Chapter 22
Loch
“That’s the third fucking dunk you’ve scored off me, asshole.” Out of breath, I pace the half-court. I used to kick my brother’s ass at almost everything, but now he’s getting his revenge. I’m only thirty, but I feel fucking old. “How’re you hanging in there, Dad?”
My dad has downed two bottles of water and sat out more than he’s played. “I’m done.” He waves me off. “You guys play without me.” He heads off to the bench by the gym bags while Harbor dribbles the basketball around and then shoots from the foul line.
And makes it. Asshole.
Passing the ball to me, he asks, “Best two out of three?”
“I think I’m done like Dad.”
Harbor starts chuckling. “You need more cardio in your life.”
“I run five miles on the treadmill at least three times a week, and I’m walking all over this city the rest of the time. You’d think I could keep up with a scrawny kid like you.” Harbor’s built, taking after his big brother, but I can’t let him think I noticed. I jack the ball at him.
Catching it against his gut, he’s chuckling too hard to hold a conversation. He finally manages to say, “Okay, gramps.”
Fucker.
I grab a towel from my gym bag and start to dry off the sweat. “I want to see you take on Noah, then we’ll see who the gramps is.”
“I did. Last week. He plays baseball, not basketball. I kicked his ass, too.”
I toss in the towel, literally and figuratively. “I’m thinking a beer might do me a solid.”
Harbor is there and ready to go. “I’m in.”
My dad stands with a towel wrapped over his shoulders, and says, “That’s more my speed.”
We showered at the club and put on fresh clothes. It’s been a while since I’ve been out of the house in anything other than a suit. It feels good to be relaxed, to get some exercise, and spend time with my brother and dad.
“When are you heading back to Beacon, Dad?” I ask over the second round of beers.
The crowded sports bar has TVs playing everything from pro football to college basketball.
There’s a lot to be distracted by, but Dad’s been content listening to us ramble on about my work and Harbor’s travels.
Lark comes up a few times with casual mentions of starting a family.
I’m not sure how he can stay so calm about it.
But after I think more about it, I know he’s calm because he has Lark.
Will I ever be that way when it comes to starting a family?
He takes a gulp, his gaze shifting to a TV hanging on the far side of the room. “She’s busy with her career. I’m busy with mine. Nannies are fine, but she’s mentioned wanting to be more hands-on than her current job would allow.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, setting my empty glass down on the table.
“She says she wants to be home, at least while the kids are little.” He rubs his forehead, unease showing in the lines of his face. “I can’t believe she and I are even discussing having kids.”
My dad asks, “Do you want kids?”
I appreciate his judgement-free tone with my brother. I’ve been put under the interrogation light a few times over the years by guys who tell me it’s time for me to settle down, the same people who prefer working late at the office to going home to their families. Go figure . . .
My parents have never pressured us. I know they want grandkids, but I firmly believe that people should have kids for their own reasons and on their own timelines, not others. But maybe that’s because I’ve never been in a relationship that inspired different feelings on the topic.
Tuesday.
I’m not sure if I should be concerned or happy that Tuesday is the first thing that comes to mind. That’s a big step, and it’s too soon to be taking it, much less thinking about it.
Harbor relaxes, and says, “I want kids. I’m not committed to a number or a certain timeframe, or anything like that.
Our lives and careers will need to adjust to have the family life we want.
My business is growing so fast . . .” He looks back and forth between us.
“I love it, but there are offers on the table that I need to seriously consider.”
“You’re living your dream,” I say. “You’d sell?”
“I’ve also achieved that dream. We change.
Dreams change. I’d do something else with cars, but it would be because I want to instead of needing to.
You know finances aren’t an issue now. The offers I’ve received mean doing what we want for the rest of our lives.
With Lark, my life looks a little different these days.
My priorities have shifted. Nothing is changing anytime soon.
” Spinning his glass around, he lifts his eyebrows and smirks.
“And we’re having a good time right now. Perks of the honeymoon stage.”
“Too much, kid.” My dad laughs and shifts his attention and his shoulders toward me. “Tuesday is good for you, Loch.”
“Where did that come from?”
“It’s been on my mind since I met her. Not trying to criticize, but you’re not usually in that great of a mood. With her, I see the difference, and you’re happier.”
Twisting on his barstool, Harbor says, “Lark and I really liked her, and since we don’t usually meet the women you date, if date is what the kids call it these days—Wait.” He turns to my dad. “Not counting high school, has Loch ever brought a woman to meet us?”
My dad chuckles. “I believe last night was a first. Your mom and I used to think he was too embarrassed to bring around his big city ‘dates.’”
“Fucking hell,” I reply, not giving in to the teasing that has me on the verge of laughter.
“Really? We’re doing this?” I shake my head and glare out of the corners of my eyes, basically sulking, which is unlike me.
But the fun is too good to take it all seriously.
“My ‘dates’ are just that . . . ah, fuck it.” I anchor my elbows on the high-top table.
“The ladies love me, but our arrangements don’t usually involve meeting the family. ”
“Until Tuesday,” my dad says.
I can’t lie. “Until Tuesday.”
My brother asks, “You bringing her to the house for Thanksgiving? The four of us can ride together.”
“Why are we talking about Thanksgiving in . . . shit.” I massage my temple. “The days are running into one another. Other than Tuesday, I haven’t thought beyond the Reinhold case lately.”
“You have several cases on the docket for December, Lochlan. If you’re spread too thin, then we need to—”
“We don’t need to do anything, Dad. I’m handling my cases, and financially speaking, the office is having its best year yet.”
“I’m not adding pressure. I can just tell your—”
“Priorities are shifting,” my brother says. “Welcome to the club.”
“My priorities aren’t shifting, Harbor,” I snap, slipping off the stool. “And what the fuck club are you talking about?”
“Settle down, brother.” He stands. “There are worse clubs you can be a part of than the love club.”
“There’s no love club.”
My dad says, “You did use we the other day.”
I stop from bolting out the door and redirect my glare on him. “What are you talking about?”
“At your apartment, Tuesday had a memory, and you said we found another piece of the puzzle. Not just her, but we, as in the two of you—”
“I understand what ‘we’ means.”
“Okay, both of you were a team at that moment. That’s my point. It may be too late for you. You may already be a permanent member. Welcome to the roster, brother.”
“Pfft. Permanent . . .” I grumble. “You two are absurd, so I’m going to leave you to it.”
Harbor sits back down and laughs. “You know we’re only giving you a hard time, right, Loch? You’re allowed to have a life outside the law firm. You haven’t had one in years. Right, Dad?”
Throwing his hands up in surrender, my dad chimes in, “If you can speak some sense into him, you’re doing better than I am.”
“No one needs to speak anything into me. You guys entertain each other. I’m taking off.”
I can hear Harbor chuckling as I walk away. “See you at Thanksgiving.”
Flipping him the bird while leaving, I say, “See you then.” We don’t hold grudges. I’m not even upset, but that was getting out of hand. Mainly because I’m not sure what Tuesday and I are other than new to this whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing.
We’ve moved at the speed of light so far, but I’m not in a hurry to rush this along. I have a feeling she feels the same. Taking it day by day is the best way to approach it.
I decide to walk home. I’m in sneakers, and the time could help clear my head. Cutting through a park, I take another route that allows me to shoot across to my street.
“Dreams change.”
Harbor’s words repeat like a broken record in my mind.
There wasn’t an ounce of regret in his tone when he confessed. Is it priorities or dreams that are changing, adapting to who we are at that moment? Or do we just lose sight of what we once strived toward?
Did something better come along?
Work is a distraction. Nothing more than a way to bide my time until she comes home.
I’ve gotten dressed and am sitting here ready for dinner plans we never made, thinking she’ll want to go out.
But as the hours tick by with no texts, calls, and nothing that gives me a sense that Tuesday is safe, I find myself rereading the same thing.
I can’t concentrate any longer, needing to know where she is. But I can’t control what she does.
I can’t control her.
I would never want to.
But the more time passes, the more I wonder what she’s really doing. Worrying won’t make her come back any faster. All I’m doing is creating a distraction for myself. And distracted people make mistakes.
Have I ever been this worried about a woman?
I know the answer. No, because I love her. She’s the best distraction I could ever have.
“Loch?” I hear as if she heard my worries.
I look up from the desk.
Her silhouette fills the doorway to my office, and she asks, “Why are you sitting in the dark?”
“I didn’t realize it had gotten dark.” I’m in the smallest room in my apartment, with a lackluster view, caught between missing her, the concern of not knowing if she was okay or even returning, and unwarranted anger. I look out the window to temper my mood.