Chapter 21 Felix
FELIX
Later that night, I pull up to the address Ian texted me.
“Tell me you have money without telling me you have money,” I mutter under my breath as I look at the house. It’s set in the trees, and while we’re not far out of town, it feels like I could be back in Vail or Aspen or some other fancy high-altitude enclave. Which tracks, I guess.
When Ian texted me the invitation to join him and some of his local Skylark buddies at a poker game, he told me Jake Byrne was the one hosting it.
I know from comments Ian has made that Jake comes from money.
His family’s community foundation funds projects both in Colorado and Texas, where his grandfather’s business started.
The whole reason Ian connected me with Jake in the first place was that my fledgling charity, Felix’s Flyers—which raises money for youth sports—was looking to expand.
Ian thought I could partner with the Byrne Family Foundation now that I’m going to be a Colorado resident, and have them manage my grant-making process.
I’ve let it flounder since the breakup with Ronnie last summer because she was supposed to be running things.
Mostly, she wanted to wrangle invitations to fancy charity functions and buy the designer clothes she said were necessary for an executive director. Fool that I was, I believed her. Up to a point anyway.
If I’d offered Ronnie the option of becoming Mrs. Felix Barlowe so that she wouldn’t have to work, she would have grabbed onto the opportunity with both hands. Not act like I kicked her identity into the dirt the way Piper had.
I run a hand through my hair and climb out of the car. It was a shitty proposal, but my intentions were good. She’s going to realize that. And of course I’m fine if she works. She can do whatever the hell she wants with her time. I wanted to make it easier. Instead, I made it a lot fucking harder.
I tried to talk to her when she came downstairs this afternoon, but she told me she needed time to “process.” Oh yeah, she used air quotes for that word. And for Ellie’s sake, she didn’t want tension between us, but she wasn’t going to talk about it anymore.
So I let it go. Because I’m not that big of a fucking fool.
She also told me that she was doing a girls’ night out at her friend Molly’s house, because Molly’s hosting some big wedding this weekend at her flower farm, and the book club ladies were going over to help put the centerpieces together.
She kind of lost me at ‘textural elements’ and ‘natural movement’, but I nodded along like I knew exactly what she meant.
She also asked if she could take Ellie with her because her friends wanted to meet the little girl, and Molly’s twins were excited to play with her. She didn’t mention anything about her friends wanting to meet her baby daddy, but I figure that will come in good time.
I get out of the car and start toward the house. Ian also let me know that Jake isn’t just a trust-fund baby. He’s also a successful mystery author under the pen name Spencer Charles. I don’t read a lot other than playbooks, but I’ve seen the books in airport bookstores.
I approach the house, feeling eight kinds of awkward.
Don’t ask me why. I haven’t felt out of place in a social setting since my breakout freshman year football season in college.
There was no place on campus where a member of a national runner-up team wasn’t welcome.
Hell, people would have paid to get me at their events.
The same thing was true once I got to the NFL—especially after I won my first Super Bowl ring. Most cities that have pro teams turn the players into royalty, and Cincinnati was no exception.
I never knew if people wanted me around because they liked me or because they wanted a selfie with their team’s star wide receiver. Even my teammates were more work friends than anything else. I thought Russ was a real friend, and we all know where that got me.
There also weren’t a lot of guys, other than Troy, who I kept in touch with after college. I can shake hands and slap backs and give a good “hey, bro” when the moment calls for it. But I don’t let a lot of people in to see the real me. Hell, I barely let myself see the real me.
Ian was much the same way. Or, so I thought. So it surprised the shit out of me when he said he’s gotten to know some of the guys who are partnered up with Sadie’s friends, and they hang out even when the women aren’t involved.
I considered texting Tyler to tell him I was finally taking his advice, but then thought better of it.
Because if he asked what prompted my change of heart—he’d also think my foot-in-my-mouth moment with Piper was a damn laugh riot.
Besides, my trainer is in Vail for the weekend.
We did a pre-dawn run and workout so he could head out to see Mindy, the meal-prep lady.
They basically met a minute ago, and he’s already calling her his girlfriend, like it’s so simple.
Not for me.
The door opens after one knock, and the guy who answers—tall, although not quite my height, with brown hair and hazel eyes—grins at me.
“Hey, Felix, come on in. I’m Jake Byrne. Welcome. Glad you could make it.”
“Thanks for having me,” I say. Except why do I sound angry about it?
I shove the case of beer I picked up at a liquor store on my way over toward him. Maybe a little too hard, judging by the soft “oof” he lets out.
“The guys are in the kitchen. This way.”
He leads me down the hall, and I take in the house.
The style is mountain modern, tasteful. Obviously high-end, but without that weird showy feel I’m afraid my place in Denver is going to have.
Or at least would have had if it wasn’t for Piper intervening on my behalf. Add it to the list of ways I owe her.
“There’s Baby Barlowe,” Ian says as we enter the kitchen.
“Don’t make me bench-press you,” I shoot back, earning a round of laughs from the two other guys in attendance.
“That’s Eric Anderson,” Jake says, hitching a thumb toward the giant, dark-haired man leaning a hip against the counter. He lifts his beer in greeting.
“He goes with Taylor,” Ian explains.
The librarian, I think to myself. I’ve heard both Piper and Sadie talking about the book club.
“I go with Molly,” the other man offers with the barest hint of a smile. His words are slow and measured, like he might have to pay extra if he speaks too many of them at one time. “Chase Calhoun.”
“Molly’s the flower farmer,” I say, nodding.
“Chase is flower farming with her,” Eric says.
“Beats getting the shit kicked out of me by a bull every weekend,” Chase replies.
Right. I think back to some of my conversations with Ian. He’s mentioned both Chase, a Skylark native and retired bull rider, and Eric Anderson, who used to play professional hockey in Germany before getting together with Taylor and moving to Skylark.
“You want a beer?” Jake asks.
“No, I’m dry until the end of the season.”
“Do a lot of guys do that?” Eric asks, sounding genuinely curious. “I don’t think that’s a thing in hockey.”
“Wasn’t a thing when I was in my twenties,” I answer. “But it’s for the best now.”
“Baby Barlowe isn’t a baby anymore,” Ian says, and damn if I don’t feel my face color at the approval in his voice.
Will I ever outgrow wanting my big brother to be proud of me?
“I hear congratulations are in order,” Jake says as he hands me a can of sparkling water. “You’re going to be a dad.”
I feel my nostrils flare, and my hand tightens on the can, the aluminum giving slightly under my grip. I flick an irritated glance toward Ian.
“Don’t worry.” He shakes his head, reading me as easily as ever. “We’re in the book club trust tree here.”
I nod because my brother might be annoying, but he wouldn’t let me spill my guts to a bunch of assholes.
“Thanks,” I tell Jake. “Piper’s doing all heavy lifting at this point, but I’m…
” I can’t quite make my lips move the way I want them to.
“… Scared shitless,” I answer instead of “excited,” which is what I meant to say.
“Here’s to being scared shitless and showing up anyway,” Chase says, lifting his beer in my direction.
Ian claps me on the shoulder, loosening something in my chest. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
“Help yourself,” Jake says, gesturing toward the kitchen island where an impressive spread is laid out. “We’ve got wings, nachos, and some kind of fancy dip Iris made before she escaped to Molly’s.”
I load up a plate with wings and nachos, suddenly starving despite the protein shake I downed before leaving. The wings are baked, not fried—I notice these things now—and there’s a respectable array of vegetables on the platter that I’m pretty sure is just for show.
“Were the veggies your idea?” I ask Jake.
He grins. “Iris made me promise. But I’m betting they’ll still be here when she gets back.”
“Fair enough.” I grab a few carrot sticks anyway. Tyler would be proud.
Eric reaches for the nachos. “Do you think they’re talking about us?”
“We should be so lucky.” Chase snorts. “But also, of course they are.”
“Probably planning our lives for the next ten years,” Jake adds. “They know what they’re doing.”
“Piper took Ellie because the twins wanted to meet her,” I say, surprising myself by volunteering the information. “She’s two. My best friend and his wife named me as guardian in their will, and they…”
I break off, wondering how to stop this embarrassing case of diarrhea of the mouth.
It’s awkward but also comforting to talk about how the toddler came to be with me.
Instead of the looks of shock I expect from the guys, they seem to take my revelation in stride.
There’s a good chance either Ian or the book club ladies prepped them, but I still appreciate it.