Chapter 19
I 'm tired to the marrow of my bones. After the emotional hurricane of our first Thanksgiving without Sam, I hide in my cabin for three days straight. Just me, Jack, Jim, and Johnnie. I drag my ass out of the house twice a day for my chores. Even my cold dead heart was alive enough to rally and take care of the horses. They don’t deserve my bullshit.
Never once have they judged me or treated me differently.
Sometimes I think I should move into the stables and sleep in a stall like they do.
At least then I wouldn’t sleep alone every night.
Monday morning, we wake to the deafening sound of the roof caving in on the backside of the main house.
James and I haul ass over to make sure Mom and Dad are alright.
The number of repairs needed for the roof collapse is staggering.
Just when I think I have nothing left to give, I prove myself wrong and give more of my blood, sweat, and tears to fix the home that means everything to my family.
An entire week passes, and I feel hungover and wrung out even though I haven’t had a drop of alcohol since my post-Thanksgiving bender.
I want to rot away in my bed, but my phone has other plans.
Grey: Hey fuckface. You coming or what?
Me: ??
James: Wow bro, how could you forget your best friend's 35th birthday?
Me: Oh, fuck you very much.
Grey: Harper’s at a friend’s house. Broncos breakfast beers at my place in an hour.
Greyson is James and my best friend, our ride or die. He might as well be a fourth Andersen brother—third, now that Sam’s gone. His family has run the only hardware store in Swiftwater for decades. He lives in the apartment above the store with his eight-year-old daughter Harper.
He and Harper’s mom, Vanessa Foster, hooked up a few times before Grey was confronted with two pink lines.
Vanessa pushed for them to get married before Harper was born—thank god he never caved.
Deep down he knew he couldn’t trust her, so he never even moved her into his place, but he went to every prenatal visit and was in the delivery room when his daughter was born.
They tried to make something work after the birth, but one day Vanessa was just gone.
Abandoned her own daughter and took off to god knows where.
It took years for Greyson to track her down to sign away her parental rights.
He was able to get Harper’s last name changed to Clark, wiping away the last tie to Vanessa.
He lives in constant fear that she'll show back up and demand to be in Harper’s life. Over his dead body will he allow that.
We find the birthday boy in the kitchen, uncapping three cold beers. I pat him on the back so hard he nearly drops one. I hear him murmur “dickhead” as I lean against the kitchen counter.
“Look at this old fuck.” Motioning to my sideburns, I taunt, “Got some grey hair right here.” His reply is a punch to my arm and his hallmark scowl.
“Fuck man, grow a sense of humor already. You’ve had thirty-five years to pull the stick out of your ass.”
“Now, now, Reid, let’s not point out grey hairs on our dearest friend on his birthday.
Instead let’s talk about the canyons on his forehead from his perma-frown and deep ass crow’s feet from squinting his eyes in derision twenty-four seven.
” Greyson swings his fist again, but James dodges out and around him to take a seat at the dinner table.
“Fuck you both. Besides, James’ll be middle aged in a few months.”
With the smuggest look on his face, James retorts, “I'm in my golden age, boys. I can bag women from barely legal, all the way up into their fifties. The ladies love me. Thirty-five might be my best year yet.”
My optic nerves scream from how hard I roll my eyes. He’s usually low-key about his escapades, but I have no doubt his dick has seen twice as much pussy as mine has. And mine has seen a shameful amount.
“Come to think of it, Olivia just turned twenty-two this summer, isn’t that right Grey?” James is smiling like a jackal. He’s in dangerous territory, and he loves it.
Holy shit, twenty-two? Isabelle must be around that age then…
What the hell am I doing drooling after a girl nearly ten years younger than me?
I feel like a dirty old man, and then I think about her pierced nipples.
Those perky little tits, tipped with metal I'm dying to grab with my teeth, consume my focus most days. Either I can see hints of them, or I can’t see them at all and want to unwrap her to get a peek. Christ, I’m a fucking pervert.
“You watch your fuckin’ mouth Jay. I better not hear my sister’s name from your mouth ever again.” Greyson is fuming.
My older brother clearly has no self-preservation instincts because he continues, “I saw her at The Flying Pig with the Tate twins and had to do a double take. Clocked the finest ass I’ve ever seen and lo and behold, it was attached to our darling little Olivia.”
Just as her name leaves his mouth, Grey barrels forward and tackles James out of his chair onto the weathered hardwood floors. James is howling with laughter as Greyson pummels him with his fists. It’s sacred bro-code that your best friend’s little sister is off limits.
James waves the white flag. “Damn dude, ok, ok, I get the point. I won’t talk about your baby sister. Fuck, you’ve got a mean right hook. My jaw is killing me!” He gets back to his feet and helps Greyson off the floor. We move to the living room and settle in for the game.
My mind wanders to Isabelle. Every time I have a chance to get close to her, I fuck it up. She’s not going to give me unlimited second chances. I don’t know how, but I need to pull my head out of my ass and fix things with her.
I have to.