Chapter 13 Jace
JACE
Presley Callahan is avoiding me.
A couple of weeks ago, I wouldn't have minded that. Actually, I probably would have rejoiced in it.
That was, however, before she threw up on me. Before I held her hair back as she continued to throw up. Before I tried to look away as I changed her shirt after she fell asleep on the couch. I might have failed a little bit at that last one.
I would have thought that all of those things—well, maybe not the last one, but everything else—would have been enough for things to have shifted between us.
Gotten us to the point of at least maybe being cordial in the hallway when we see each other.
Not saying we have to be besties, but, you know, I didn’t think that my actions were a cause for avoidance.
Then again, what do I know? Clearly nothing.
Other than after five days of zero contact—including leaving my messages on read—I kind of miss her. In the I-just-want-to-know-that-she-recovered-okay kind of way. The I-still-have-a-couple-really-good-comebacks-up-my-sleeve-for-our-next-verbal-sparring-session kind of way. That’s all.
I definitely miss Otis though. Little Man is a seriously cool dude, and getting to hang out with him watching TV, playing with trains, and eating snacks might just be the best weekend I’ve had in a long time. And despite what his mama thinks, Curious George isn’t that bad.
Don’t tell my best friend or my brothers that though. I’ll never hear the end of it.
“You made it!” Gus exclaims, slapping a hand on my shoulder as I belly up to the bar at Pour Decisions.
I nod, sighing heavily, my brain overrun with thoughts of Presley.
Not what I should be thinking about as I walk into my brother’s bar, but more than a normal amount of time in the last week, my thoughts have involved her in some way.
So of course I can’t help but think of her now.
An association I’m going to need to break—STAT.
“What? And disobey the women who just kicked me out of my own house by not showing up?” I joke.
“It’s my house,” Gus corrects me. “And we gave you plenty of warning that you were being evicted post wedding.”
Fair point.
Gus is the one who built and has been paying the mortgage—with the help of the rent I was paying him— on the little cottage that he, Hux, and I shared for a number of years before he and Hux found their brides and settled down earlier this year.
I adore Margeaux and no part of me blames her for laying down the edict that the house was theirs—and theirs alone—post wedding.
Frankly, it was more than a little crowded after Margeaux and Dolly moved in anyway.
Still didn’t make having to pack up all my shit and find a new place to live any easier. Or fun.
“Still not risking pissing off the next Hayes matriarch.”
Gus rolls his eyes, acting like he hates that comment, but I can see the secret little smile in the curl of his lips. He likes when we joke about that. Margeaux, on the other hand, fucking hates it. And she will cut you if you say it around her.
“Glad to know my wife wields so much power.”
A beer appears in front of me, and I look up to find a smirking Milo standing there, his flannel shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, arms spread wide like he’s posing for a magazine cover.
“Margeaux the only reason you showed up tonight?” he asks, not bothering with a greeting.
I take a long sip of the beer, trying to figure out what he’s really asking. Question is simple enough on the surface, but the expression on his face tells me it’s deeper than that.
“Beer’s not bad either.”
“Well, if it isn’t the last man standing,” Anton comments, sidling up behind me.
I twist to look at him, waiting for more commentary.
Ever since he got engaged a couple of weeks ago, he’s loved throwing it in my face that I’m the last single sibling.
Especially since we were all betting the last one of us to take the plunge would be him.
At least until Dr. Sawyer Brown showed up and proved that love—and fate—have their own way of doing things.
“Jealous?” I quip back.
“Not at all.”
I laugh, more than a little jealous of the love that is radiating off him.
I’m happy for my siblings and their counterparts, enjoying watching our family grow exponentially like this.
It’ll be even faster once they all start popping out babies.
There is a part of me that is envious of them too. I want that—always have.
In order to find it though, I need to stop thinking about Presley Callahan.
“C’mon, saved you a spot at the big table outside,” Anton says, nodding toward the grassy area just beyond the large garage-style door at the end of the bar.
Milo and Brandt expanded a couple of years ago, putting up a picnic shelter cover and some tables in the space between the taproom and the brewery, giving Pour Decisions an outside space for people to hang out.
Grabbing our beers, I nod at Milo and head toward the tables.
From here I can already see Hux and Ewan toward the middle of the table, deep in a discussion about God knows what.
Knowing those two, probably trees. As the lumber and outdoors experts of the family, they tend to end up down that road a lot.
Gus trails behind us, a drink in each hand, and instantly I feel lighter.
This is what I needed tonight. An easygoing, low-key, no pressure night out with my brothers.
Scanning down the table, I see the girls all huddled together, the lightness in my chest increasing, a calmness settling in with the knowledge that this is how it should be.
Each one of those women is amazing in her own right, and the absolute perfect match for my brothers.
Every time I watch them all together, I wait for them to plot to take over the world.
They could do it, and with an efficiency that would probably be scary.
“It was an accident really. I was the only one in the department who could use my phone for something other than calling and texting. Next thing I know, I was being labeled the social media expert.”
Laughter rings out, the gaggle of beautiful women congregated together all joining in the chorus. But one stands out, sending a shiver down my spine. Right along with that sweet, melodic voice.
Presley Callahan.
“I can’t complain too much; it pays the bills. It’s what made it possible for me to land on my feet after my ex turned out to be more Mr. Hyde than Dr. Jekyll.”
My heart squeezes, my stomach following suit as it does somersaults. I break out in a light sweat, my body reacting in overtime to seeing her. What is she doing here?
With my sisters-in-law.
“You good?” Gus asks, slapping me on the back again, making me realize I stopped moving.
“Y-yeah. Yeah,” I mutter, trying to get my bearings about me.
“I would have castrated him,” Margeaux says, her voice carrying enough to be heard over the rest of the crowd. “And then made his life hell in court.”
“I considered it.” Presley laughs.
This is the first time I’ve ever heard her mention an ex. Presumably Otis’s father. I’m significantly more intrigued than I should be, making an attempt to eavesdrop as I slide onto the picnic table bench next to Hux.
“Good, settle this for us,” Ewan says, pulling me into their conversation. “Do we replace the Hayes games rifles with the newest model we’re releasing or continue with the ones we’ve always used?”
Seriously, that’s what these two are debating?
Hayes Games—a series of competitions that the six of us boys do every year after we win tug-o-war on the Fourth of July—is a long-standing tradition for our family.
They started when Milo and Gus were in high school, thinking it would be more fun than the town picnic.
Ewan and I were still pretty young, but all in nonetheless.
None of us cared one bit about eggs on a spoon or a water balloon toss.
So my brothers created something better.
The events have changed over the years as we’ve gotten older, but it’s still a highlight of our year.
“Pros and cons?” I ask, trying to make sure that I look like they have my undivided attention while I still keep an ear on what Presley is saying.
“The newest Hayes rifle is pretty slick. Much better accuracy than the twenty-some-year-old ones we’ve been using,” Ewan comments.
“But the ones we’ve been using since year one are part of the tradition,” Hux counters. “And half the fun is that they are kinda old and outdated.”
Can a gun be outdated?
I’m the personal safety expert, and zero about what I do, practice, or preach involves firearms. Despite that being how my family initially found its fortune. I know only enough to use them when I go hunting or to shoot the target during the games. Exactly how I like it.
Meaning, I am not the one to settle this discussion.
“I dunno.” I shrug. “Doesn’t really matter to me.”
“Someone has got to have an opinion on this,” Hux says.
“What did the others say?”
“They don’t care either,” Ewan tells me.
Well, I’m not going to be much more help.
“Tell Gus to make the choice. He likes bossing everyone around; this is right up his alley.”
“Jace!” Margeaux exclaims.
Oooops. Didn’t realize I said that loud enough for the newest Mrs. Hayes to hear me rag on her husband.
“Miss Margeaux,” I greet, turning on my most charming smile. Presley is sitting to her right, a pretty pink blush crawling up her cheeks as she pulls her lips in and looks away. Everything in me wants to call her on it, but I hold back. “How are you this fine evening?”
“Better now that everyone is here.” She beams, almost mischievously, the sparkle in her eyes one that I haven’t seen before. “Grab Gus, and let’s go get food.”
Yeah, she’s up to something.
“Guster,” I holler, nodding toward the food truck parked at the end of the lawn.
“Don’t call me that,” Gus grumbles.
“You prefer Grumpy Gus?” I retort, rounding the table to head toward the food line.
“No.”