Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
FINN
Smoke curls from the grill, wrapping the air in the scent of charred meat and smoldering charcoal. Jude flips burgers with exaggerated precision, his brows drawn in tight focus, while my other brother, Beckham, stands beside him, shaking his head like he’s witnessing a crime.
“Damn shame,” Beckham mutters, crossing his tattooed arms.
Jude glares at him. “What?”
“You’re murdering those burgers.”
Jude scoffs, flipping another patty. “You always talk shit, but remind me…” He shifts to face Beckham, pointing at the apron tied around his waist. “What does this say again?”
Beckham rolls his eyes as he takes a sip from his beer.
It’s odd to see him drinking anything other than wine, considering he owns one of the most successful vineyards in the area. But some days just call for beer, and today is one of those days. The kind where the sun hangs warm and steady in a blue-washed sky. The kind that tastes like summer.
“Anyone can buy an apron that says King of the Grill . Doesn’t mean you’re any good at it.”
Mom groans as she strolls past us, placing a bowl of salad on the table. “For heaven’s sake, you two are grown men. Can we go one family gathering without arguing over who’s a better cook?”
“No,” my brothers say in unison.
“I hate to break it to you, but neither of you are the best cook in the family,” she retorts. “That title belongs to Dylan.” She gives them a smile, then heads back into the house, probably to get even more food.
It doesn’t matter how many times we tell her not to go overboard for Sunday dinner.
She won’t hear it.
Either will Dylan.
“Only because she went to culinary school,” Jude mutters under his breath. “I’m pretty good for an amateur.”
“You’re an amateur, all right,” Beckham retorts, which earns him a flip of the middle finger from Jude.
“What’s worse?” I nudge my oldest brother, Hayden, who stands beside me on the patio, his arms loosely crossed. “The way they bicker, or the fact that Mom still thinks she can stop them?”
“Both.” His laugh is quiet, but it’s there. After everything he’s been through, after losing his wife, I’ll take it. There was a time I didn’t think I’d see him smile again.
Some days are harder than others, but he’s healing. Slowly.
“They’re worse than my kids.”
As if summoned, his daughter, Presley, and Beckham’s stepdaughter, Maggie, come bouncing up, stopping in front of the grill. Well, Maggie bounces. Presley stands quietly beside her, hands folded in front of her.
Maggie flips her auburn curls over her shoulder and fixes Beckham with her most persuasive look. “Beck, we have a very important request,” she says with a slight lisp from where she recently lost a tooth.
He eyes her warily. “And what’s that?”
She puffs out her tiny chest. “We would like to make s’mores early.”
“That so?” Hayden arches a brow, taking a slow sip of his beer.
Presley nods solemnly.
“We’ve discussed it,” Maggie says.
I don’t even question how this is possible when Presley hasn’t spoken a word since the accident that took her mother.
Over the past several months since Beckham married Haley, Maggie’s mother, I’ve seen how close Presley and Maggie have become, even though Presley’s two years older. Whenever they’re together, Presley seems genuinely happy. And Maggie doesn’t pressure her to talk like some of the other kids at school do. It’s as if they have their own way of communicating. Maggie’s been the best thing for Presley.
And for Beckham, too.
“We already know we want s’mores,” Maggie continues. “So why not just eat them now?”
Beckham and Hayden exchange a look.
“That is compelling logic,” Hayden offers.
“True,” Beckham agrees, stroking his stubbled jaw as if seriously considering the request. “But who’s going to tell your mom that you filled up on sugar before dinner?”
Maggie’s confidence falters. “Um…you?”
Beckham chuckles. “Nice try, kiddo.” He ruffles her curls. “But dinner first. Then dessert.”
With dramatic defeat, Maggie sighs. “Fine. We’ll wait. But only if you play pirate ship with us.” Her little eyes light up.
Hayden exhales as he brings his beer to his mouth, finishing it before tossing the bottle into the bin. “Guess it’s pirate time, Beckham.”
“Argh,” Beckham deadpans, following the girls toward the giant playscape that resembles a pirate ship.
As I watch them walk toward the play area, my gaze drifts unbidden to someone else.
Genevieve sits in the grass, playing with Hayden’s son, Jeremiah. Sunlight spills over her hair, catching the warm, rich tones. Jeremiah hands her a toy truck, babbling in that animated way only a toddler can, and she nods along, like whatever he’s saying is the most fascinating thing in the world.
She’s always been good with kids, but seeing her like this, so natural and at ease with Jeremiah, solidifies what I already knew.
Genevieve deserves this. Deserves to be a mother.
“So, you brought Genevieve to Sunday dinner,” Jude remarks after a beat, dragging my focus away.
I take a sip of my beer, feigning nonchalance. “And? She’s my friend. Need I remind you that you invited Abbey when you were supposedly ‘just roommates’?”
Jude’s mouth twitches as he glances at the tall blonde sitting with Genevieve and Haley.
While Abbey started out as a runaway bride in need of a job and a place to live, both of which Jude gave her, she’s now much more than a roommate or employee to him, something we all saw from the beginning but he refused to admit.
Until we talked some sense into him.
“Technically, Mom invited Abbey the first time.”
“And the second?”
His smile broadens. “The second was all me.”
“Thought so.” I take another sip of my beer, trying to avoid looking at Genevieve, but it’s impossible. Whenever she’s around, I’m drawn to her.
“So there’s no other reason she’s here?” Jude presses, lowering his voice. “Something relating to our last conversation?”
I hesitate, not immediately answering. What do I say? Genevieve made it clear she wanted to keep my role in her potential pregnancy quiet. But Jude already knows I was thinking about offering to help.
“Maybe.”
His eyebrows lift. “Does that mean you two are…you know?”
I give a subtle nod.
Jude stares at me for a beat, then grins. “I knew it was only a matter of time.”
“What was only a matter of time?” Dylan asks, approaching with a platter of vegetables on skewers and setting them down on the table beside the grill.
Jude and I share a look, neither of us saying anything. And Jude won’t. He’ll keep it quiet if that’s what I want.
“Are you talking about you and Genevieve?” she presses when I remain silent.
“What do you mean?”
My sister snorts. “Oh, come on. You’ve been staring at her all afternoon. And she’s been staring right back.” She pinches her lips together as a contemplative expression crosses her face. “I could be misreading things, but there’s something…different between you two today.”
I should shut this down. Make a joke. Change the subject. But now that I’m in unfamiliar territory with my best friend, I could use someone to talk to who won’t give me shit.
I glance at Jude, who simply shrugs, telling me to do what I think is best. Then I refocus my attention on Dylan. She may be the baby of the family, but she’s always been the thoughtful and introspective one. Maybe because she’s the youngest of five and the only girl. Still, she always comes to things with a different perspective.
Right now, I could use that.
“Genevieve wants a baby,” I tell her. “I agreed to help.”
Dylan doesn’t react the way I expect. There’s no shock. No judgment. Just quiet curiosity as she walks to the cooler and grabs a beer, popping the top off.
After taking a long sip, she smooths a few blonde waves behind her ear, then asks, “When you say she wants a baby, is she hoping to adopt or?—”
“She’s trying to get pregnant naturally without medical intervention.”
“And you’re…helping her conceive.”
“I am.”
She hums, looking into the distance for a beat. “And when she gets pregnant?”
“Things go back to normal.” I take a sip of my beer, but it tastes wrong now.
“What would be your responsibility at that point?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?” she repeats.
“It’s how Genevieve wants it. She wants a baby without having any sort of relationship with the father. She doesn’t plan on telling anyone who the father is.”
“And you’re okay with being in her life, being in her kid’s life, all the while knowing you’re the father but won’t be allowed to fulfill that role?”
“It’s what she wants,” I reiterate.
Jude sets a few of the vegetable skewers on the grill, then looks my way. “But what do you want?” he asks in a low voice.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does,” Dylan insists.
“I knew what I was getting into before we started down this path. I’m fine with it. In fact, I’m thrilled she trusts me enough to be a part of it. She deserves this.”
“Is that the only reason?” She crosses a single arm over her stomach
“What other reason is there? I’m her friend. This is what friends do.”
She narrows her gaze on me. “I could be wrong, but this sort of thing goes far beyond the bounds of friendship.” Pausing, she takes a deliberate sip of her beer as she rakes her analytical eyes over me. “You have feelings for her.”
“What?” I shoot back quickly, glancing at Jude for support, but only find a knowing grin. “I mean, I care about her. As a friend.”
Even I can’t ignore the sour taste in my mouth as the words leave me.
“Because you never considered there could be more,” Jude offers.
“You’re being ridiculous.” I take a long pull from my beer, purposefully avoiding their stares.
“You’ve always kept Genevieve in this little box labeled ‘best friend,’ because you never let yourself entertain the possibility of anything else,” Dylan states very matter-of-factly.
“Genevieve isn’t looking for love,” I deflect. “It’s why she’s chosen this path.”
“She doesn’t want heartbreak ,” Jude interjects quickly. “Trust me. There’s a difference.”
If anyone would know, it’s Jude. He did the same thing. It’s why he almost lost Abbey. But before I can come up with a detailed list of why my situation is different, Genevieve’s laughter rings out, pulling my attention to her.
She’s still playing with Jeremiah, her smile bright and carefree.
And damn if it doesn’t hit me right in the chest all over again.
“You want my opinion?” Dylan’s voice drags me back to her.
“I’m pretty sure you’re going to give it whether I want it or not.”
“True.” She flashes a sly grin. “For as long as I can remember, you’ve been there for Gen. You’re always ready and willing to drop everything for her when she needs it. Even when she doesn’t. You always show up for her.”
“Because she’s my friend,” I reiterate my argument.
“So is Murphy. Do you show up like that for him?”
I part my lips to say yes, but the answer won’t come.
Because my sister has a point.
I show up like this for Genevieve because of who she is.
“You’ve been stepping up for her for a long time, Finn,” Dylan continues, her voice softer now. “Maybe you should finally ask yourself why.”
I swallow hard, gripping my beer.
Then I shake my head.
“She’s just a friend,” I repeat, refusing to go there.
I can’t.
Not with everything I stand to lose by even entertaining the idea of something more.