Chapter 9
Anson
"So, how are the sessions with my brother going? Is he working his magic on you?"
A burst of heat tightens in my chest, heavy with shame, but I do my best to contain my reaction. Because, yes, Jarvis is indeed working his magic on me, just not in the way Robbie means.
"He's been wonderful," I tell him. "And very confident for someone who I was told needed some encouragement."
Now it's Robbie ducking for cover, deflecting with, "I notice you're not drinking."
I invited him and Dunlop over for Sunday lunch as part of my attempt to make more of an effort with my kids. Bremmer and Kelsey are away in Singapore for a developer's convention. Otherwise, I would have invited them, too.
"That's right. I'm not. I've decided I need to make some changes in my life."
"Like what?" Dunlop asks, turning the steaks over on the grill.
"Well, less drinking for one. And two, more spending time with the people I love and cherish most in this world."
The tongs dangle forgotten in his hand as he looks up at me, a smile forming. "That's great, Dad. That's really great."
Despite him being the youngest and Adam the oldest, he idolized Adam and was closest to him. Adam adored him, too, and as a parent, nothing made me happier than witnessing the special bond they shared.
These past few weeks, it's hit me how much my grief, while valid, has changed me in ways I don't like.
Drinking too much, isolating myself from the people who care about me, replaying memories on loop and hating myself for what I could have, should have, done differently.
None of that is healthy, and none of that will do a damn thing to change what happened.
For so long, I've been drowning in a sea of grief because everything that everyone did to help was focused on getting back to a life I no longer wanted.
I didn't care about my business anymore.
I didn't want to reconnect with friends and hit the fairway.
I needed—without realizing it at the time—something new, something to look forward to.
And there's nothing in the world I look forward to more than my weekly session with Jarvis. He's the breath of fresh air I never knew I needed.
"These are ready," Dunlop says, piling the meat onto a serving platter. "Hope you're both hungry."
My eyes meet Robbie who's watching me with quiet thoughtfulness. "Are you hungry, Anson?" he asks, and my guilt detector goes off.
Yeah, hungry for more of your brother's delicious ass.
I'm a sick man.
I muster a meager smile as I do my best to banish thoughts of Jarvis from my head. "Yeah, I am."
The doorbell rings.
"Oh, shit." Robbie slaps the side of his face a little too theatrically. "I forgot to mention I invited Jarvis to come along. Hope that's okay, Anson?"
I'm pretty sure all the color drains from my face, but I manage, "Sure, no, yeah. That's…fine."
Robbie goes to answer the door, so I help Dunlop carry the food over to the table.
"It really is good seeing you doing better," he says, oblivious to the panic eating me from the inside out. "That's all we want for you, Dad. To be happy again."
"Thanks, son."
As much as I appreciate his sentiment, I'm a little preoccupied with my internal freak-out. It was one thing to indulge in a sauna fantasy with Jarvis last week, it's another thing to be confronted with the consequences of my wildly inappropriate actions in front of my son and son-in-law.
Robbie leads Jarvis outside, chatting away animatedly. They're really nothing alike physically—Robbie is short and petite, and Jarvis is tall and filled out in all the right places—but they share a common ability to cast a spell over us Palmer men.
I can't help my breath hitching in my throat as I take Jarvis in.
It's my first time seeing him in anything other than workout gear, and he looks absolutely divine in a striped olive-green button-down over a white t-shirt, paired with chinos and scuffed sneakers; the relaxed fit of his clothes does nothing to hide his size or strength.
He sees me but smartly approaches Dunlop first. The two embrace, and then he's got no choice but to greet me.
Shit, shit, shit. It's been far too long since high school drama class, and why didn't I pay more attention instead of treating it like a free period and slacking off with mates?
Why didn't I have the foresight to think that some four decades later, those method acting skills would come in handy to convince my family I'm not fooling around with my son-in-law's brother who's twenty years my junior?
"Jarvis."
"Anson."
I'm mesmerized by his light-blue eyes, the freckles that dance across his cheeks, that full mouth that I'm yet to kiss but long so badly to.
Remembering we’re not alone, I somewhat awkwardly grab his upper arm, a mangled greeting somewhere between a handshake and a backslap. He mirrors the action on my other arm, and we stand there for a few seconds, holding on to each other like two action figures who got stuck mid-fight.
Dunlop coughs, and I snap out of it and into hosting mode, offering Jarvis a drink as the guys take a seat at the table.
That was a close call, but I think we got away with it.