Chapter 64
SIXTY-FOUR
Green Acres is the place for me
REED
I’m taking a risk with this move. Emphasis on the word move.
My brother thought it was hilarious when he declared I can no longer claim gambling sobriety after making a wager this extreme.
The silly fucker doesn’t know my cookie the way I do. This is hardly a gamble.
Incidentally, he always thinks he’s hilarious. If it weren’t this, it would’ve been something else.
Anyhow.
Living in the condo with Lila would be fine. Great, even.
I want more for her, though.
She’s worthy of the perfect home that suits her hopes and dreams. One that makes her as happy as she makes me. She deserves to receive the joy she gives to others. As long as it’s within my power, that’s what I’ll give her until the day I die.
Lila isn’t downtown. City streets, traffic, neon lights, and unfeeling pavement? Nah. Not my girl. In fact, she also isn’t suburbs with tiny yards and copy-paste homes.
Since I know her heart better than I know my own, I’ve picked the ideal place to start our lives.
She’s absolutely gonna love it. Especially when she sees what’s waiting for her.
In our backyard.
Yes, a yard. With grass, trees, birds, bugs, weeds, and everything that goes with it. Plus, some bonus items at no extra charge.
I’m not a madman, so I didn’t buy a house without consulting her. This is a rental for now. But we have the option to buy if she loves it. And if she doesn’t, we’ll find something even better.
While she was busily packing her apartment over the last two days, I secretly did the same at my place.
It took some maneuvering to keep her away from the condo to preserve the surprise.
After day one of packing, I showed up at her apartment with dinner and suggested we sleep there. Worked out perfectly.
Last night, the ruse was unnecessary. She called and ordered me to stay away. Apparently, I kept distracting her with my dimples. I had every intention of helping her pack, but she’s powerless to resist my animal magnetism.
Seriously, Reed? Animal magnetism? You’ve been spending too much time with your twin.
Fuck you, Morgan Freeman. Why are you still here? Don’t you have some emotionally closed-off asshole to torture?
Of course, I do. That’s why I haven’t left. It seems there’s still one last thing this asshole needs to face before I can work on my Oscar acceptance speech.
I have no idea what last thing he’s referring to might be. Because I’ve convinced myself it doesn’t exist.
And he’s delusional if he thinks this role is Oscar-worthy. Last time I checked, they don’t give out awards for intrusive thoughts or nagging inner voices.
Listen here, young man. I know when I’ve delivered the performance of a lifetime.
Oh, really? How did that turn out for you in 2010?
Now you’ve gone too far. I love Jeff Bridges as much as the next person, but I was robbed. Invictus was one of my best performances.
Fine. I’ll concede that single point. The other thing about my brother isn’t something you need to stick around for. I’ll handle it when the time is right.
Whatever helps you sleep at night, Reed.
Thankfully, my cookie snaps me out of my momentary psychosis with a crisp swat against my chest. “This has gone on long enough. We don’t have time for a detour. Your friends have probably dumped my belongings on the sidewalk in front of your condo by now.”
I snicker diabolically. “Don’t you trust me?”
She rolls her eyes, expelling a breath that flutters her bangs. “Even trust has limits. What are we doing out in the sticks?” She points at the map on her phone. “Allegedly, we’re almost there, yet it seems we’re closer to nowhere.”
For the first time since I set this plan in motion, uncertainty sours my confidence.
Welp, too late to cash in my chips and leave the metaphorical table. I’m all in with no choice but to let it ride. Sometimes you just gotta roll the dice. And other dumb gambling puns.
Instead of offering reassuring platitudes, I mime zipping my mouth and let Cookie Monster do the talking.
“Almost there. Me so excited. Last turn before we get cookies.”
I hold my breath as she turns off the two-lane country road onto the gravel driveway.
She slows the car to a crawl, cutting a scrutinizing glare at the well-weathered mailbox. “Reed?”
“Keep going, cookie. It’s a couple of hundred feet ahead.”
Her white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel gradually loosens as we bump along the narrow path to our new home. Well, new to us. Old as hell, otherwise.
Not to worry. It came highly recommended.
Despite Sawyer hooking me up with the property owner, he was gravely concerned when he saw the quality of the home’s interior.
Not to say it’s shoddy or ready to be condemned; it’s simply from a different era.
My bougie twin took issue with the cosmetic aspect.
All I had to do was point out how much shopping he’ll get to do to help us update it. He was instantly on board.
I haven’t known the adult version of Perry for long. Yet he’s never been a stranger, so pushing his buttons is second-nature.
Besides, our new house has good bones. Strong walls and a sturdy foundation. And with some TLC, it’ll be perfect for us.
Lila’s gonna love it, I tell myself for the fiftieth time since we took the Plant City exit and she started throwing me progressively panicked glances.
As soon as the house comes into view through a clearing in the trees, she starts humming nervously.
She shifts into park, her pretty eyes bulging from her heart-shaped face. Without looking at me, she asks, “Dirty dimples, owner of my heart, love of my life . . . why are they unloading my stuff into this house?”
“That depends,” I hedge.
“On what?” she asks, eyes still locked on the modest ranch-style home where I’ll bring her dreams to life.
Unless she hates it.
“It depends on the feelings you’re masking behind the shock.”
Oxygen stutters in my lungs. A nice accompaniment to the twitches and trembles rolling through me while I await her judgment.
In classic Lila fashion, she obliterates my fears with a simple smile. It starts at one corner of her mouth, creeping upward gradually, until her entire face beams and shimmers like the sun, moon, and stars.
She’s radiant in her joy. And I’m the lucky son of a bitch who gets to see her shine.
“Did you buy us a house?” she whispers, awe coloring her tone. “On a farm?”
“Rental for now with a purchase option. I didn’t sign on the dotted line yet.”
Lila finally breaks her stare away, slicing it toward me. “Why not?”
Relief erupts from my gut in a boisterous laugh. “I was waiting to see if you liked it before committing.”
Reaching for the handle, she quips, “I see your motorcycle from here. And the boxes are flying off the trailer by an absurdly buff moving squad. So I’m calling BS on the commitment.”
Chuckling, I explain, “This move can be temporary or permanent. Up to you. Jonesy says we’re welcome to rent as long as we want. He had no plans for it and was glad to have it cared for.”
One of Sawyer’s fellow bodyguards inherited this tiny strawberry farm from his grandparents. When I mentioned I wanted something rural with a nice porch where Lila can sit and birdwatch, my twin was ready with the suggestion. He only saw the inside later, fortunately.
“Jonesy? The Jack Reacher guy who speaks predominantly in grunts, right?”
I give her a nod, then point my chin toward the house. “Shall we?”
With her excitement unrestrained, she bounds from the car and dashes off. Her feet draw to a sudden stop, and she reaches out for me, fingers dancing with impatience. But she doesn’t go any farther.
For as innocuous as the gesture may be, it hits me like a zap to the heart. That tiny move conveys so much.
It says we’re in this together, no matter where life takes us. And she’ll never let me go.
I wrap my hand around hers, running my thumb over her silky smooth skin.
“This was a bold move, dimples. Could’ve backfired on you big time. It’s quite heavy-handed, if I’m honest.” Her eyes twinkle up at me, making her smirk dazzle. “Lucky for you, I love your hands when they’re big and bold.”
Walking into the house—our home—her jaw drops, sagging lower with each step until it’s on her chest. She studies the down-to-earth charm, marinating in our new reality more with each passing second.
She freaking loves it. I knew it all along. Never doubted it.
You did good this time, kid.
Thank you, Mr. Freeman. Excellent job pointing out the blatantly obvious.
Lila drags me toward the hallway. “Which one is our bedroom?”
A horn blasts obnoxiously from the front yard, halting our steps.
“Who’s that?” she asks, reversing for a peek through the window.
A rental truck slowly reverses, coming to a stop near the porch.
Sawyer sticks his face in the front door. “Your shit is here, old man.”
“Old man?” I scoff, striding across the room. “I’m like four minutes older. Allegedly.”
As we head outside, I answer Lila’s question. “Warren stayed behind at the condo this morning to oversee the furniture move. It took longer than we expected, and if I told you why we were running late, it would’ve ruined the surprise.”
Andrews steps out of the truck and ambles to the rear. From the passenger side, his buddy does the same, a big smile on his face as he sees Lila for the first time.
Without waiting for an introduction, he sticks out his hand. “You must be Lila. I’ve heard good things about you. I’m Big Al. Nice to meet you.”
“You’re Big Al? The Big Al?” Lila squeaks, shaking his hand vigorously.
Here we go. Instant hero worship. It’s like meeting Kri all over again.
In her defense, Sawyer’s told us so many stories about the Redleg patriarch that he’s become a legend.
As they exchange pleasantries, a Redleg SUV pulls into the drive. Along with Romero, three of my twin’s coworkers file out and stroll over. They were the muscle from the condo portion of the move. Another round of introductions.