Chapter 18
Eighteen
Bryson stood at the edge of the backyard, his mind lingering on the day he’d found Sean.
This morning wasn’t much different. It came dressed in a haze of early light, draping the vineyard in soft layers.
Dew clung to the grass along the gravel path, soaking the toes of Bryson’s boots as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
He’d been out here for twenty minutes, watching the fog retreat down the valley, letting the quiet steady him before the day started throwing punches.
Everything had felt out of whack since the second he’d rolled out of bed, much like that fateful day.
But there was something different in the air.
Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
Hope? The resilience of family? The willingness to do whatever it took?
Whatever it was, it was there, strong and proud, and heavily rooted in the ground.
He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of measured footsteps behind him. Grant’s silhouette emerged from between the shadow of the old oak and the side of the barn, hands buried deep in the pockets of a jacket that looked slept in.
“I remember, even as a kid, you always liked coming out here,” Grant said when he reached him, voice low as if he didn’t want to wake the day.
“Riley would race out of the house in her Wonder Woman pajamas, hoping you and your dad hadn’t walked the rows yet.
My dad would just chuckle, standing on our back porch, watching her little legs take her as fast as she could run. ”
“I think I loved her even at ten,” Bryson said.
Grant stopped beside him, close enough that Bryson caught the faint scent of soap overlaid with the stale tang of worry.
For a while, they just stood there, staring at the undulating rows of vines that rolled out like green stitching across the earth.
Somewhere down the slope, a tractor coughed awake.
“My father always thought the two of you would marry, and that made my mother go into a tailspin. Erin and I would find things to do so we didn’t have to hear my mom while she tried to school yours. ”
“The good old days.” Bryson noticed the moment Grant's gaze shifted from him to the rolling hills stretching out before them, the weight of their conversation momentarily forgotten.
“God, this view.” Grant let out a low whistle. “I can’t imagine you ever tire of it.”
“Nope,” Bryson replied.
Grant didn’t take his eyes off the horizon. His jaw worked like he was chewing on something stubborn. “I wanted to talk to you before I head down to the station.”
Bryson tilted his head, studying him. “About what?”
Grant rubbed the back of his neck, still staring forward. “This wire thing Sandy’s got me doing… I’ve been turning it over in my head. I’m not na?ve—I know how my mother operates. I can’t predict how she’ll react, and I’m not so sure I can get her to say anything useful.”
“You’ll handle it,” Bryson said, keeping his tone steady.
Grant’s mouth tightened. “Yeah, well… there’s the chance it blows up in my face, instead. If she catches on? If she turns it around on me?” He laughed humorlessly. “Hell, she’s capable of making people admit things they didn’t do. And I say that from experience.”
Bryson’s brows pulled together. “But you didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Doesn’t always matter,” Grant said quietly. “Truth’s one thing. Perception’s another. And she’s damn good at shaping perception.”
“Not so much anymore,” Bryson said. “She lost her touch a few years ago.”
“But she can still do it, and that scares me.” Grant turned to face Bryson then, eyes hard with something deeper than just anxiety—it was resignation, too. “That’s why I wanted to see you out here. If this goes sideways—if I end up looking guiltier than I already do—I need your word on something.”
“You’re going to get through this. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“We don’t know that.” Grant’s expression didn’t change.
“Promise me. If I’m out of the picture in any capacity, you’ll look after Riley.
Keep her steady. She’s tough, but she’s got blind spots when it comes to family.
She’ll try to carry things she shouldn’t.
And Erin—she’s hanging on for the kids, but if I’m not here, she’s going to need someone.
Kelly, too. She’ll put on a brave face, but the kids… ”
The weight of Grant's request settled over Bryson like a heavy blanket.
This wasn't just conversation anymore—Grant was genuinely terrified he might be arrested, convicted, torn away from everything he'd built.
The man was asking Bryson to be responsible for the people he loved most, to step into a role that should never need filling by anyone else.
The irony wasn't lost on him either—Grant, who'd spent years resenting Bryson's place in their lives, was now entrusting him with their care.
It was both an honor and a crushing responsibility that Bryson wasn't sure he was ready for.
"Grant," Bryson said quietly, his voice buckling under the gravity of what was being asked. "You're not going anywhere. But if something does happen—and I mean if—you have my word. I'll take care of them. All of them."
“Thanks.” Some of the tightness in Grant’s shoulders loosened, but not much. “You’re not so bad, Boone.”
Bryson’s lips curved faintly. “Careful. People might start thinking we’re… friends.”
Grant huffed a short laugh. “Don’t push your luck.”
They stood in the quiet, the kind that pressed in and made every distant sound sharper—the chirp of a bird in the hedgerow, the faint metallic creak of the barn roof warming under the sun.
“I’d better get going.” When Grant turned and headed back toward the house, Bryson stayed where he was, watching the light creep across the land, feeling the promise settle like a weight across his shoulders—heavy, but one he knew he’d willingly carry.
“There’s Grant’s SUV.” Riley pointed from her perch in the back of what appeared to be a van for Stone Bridge Water Authority. Her heart thumped in her throat like a jackrabbit.
The van hummed softly, parked two houses down beneath the dappled shade of a jacaranda.
Inside, the air was warm with dust and a faint bite of citrus from a hand sanitizer bottle rolling around the cup holder.
Riley sat forward, elbows on knees, eyes glued to the pale stucco of her mother’s house. Erin’s thigh pressed warm against hers.
Grant’s vehicle rolled to a stop in the driveway. He slipped from the driver’s side and walked up the path like a man out for a Sunday stroll, a study in casual. Hands in pockets, shoulders loose, pace unhurried.
Erin grabbed Riley’s hand and squeezed.
Grant raised his fist, knocked on the door, and didn’t once glance over his shoulder. That had to be a good thing.
The front door opened.
“Grant. I’m so glad you called. Things have been so tense since Riley, came back to town, and this other business about… well, you know. I’ve been wanting to chat.” Elizabeth’s voice, sweet and lacquered, slid through the wire.
“Me too,” he said lightly.
“Come in.” A little laugh. “I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee.”
Erin stiffened. “Oh, god. No. She wouldn’t? Would she?”
“That would be insane,” Sandy muttered.
“No coffee for me,” Grant said. “Already had some.”
“Thank God,” Riley whispered, her voice shaky with relief.
“I baked this morning. Blueberry muffins. Your favorite,” Riley’s mother said, her voice artificially warm—the tone she used when she wanted something.
Riley caught Erin’s sharp intake of breath and placed a reassuring hand on her sister's knee.
A chair scuffed inside. A door clicked. A soft hush fell over the kitchen.
“Don’t eat the muffins, Grant,” Sandy said.
“Seriously. Don’t eat them.” Riley gripped her sister’s knee tighter.
“I already ate. Thanks.” Grant’s voice stretched through the static.
“You look tired,” Elizabeth said. “All this… unpleasantness. How is Kelly? The children? I’ve missed them so these last few days.”
“They’re fine.” A pause. “We’re all fine.”
“That’s good to hear.” A ceramic clink. “Black, just how you like it.”
“Oh, no. Don’t do it,” Riley whispered.
“Seriously, no. I’m trying to cut back,” Grant said sternly. “Kelly says I’m too jacked up lately.”
“Suit yourself. But I wouldn’t do it because your wife says so,” Riley’s mother said. “She’s too into all the weird herbal stuff. It’s not good for you.”
A long pause.
“So—tell me everything. What have the kids been up to? How’s Erin doing?
I so wish she’d stop with this nonsense.
Chad’s a perfectly decent man. A good provider.
I don’t know why she’s behaving this way, except for maybe Riley having some influence over her.
Riley certainly does know how to create a stir. ”
“I can’t believe her.” Erin shook her head.
“Keep the commentary to a minimum.” The FBI agent adjusted his headset, eyes narrowed.
“I’m not here to discuss any of that,” Grant said, matching her ease. “I'm more interested in what the town's been buzzing about.”
“Oh, Lord. The gossip in Stone Bridge.” A brittle tinkle of laughter.
“They’re already twisting your father’s death into a melodrama.
It’s grotesque. Everyone should mind their own business and let us bury your father in peace.
That includes your little sister. This is all her fault. She had no business calling the ME.”
“Uh-huh,” was all that Grant seemed to want to say about that. “For now, I’d rather talk about the funds missing from the revitalization committee.”
The sound of china hitting china clanked in Riley’s ear. “We’ve had that talk, and now you’re in a pickle.”
“Not exactly. My name’s on approvals I didn’t sign,” Grant said. “I wonder how that happened.”
A delicate silence.
“Here we go,” Sandy said. “Come on, Grant. You’ve got this.
“You approve so many things. It’s easy to forget. Easy to hope others do too, I suppose,” Riley’s mother said.