy until his near-fatal plane crash. Though he survived, his wingman and friend did not. As much as I miss him, I’m glad all that trauma took him to Sydney to work for Breck’s adventure tour company. It brought him to Joss, the love of his life. He deserves that happiness, and I’m glad he’s found it. Even if it’s half a world away from me.
“It does indeed, but that’s beside the point. Willow Bear, what on earth happened here? I thought I told you to unpack, not throw everything around the room like a tornado came through.” Breck’s hands are on his hips and his lips are pursed. I stifle the laugh that bubbles up. His stern look is so at odds with his usual demeanor.
“Well, I did unpack.” She waves her arms around at the wreckage. “Then I got distracted dancing to my music. And then I decided to take a shower and I couldn’t find my bathroom stuff. And then you told me Rory was coming so I threw my pjs back on so I could say hi. And then I needed to get dressed and wasn’t sure what to wear so…” She looks around her room as if this rambled explanation makes sense of the scene.
“O-kay,” I drawl, feeling the need to pipe in and defuse this stand-off. “How about we find you something warmer to wear to lunch and we can go through this when we get back. Organize and take stock at the same time, yeah?”
I offer a kind smile to Willow and quirk a brow at Breck.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He huffs a breath. “Do you at least know where the snow boots are, Willow?”
She jumps on the spot, spinning in a circle until her eyes land on the closet. “There!”
She saunters over, not a care in the world that she just kicked over the last remaining pile of mostly folded shirts. Breck groans from the doorway and I bite my lip to hide my smile.
The boots in her hand look sturdy and warm. “Did you order those? I can’t imagine you found them in the height of summer in Sydney.”
“I absolutely ordered them. She, of course, insisted on the ones with the pink fur.”
“Obviously.” I chuckle. “Willow, any idea where the pants are?” I ask, scanning the room for jeans or anything heavier than—
“These are my favorite leggings,” she says, interrupting my search. They’re very cute—black with silver sparkles—but the flimsy fabric is unlikely to cut it when we step outside. Looking at Breck, he just shrugs, so I let it go.
“They are very cute. How about a jacket? Hat? Gloves?” I glance around, seeing none of these things.
“Her jacket is downstairs. As for a hat and gloves, I somehow forgot about those… even though I definitely packed them for myself.” His hand tightens at the back of his neck then his eyes follow suit, squeezing shut. If I could see into his mind, I think I’d hear him kicking himself.
“That’s okay, I have an extra pair of gloves in my coat. You know, for emergencies.” I give Willow a conspiratorial wink. “They’ll be a little big, but I bet they’ll work just fine. So, lunch?”
“Yes, please!” Willow draws the words out. Her melodic voice and adorable Australian accent make my heart melt.
“My best friend’s going to meet us. I think you’ll like him,” I tell her, and her eyes brighten. She walks out past Breck and I expect him to follow, but his eyes are caught on something behind me. With what I see on his face, I don’t have to look to know it’s the framed picture of what used to be their family.