Chapter 9
Remi
“Son, your legs tired yet?”
I pause at my dad’s voice, turning to find him barely holding in his amusement. Good grief.
“Why would my legs be tired?” I ask deadpan, waiting for the punchline I know is coming.
His lips twitch. “’Cause of all the work you’ve done getting over that hill.”
Ash coughs, trying to hide his laugh and failing miserably.
“You’re hilarious,” I tell my dad, wondering at what point he’ll exhaust his list of age-related jokes. It’s been like this all day.
He snickers to himself. “I sure think so.”
I grab a platter of veggies, calling back to him as I head toward the dining room. “And I’m pretty sure over the hill implies forty at minimum. Not thirty.”
“Jesus,” Jackson groans, sounding pained. “Stop reminding me how old I am.”
“You?” I ask, plopping the veggies onto the dining table with the rest of the snacks. “I’m the one under fire.”
“For being thirty,” he stresses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How do you think the rest of us feel?”
I give my brother’s shoulder a pat. “It’s all right, old man. You’ve got plenty of good years left.”
Colton snickers as Jackson shoots me a glare.
Someone knocks on the door, a voice ringing out I can’t immediately place. When I stick my head around the corner into the hallway, Virginia gives me a wave.
“Hey,” I greet. “Come on in.”
Virginia, a bartender at The Barrel in town and Ash’s closest friend from when the two went to the same college, sheds her coat and passes me a bottle of Darling Whiskey. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks,” I tell her, bringing the bottle with us into the dining room. “And thanks for coming.”
“Are you kidding?” she says brightly, nodding to Ash and the others. “Like I’d miss my favorite Darling’s birthday.”
“Hey,” Jackson grouses.
Ash chuckles, passing a hand through the hair at the back of his neck. “It’s all right, Jack. You’re my favorite.”
“Hey,” I tease in mock affront.
Ash holds up his other hand, fingers crossed, and I burst out laughing. When Jackson looks sharply his way, Ash hides his hand and shrugs.
I check the table over, realizing snacks are all set but we’re missing glasses. Heading back to the kitchen, I start to collect some as there’s a polite knock at the door. Setting the towers of glasses down, I divert that way.
I’m not surprised to find Benson standing on the porch.
He’s wearing his bulky flannel coat, no beanie this evening.
In fact, it looks as if he styled his hair some.
His beard is neatly tidied, his hands in his coat pockets and his shoulders slightly bunched against the cold.
It doesn’t hide how big he is, though. Wide shoulders.
Thick frame. An almost shy smile on his face.
Fuck, he looks good. But he always does, doesn’t he?
“Hey, come in,” I say, moving back so Benson can step inside. “Thanks for coming to my party.”
He nods, taking off his coat as I close the door.
I glance at his shirt pocket. “No Mouse?”
“No,” he says, smile quirking some. “Didn’t think I should bring her.”
“Probably a good idea,” I admit. “Want to help me grab glasses? Everyone else is here apart from Auggie. He ran out to buy more chips because someone ate an entire bag earlier.”
Someone being Colton, but I don’t mention that.
Benson looks mildly alarmed. “Am I late?”
“No,” I say around a chuckle. “You’re right on time. I, uh, actually told everyone else to be here thirty minutes early.” At Benson’s perplexed stare, I shrug. “People usually arrive late. I knew you wouldn’t.”
He doesn’t seem to know what to make of that.
But based on Benson’s habit of arriving at the ranch at precisely the same time each morning when he comes to help out, apart from him sneaking in early to rearrange the feed room, I suspected if I told him to be here at eight, he would be. And I was right.
“Here,” I tell him, passing over one of the stacks of glasses. “I think you know everyone, but I’ll still introduce you.”
Benson nods, the only hint of his discomfort a heavy swallow. I’m not sure how I never pinged it before. Yes, Benson has always held his feelings close to his chest. He’s always been polite if not a little distant. Always scarce, even, during bigger holiday celebrations.
Maybe Benson is right and people simply don’t…look. Myself included, much as it pains me to admit.
But I can see it now, the way he’s carefully shuttering himself as he prepares to head into a dining room full of people. I don’t do Benson the disservice of asking if he wants to do this. To be here. He’s fully capable of making that choice himself.
But I do offer him a smile, hoping he knows I’m in his corner, whether or not he needs it.
Most everyone is settled in seats now around the big dining table, laughter and conversation flowing like an easy, swift river. Benson and I deposit the cups, the cap of the whiskey, I notice, already removed.
“Hey,” I say loudly enough to garner everyone’s attention. “I think y’all know one another, but just in case… This is Benson Harper. He’s back from Utah.”
There are a couple waves, and I give Benson’s arm a squeeze, the rest of the introductions for his benefit.
“You’ve met Ash,” I say, pointing the blonde man’s way, ignoring the fact that he’s now seated on Jackson’s lap. “And I think Colton introduced you to his boyfriend, Noah King, when you first got back?”
Noah inclines his head, tattooed arms resting on the table. “Nice to see you again.”
“Likewise,” Benson replies so quietly I nearly miss the word.
I point to Oakley next. He’s older than Benson by a couple years, but they knew one another growing up, given that Oakley and Lawson were attached at the hip. “You probably remember Oakley Beaumont. Lawson’s now-husband.”
“Congratulations,” Benson says.
Oakley shoots him a warm smile from beside Lawson.
My older brother is wearing his own smile, albeit more subdued.
It’s damn good to see after these past few years, when Lawson was going through a divorce and Oakley was living out of state.
He wasn’t happy for a long while. But he’s found his happiness again. Tenfold.
We’re all grateful for it.
“Lawson’s daughter, Wendy,” I go on. “Who will not be drinking the whiskey.”
Wendy pouts good-naturedly and gives Benson a wave.
“And Virginia,” I finish. “I think that’s…”
I trail off as the front door opens and closes.
“Plus August,” I add. “Who you obviously know.”
Auggie himself walks through the doorway the next second, coming to a standstill when he realizes everyone’s attention is trained his way, the room quiet. “What?”
“Just doing introductions,” I explain, taking an open seat. “Auggie, you know Benson?”
“Har har,” Auggie says, dropping the chips on the table before plopping into his own seat, draping his coat behind him.
I pull out another chair next to me for Benson, who’s still standing.
“What, uh, are we doing?” Benson asks as Auggie bats Colton’s hand away from the chips.
I give him a grin. “Texas Hold’em.”
Benson raises an eyebrow, but he lowers himself into the seat I offered, his voice just loud enough to catch. “So I’m about to make a table of ten cry?”
Virginia laughs loudly, clearly having heard his words. “Oh my God, please do. Just be nice to Wendy.”
My niece looks begrudgingly amused as Virginia squeezes her around the shoulders.
I grab the deck of cards as Colton produces a case of poker chips. My brother pops the top open, his competitive nature coming out in full force as he stares Benson down. “Bring. It. On.”
Ash shakes his head, but there’s a smile on his face as he snags the whiskey. He pours himself a small glass before passing it on to Jackson. Within a couple minutes, everyone has a plate of food, a drink in front of them, and cards in their hand.
I start to wonder at Benson’s assertion that he’s great at poker when the first two hands go by with him losing chips.
But he doesn’t look remotely fazed, watching the room closely as everyone else chats or throws the occasional taunt.
Noah distracts Colton near constantly, trying to throw him off his game with fingers through his hair or words whispered in his ear.
Colton bats his boyfriend off, but it’s a losing battle.
My attention returns to Benson time and again. On the fifth hand, when the second card is turned up, Benson scratches his nose.
Colton’s eyes light up. “Raise,” he says, tossing a couple chips at the center of the table. Half the group bows out, but the other half meets his bet.
Benson considers for a long moment before finally tossing his chips into the pot.
I turn up the third card. Colton is once again first to bet. He’s staring at Benson, who doesn’t bother to meet his gaze. Benson leans back slightly in his seat, and Colton grins.
“All in,” my brother announces, sliding the remainder of his chips toward the pot.
Noah shakes his head, turning his cards down. Virginia does the same. And Auggie. Which leaves Benson.
He lifts his gaze to Colton before casually pushing his pile of chips forward.
Colton, looking smug as can be, shows his hand. “Full house.”
Benson sets his first card down on the table, everyone straining for a better view, before he adds his second. A beat of stunned silence passes before he reveals what’s easy to see. “Four of a kind.”
A huff of laughter escapes me. Four of a kind is a killer hand. And it beats full house.
Colton stares at Benson, his mouth open. “Did you…invent fake tells to throw us off?”
Benson smirks, leaning across the table to rake the chips his way.
“Holy shit,” Colton says, looking at Noah. “He did. And I’m out. Fuuuck.”
Noah squeezes the back of Colton’s neck, his lips at Colton’s ear. Based on my brother’s rapid flush, I think it’s best I missed the private words.
I glance at Benson, whose face is back to being impassive. “You are good at this.”
“I know,” he says simply.