Chapter 20 #2
“Mom!” Trinity shrieks loud enough that Mirabelle jolts in the stroller. Her little lips pout.
“And that’s our cue to move on.”
Trinity sets her drink in a cup holder on the stroller handle before she places both hands on it and pushes it forward.
We walk past another booth or two before Trinity suddenly clutches my wrist. She turns her body toward me, her face drained of color, like she’d like to hide behind me but can’t move because of the stroller.
“What?” I ask, suddenly concerned before following the direction of her gaze.
“I’m so sorry,” she says under her breath, like she’s prefacing something with the apology.
Spencer Reid. What is that fucker doing here? Spencer is one of those guys who thought he was better than everyone in Rogue River. He went off to college like the rest of my friends, and I wasn’t aware he was back in the area. Then again, tons of people return for RiverFest.
Thinking Spencer is stepping toward us to address me, I’m confused when his attention is on Trin.
“Trinity.” His voice is syrupy-smooth while his gaze glides down her body, ignoring the stroller in front of her. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
Cocky confidence oozes from this guy with hair slick as a Ken doll. Trinity leans toward me and I instinctively slip my arm around her back.
“Oh, uhm, well, a lot has happened since I saw you last.” She glances down at Mirabelle with a soft smile, but Spencer still doesn’t acknowledge the baby.
“You still owe me that second drink.”
“What?” I snap, unable to contain myself.
Spencer glances in my direction, blinking once like he hadn’t noticed me standing there, my arm so obviously around my wife.
“Spencer,” Trinity murmurs, side-eyeing me before meeting his gaze head-on. “I don’t think that will happen anytime soon.”
Damn right, it won’t.
Spencer looks back at me, tips up his nose, and glances at Trinity again. “You still have my number. If you need me.”
If she needs him? For what? Fuck no. Not happening.
I shift around Trinity, intending to get on her other side, but she catches my arm before I can kiss this guy’s face with my fist.
“It was nice to see you again, Spencer,” she says, before pushing the stroller forward. I knock into his shoulder when I pass him. Childish, but sending a clear message. Fuck off.
He chuckles, like he knows something I don’t.
“Spencer Reid.” I huff, my heart pounding a million miles a minute. “Just what the fuck was that, Trinity?”
She shrugs, but I stop us by placing my hand on her forearm. She grips the stroller tighter but twists to face me.
“I went on a date with him.” Her voice is quiet, embarrassed, apologetic. She further emphasizes her discomfort with an apology. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why?” Why that guy?
“You were gone.” She shrugs and lowers her eyes. “And he asked.”
The explanation sounds simple enough, but Trin knows there is no love lost between Spencer and me. And the idea of Trinity trying to find someone to replace me in her life makes me ill.
A date. What did that involve? Dinner. Conversation. A goodnight—
“Did you kiss him?” Unbelievable. I don’t really want to know that answer, however, I couldn’t help but ask. She didn’t sleep around like I initially thought. Hasn’t been with anyone else since I left. But a date could mean a kiss.
Trinity keeps her head lowered.
Fuck. I swipe both hands through my hair and blow out a sharp breath.
“You don’t need to act jealous,” she whispers, eventually looking back at me.
“I’m not acting.” My voice rises before I lower it and lean toward her. “I am jealous. Always going to be.” Always going to know I put this large blip in our marriage.
“Look, this might not be the time or place for us to discuss our relationship status, but we’re still married.” I lift my hand. She might have wanted a divorce. But I hadn’t given it to her. “Do you want to . . . not be?” I can’t even say the word.
She shakes her head, keeping her gaze aimed at her hands. “But you’re right, I think we should talk about this later.”
Unable to stop myself, I reach for both her hands, tugging them free of the stroller handle. I step closer to her. Close enough to touch my forehead to hers. “Trin, right now, I want to kiss you like you deserve to be kissed and wipe that fucker’s goodnight kiss off your lips.”
No one gets her mouth again except me.
I kiss her brow, lingering there, squeezing her hands because I’m afraid to let go. Afraid if I step back, she’ll step away.
“You don’t need to do that,” she whispers, and I pull back, needing her eyes. Needing to understand. She doesn’t want me to kiss her. Again? Ever?
“You’ve already erased it.” She smiles sheepishly, reminding me of our too-brief kiss on the couch.
“Damn right, I did.” I scoop my arm around her. And I want to do it again.
But she’s the pace car.
We stand still for another second. My arm around her. Her leaning against my chest. My heart is still racing. We’re going to have these moments. Incidents that have happened while I’ve been gone.
“Just tell me now, Trin. Are there others?” More dates. More kisses.
“No.” She shakes her head adamantly. “Only a few dates. No kisses.”
“Okay.” I breathe out. I can handle poor dates. I can. I wasn’t here. She misunderstood. The dates didn’t go anywhere.
And I’m fucking here now. I’m back. For good.
“Shall we keep walking?” Trinity eventually asks, sensing I’m still a little wound up but maybe moving will help for the moment.
“Sure.” I point toward another booth, and we step closer to bundles of flowers and displays of soap and lotion.
“Hey, Dart.” Savannah Grant is ten years younger than her brother, Marshall, but a raven-haired beauty with sharp blue eyes like her sibling. Over the past decade, she’s been working to turn a portion of the family farm into lavender fields, and her booth represents her success.
“You haven’t placed your flower order yet.” She smiles warmly, knowing my ritual.
Fuck.
“What order?” Trinity gives me a sharp look.
Savannah glances from me to Trinity and back. Her face drains of all color before flushing a deep pink.
“Uh. Nothing.” Savannah waves dismissively and immediately jumps into a sales pitch. “Can I get you anything today?” She gestures toward the array of homemade body products.
Trinity gives me another questioning stare before offering Savannah a tight smile.
“I’ll take the Daisy Delight. You know it’s my favorite.” Trinity points at the lotion that smells like sunshine and fresh meadows in a jar. Her signature scent.
Savannah glances at me before picking up the container and ringing up Trinity’s order.
My friend’s little sister knows a few of my secrets, like an annual purchase of my wife’s favorite fragrance.
Once I pay for the lotion selection, I set my hand on Trinity’s lower back again. We’ve barely stepped away from the booth when we come face to face with Tate and Marshall.
Marshall greets Trinity with a hug, while Tate watches me, taking note that my hand hardly leaves his sister’s back. When Marshall releases her, Tate crosses his arms and glances at his sister.
“I told you we needed to talk.” His tone is too sharp for my liking, and I’m opening my mouth when Trin speaks.
“And since when do I listen to you?”
Tate and Trinity have one of those push-pull relationships. He wasn’t always the best brother when they were younger, but he’s protective of her. Like it was okay for him to torture her, but he’d torture anyone else who tried to harm her.
If I didn’t know Tate better, I’d question if that was hurt in his eyes at Trinity’s strong retort. But Tate only glares back at his sister.
He’s more pissed at me than at her.
Tipping up his head, he must see something out of the corner of his eye, and he turns in that direction.
“Pete,” he calls out, walking away from us without another word. I watch as the two men shake hands and pat backs.
“I see I’ve been replaced,” I mutter.
Marshall slaps my shoulder. “He’ll come around.” He addresses Trinity with a short, “Trin.” Then, steps around us to chat with his sister.
I stare at Tate and Pete Gallagher. Pete’s a good guy, but I don’t know him well. He’s a college friend of Tate’s who hung out with us when he visited Rogue River.
“I didn’t know Peter Gallagher was in town,” I state.
“He moved here shortly after . . .”
You left lingers unspoken between us.
“Anyway,” Trinity clears her throat.
“Isn’t he married?” I squint in their direction.
“Moved with his wife and kids. His sister, Prudence, works with Tate.”
Prudence. I couldn’t place the name.
“And you aren’t being replaced,” she clarifies, bumping my arm with her shoulder. “He’s just hurt.” Her gaze follows mine, watching Tate and Pete speak animatedly with one another.
“Yeah.” I gulp down the lie about replacement and accept the sting. While Marshall, Hutch, and Petty all offered sympathetic ears and listened to me, Tate has refused to talk to me. That hurt me.
I wanted my friend to understand that my leaving wasn’t about his sister.
Not directly. It was about me, but then again, I don’t think Tate can understand.
He came from a loving family. He had a place in it.
Despite his own trials, living in the shadow of Cortland’s success, Tate was important in his own right.
I’d failed all of them.
As we wander from booth to booth, making our way toward the end of River Street, where a giant grill is set up outside Dockside, a bar and restaurant on the corner of River and Dock, we encounter the rest of Trinity’s family.
Cortland Haven is tall and solid like Tate. He’s also graying at the temples and in his beard, and he has his arm slung over Vale Sylver’s shoulder.
Clint stands near the couple. His hair still has a light auburn cast, cut short and stylish, making him look younger than he is. He swings hands with a little girl who has bright red curls.
Ruby James. How did she get so big?
“Hey, guys,” Trinity greets everyone.
Vale steps forward first to hug Trinity while I stand there wondering when Vale and Cortland happened.
The last I knew, Cortland was the ex-best friend of Vale’s older brother.
The story behind their friendship split is messy, yet Vale and Trin have a truce despite the Haven and Sylver families drifting apart.
Cortland and Vale are clearly a new development.
After Cort and Clint each hug Trinity, they shake my hand, questions in both of their eyes.
“How you been?” Clint asks.
“You’re back,” Cort states, not so much a question but confirmation.
“Good. Yeah.” Not the most elaborate answers.
I glance at Trinity, who offers me a concerned smile. We knew these moments would happen. Seeing Mary and Tate, Cortland and Clint, still, the awkwardness is more than I anticipated. These men had been my bosses, my brothers, and I don’t know what more to say to them.
“Are you just on a break from the circuit, or . . .” Clint hesitates, glancing from his older brother to his sister before looking at me.
“I’m retired.” Is that what I am? Officially retired from racing cars? A driver with one of the shortest careers ever?
Trinity’s breath hitches, surprised at first, but then her jaw tightens.
She hasn’t asked me much about the circuit, and I haven’t offered. We have more important things to discuss.
“Plus, we have this little one to consider.” I nod toward Mirabelle as I slide my hand up Trinity’s back. I’ve been touching her all day, but she suddenly stiffens under the scrutiny of her family. I remove my hand and cup the back of my own neck.
“How is she?” Vale coos, stepping closer to the stroller to peek at Mirabelle.
Cortland eyes me suspiciously. “Are you working?”
The question shocks me, and I don’t immediately respond.
“You’ll always have a job with us,” Clint states.
“Thanks, man.” My appreciation sounds half-hearted, as I’m too quick to respond.
But if I read deeper into the offering, this is acceptance.
They’ll take me back into the fold. The job would mean stability and inclusion.
But it would also feel like one more failure.
Turning back the clock. I don’t want to go back to construction.
I want to do my own thing, even if I don’t know yet what that is.
“I’ll think about it,” I offer more cheerfully, slipping my hand into my pocket, knowing I won’t need to think about it. But I’m grateful for the suggestion.
Trinity watches me for another second before turning back toward the group, when Vale asks, “Are you guys just getting here?”
“We’re headed to Dockside,” Trinity explains. “And some of that barbecue chicken that smells amazing.” She hums and bounces on her toes before glancing back at me, offering a more genuine smile.
“We’re headed to the beer tent,” Vale says. “Book club soon?”
“Soon.”
The women hug again while the rest of us just stand there, eager for the tension to be released. After exchanging wishes to have a good evening, they wander away, and Trinity lets out a long exhale.
“Well, that went better than I expected.”
“That was awkward as fuck,” I say at the same time. I snort as I run my hand over my head and cup the back of my neck again.
But everything in due time, right? I might be saying I’m in a race, but this is more like a marathon. Three hundred miles is a long way to travel. I’m up for the drive.