Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GRIFFIN
When we reach the bottom of the treehouse stairs, absolute chaos greets us.
There’s an Axford Lumber logging truck with a crane parked at the edge of my driveway, and my mothers are standing in front of it with their arms spread wide like human shields.
Vivian Axford’s trying to mediate the situation as best she can while holding a cake carrier in both hands.
Erick Nelson, of all people, looks like he’s trying to melt himself into the forest floor, and two men in expensive suits—Alan Nelson and Derek Sullivan—appear to be arguing with everyone at once.
“Join hands with me, Tish,” Mama Laine calls, staring daggers at Carlos, who’s standing beside the crane looking bewildered. “They can’t move both of us!”
“Ma’am,” says Freddy. “I mean… Ma’ams. Please, if you’d just listen for a second—” He’s built like the Jolly Green Giant’s whiter, friendlier brother, and he’s literally wringing his hands.
As if that weren’t enough, the sheriff’s SUV pulls up behind the crane, and Holden emerges, wearing his uniform and shiny sunglasses.
“I got a call from an Alan Nelson about some kind of disturbance,” he says, taking in the scene.
Then he takes off his sunglasses and shakes his head at his brother. “Beck, what the hell is going on here?”
Everyone starts talking at once, voices layering over each other in a cacophony that makes my head spin. I turn to Beckett, feeling overwhelmed. “See? This is why a man needs a lucky tennis racket to brandish,” I mutter.
Beckett’s standing at my shoulder, both arms folded over his chest. “You don’t need a tennis racket, baby,” he says. Then he puts two fingers to his lips and lets out an ear-piercing whistle.
Everyone stops talking immediately.
“Griffin will talk to each of you when he’s good and ready, so chill out and shut the fuck up,” Beckett says in his most authoritative voice. Then he adds as an afterthought, “I know, Mom. Language.”
Vivian presses her lips together like she’s fighting a smile. “It seems appropriate,” she says. “Under the circumstances.”
I stare at Beckett, a little awed. It’s kind of wonderful having that grumpiness working for me. I can almost see how other people find him intimidating.
Then he shoots me a wink, and I want to laugh out loud.
Still not intimidating to me. Never to me.
“Griffin, sweetie!” Mama Laine completely ignores Beckett’s warning and rushes over, Mama Tish right behind her. They both wrap me in fierce hugs that smell like home—vanilla and incense and the faint scent of the art supplies Mama Tish always has on her hands.
“We were so worried about you,” Mama Tish says, squeezing me tight. “I know we said we’d give you space, and we will. But we needed to see you. To make sure you were okay.”
“We remembered what you said about your house being small.” Mama Laine peers through the trees like she’s still looking for the treehouse.
“We were able to get a room for the night at the most adorable little inn, right in the center of town. But we wanted to come here first, and then we found these men trying to sneak their trucks onto your land!”
“We brought the boom truck to get the racket down, boss,” Carlos says. “Just like you asked us last night. But then these ladies said Griffin didn’t want trucks on the property, and we didn’t wanna cause trouble.”
I turn my head to look at Beckett, something hot and…
yes, fine, banana-y… blooming in my chest. Even while the man was holding me last night, even while he was putting me together piece by piece after I emoted all over him, he was thinking about the tennis racket.
Thinking about the tiniest thing I might want or need. And doing something to help me get it.
God, I really like this guy.
More than like. I’ve fallen.
I am one hundred percent mush, and I don’t give a single shit. In fact, I embrace it.
“Things have changed,” I tell my mothers, and I’m aware of Beckett nodding emphatically beside me.
That simple gesture steadies me completely.
Somehow—and I still don’t know how—this man has become the quiet in the storm that is the rest of my life.
He’s solid as an oak tree, unshakable as bedrock.
Standing here wearing Beckett’s flannel shirt, with his support behind me, I feel like I’ve come back to myself.
Or, I don’t know, like I was the land, the forest, that had been clear-cut and planted with crops it wasn’t meant to grow, but now I’m letting myself become forest again. Wild and free, and exactly as I was meant to be.
I feel clearheaded for the first time in a while.
“Griffin,” Alan Nelson calls impatiently. “I didn’t drive out here for the fun of it. We need to talk.”
“I’m starting to see the appeal of the rope bridge,” I murmur just low enough that only Beckett can hear it. “Think we could make it if we run?”
Beckett snorts and unfolds his arms, but only so he can lay a hand at the small of my back. His palm is warm and grounding through the flannel. “You know, I think I’d follow you anywhere, city boy.”
That touch, that quiet confidence, reminds me I am not a person who has to handle shit alone anymore. I’m not the same man who stood in this driveway weeks ago, half-naked and furious and completely out of his depth.
I turn to Vivian first. “Would you mind putting the cake in the house? Thank you so much.”
“Of course, sweetheart.” She beams at me and then at Beckett with a trace of maternal pride. “I wanted to check on you after last night. You seemed upset. But we’ll chat later.” She pats my arm as she heads past me toward the treehouse.
“Is that your apple cake?” Holden asks hopefully, but Vivian ignores him, and Beckett snorts.
Hearing Vivian, my moms’ expressions grow even more concerned.
“We knew something was off,” Mama Laine says softly.
“Honey, remember talking is sometimes the best way to process your emotions.” Mama Tish adds.
“I know,” I tell her. I sway closer to Beckett so my arm’s brushing his. “I promise, I know.” And I’d really like to get back to talking to the man beside me, if everyone would leave us alone.
Then I turn to Beckett’s guys. “Please go ahead and get the racket down. Thank you guys for coming out on a Sunday.”
“Sure thing,” Carlos says, clearly relieved to have a task. He jumps into the basket of the crane-thing.
“Anything for a Brine and Dandy winner,” Freddy says with a wink before he turns and brings the engine on the crane to life.
“Mama Laine, Mama Tish,” I begin, but they’re both staring past me with narrowed eyes at where Derek Sullivan’s pushing toward me. Beckett’s body stiffens next to me, but he keeps his mouth closed.
“Griffin,” Derek begins. “Before you make the mistake of letting Axford Lumber onto your precious land, I wanted to reiterate the offer I made you the other day. I promise, the numbers I offered are more than fair, but if you’d like to discuss, I’d be willing to—”
I’m already shaking my head when Mama Laine says, “Griff, honey, tell me you’re not selling to him.” She gives Derek a scathing glance like he’s something she’d scrape off her shoe.
“No.” I take a deep breath and give Derek an apologetic smile. “Thank you for the offer. I agree, it was very fair. But I’m not interested in selling at this time—”
“Really?” Beckett asks. He’s dropped his intimidating-ish facade, and his voice is surprised and hopeful.
I meet his eyes, seeing the question there. “Really. In fact, I—”
“Thank goodness,” Mama Tish interrupts. “Do you know who this man is, Griffin? That’s right, I recognize you, Derwin Sherman!” she adds, glaring at Derek.
“Simpkins,” Mama Laine corrects under her breath. “I keep telling you, sweetie, it’s Derwin Simpkins.”
“Wait.” I frown at them, trying to remember where I’ve heard that name. “Who’s—?”
“The man who tried to build the eco resort near us!” Mama Tish continues.
Derek’s face pales. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but I’m pretty sure everyone can see that he’s bluffing. Even Erick Nelson looks skeptical.
“Is that so?” Mama Laine steps forward, and Derek actually takes a step back.
“He bought up pristine land in Williamstown, claiming he wanted to build a luxury, eco-friendly resort there. But there wasn’t a single thing eco-friendly about it, was there, Derwin?
Substandard building materials, reprocessed to add fake eco-friendly labels,” she scoffs.
“We protested for months and finally got enough attention on the matter for the state environmental agency to start investigating, but then Derwin here suddenly abandoned the whole project and disappeared.”
Beckett stares at Derek, understanding dawning on his face. “Oh, fuck. That’s how you’re doing it! I knew you didn’t have enough harvestable acres for all the eco-friendly lumber you were claiming to supply—”
“Interesting,” Holden says, looking at Derek with new attention. He turns to my mothers. “Do you ladies have any proof of these allegations? Know who was handling this investigation?”
“Absolutely, we do,” Mama Tish says.
“And what we don’t know, our friends do,” Mama Laine confirms.
“That’s utterly ridiculous,” Derek protests, backing toward his BMW. “Griffin, we can discuss my offer later, when you’ve had a chance to come to your senses and—”
There’s a loud crack from above, followed by Carlos yelling, “Oops! My bad!” And then the tennis racket comes plummeting down, whacking Derek squarely on the arm and knocking his key fob out of his hand and into the bushes.
“Holy shit. The racket really was lucky,” I whisper.
“Derek,” Holden says, patting him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you come with me for a chat? We can discuss your… business ventures at the station.”
As Holden leads an increasingly pale Derek toward his SUV, my mothers immediately try to corner me again, but I hold up a hand.