Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Cruz
Shortly after lunch on Sunday, I walk into the back door of Mae’s house and wipe my boots off like I used to do.
Voices and laughter fill the air of the sprawling log cabin.
The kitchen opens to my right and the rest of the house sprawls beyond it.
To my left is the laundry room. So damn familiar and more homey feeling than my own place.
Tate Bailey, Mae’s oldest kid, rounds the corner from the dining room and slaps me on the shoulder. His beard is still neatly trimmed, but there’s gray in it when there was none when I first met him. “Nice to see you back, but you missed the meal.”
I spent the morning helping with chores to clear my head before the drive and to wake me up after a restless night of sleep. Torn between whether I should reach out to Elodie or wait for her to do so first, I looked at my phone a million times.
It’s her choice to reach out to me. I’ll leave her alone like she asked. Doesn’t mean I won’t take care of her.
“Did I make it in time for dessert?” My appetite hasn’t made an appearance, but I forced myself to have toast for breakfast. Eggs would’ve stolen the urge to eat a single morsel.
“It’s always time for dessert.” Tate grins. “Madison keeps Mama stocked with goodies, but Mama made a pie with the cherries from this year.”
I’ll stay away from Madison’s baked goods. I don’t know if I’ll get to take Elodie to Scooter’s Confections one day. If I have a single cupcake from there, Mae will find me wallowing in a corner.
I leave the kitchen and its many good memories to enter the dining room, where I’m greeted by Tate’s family. Myles and Wynter are there with their kids, who push away from the table to give me hugs.
My niece, Elsa, leads me to a seat, and a plate of cherry pie is slid in front of me. Chatter resumes like I never interrupted, and I appreciate that no pointed questions are aimed my way.
I cut a giant piece off and shove it into my mouth. Questions fill my head. Does Elodie like to make pie? Are they too time-consuming when she’s the only baker? She mentioned rhubarb and— My throat grows so thick I have a hard time swallowing. Goddammit.
Elodie and her damn independent streak is going to be her undoing.
But it won’t be her fucking ex.
I somehow finish the rest of my pie, barely tasting it, and that’s a shame. Each bite makes me think of Elodie and one of her baked goods. Does she ever use cherries? What if Mae gave her some? Would she like some even if she’s done with me?
Soon, everyone’s done with their dessert and the pie dish only contains crumbs. Tate gathers his wife, Scarlett, and their teens. They all give me another hug before he ushers them out of the house. He must’ve guessed that I’m here to talk to my brother or Mae.
Myles claps me on the shoulder. “Got a minute?”
My stomach sinks. I punched a guy at a street fair I was at for Foster House, and he’s already heard about it? Fuck me. I didn’t think of that until now. I let my temper take over and justified it as defending Elodie. She warned me about what could happen.
He leads me to the porch. It’s a warm afternoon, but the shade of the overhang keeps it cool. He sits in one of the rocking chairs flanking a small round table, then gestures to the other seat.
When I first met my brother, he was wearing a suit, hair rigidly styled, and his expression set in granite.
Now he’s relaxed. He’s the CEO of Foster House, a philanthropist, and a dad.
That hardness is still there, but the refinement was all a put-on, just like me.
Myles went from awful foster home to okay foster home until he landed at the Baileys’, and then he took off.
We can never be easygoing country guys because of the way we grew up.
Because of that, we have to be quick to admit when we’re wrong.
I plop myself down, kick my boots out, and readjust my Foster House ball cap. The Bailey ranch sprawls across the countryside. I soak it all in and settle on the barn. Every part of this property holds memories, but there’s a powerful one by that barn. “I fucked up.”
“Sure did.”
“Are we going to get sued?”
He rolls a shoulder, his expression unconcerned. “Did the guy have it coming?”
“He called Elodie a whore.”
“Good enough for me.”
“I shoved him for that. I punched him when he threatened to—” Shit. Everything is her business. What do I say? “She knows him, and he and his brother have a grudge against her through little fault of her own. She heaps all the blame on herself though.”
“Sounds like it was self-defense, then.”
“He posed no threat to me.” Reality sinks in harder than before. “I don’t think he’ll leave her alone, and I can’t promise I won’t do it again.”
He squints into the distance beyond the hill and the barn and pastures at the bottom.
Horses graze, their tails swishing around them.
Chickens dart across the yard by a little shed.
“If anyone came for Wynter or the kids, I would dismantle them piece by piece and bury them in the hills. I wouldn’t give a fuck about Foster House. ”
That’s the Myles Foster not many people get to see.
He rocks slowly. Faint wings of gray at his temples wink in the light. “Our lawyers can handle any trouble that comes our way. I’m not worried.”
“Damn, I forget that you’re richer than shit sometimes.”
He grins and stretches his jean-clad legs out. “Money helps a lot. I have a feeling that something’s bothering you that money won’t solve.”
“I overstepped with Elodie.”
He lets out a low whistle. “I don’t know her that well, but she seems like she doesn’t put up with bullshit.”
“She didn’t put up with mine for years. She’s an island. Family and friends will do anything for her, but she doesn’t let them.”
“You here to talk to Mae?”
“The last advice she gave me worked.”
He snorts. “The first advice she gave me after I reconnected with Wynter got me laid.”
I bark out a laugh. “Actually, that’s what happened for me too.
Eventually.” I fall quiet. “I need to do more this time, or those guys won’t back off.
They need a strong damn message that I will ruin them, and I know Elodie might not ever talk to me again, but at least she’ll be safe.
” Those bastards won’t get one more cent from her.
“I have an idea, and I think it’s a bad one. ”
“Sometimes, those are the most effective.”
“It involves my dad.”
“I feel like we need some bourbon for this.” He disappears inside and returns with two glasses of amber liquid. I don’t bother to ask him what line he poured. It doesn’t matter. The flavor will taste like ash, just like the pie.
I take a drink, letting it burn across my tongue and down my throat. “I don’t even know if my idea will help.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Not her.”
“Ah. I see. You’re gambling a part of yourself you’ve never played with before.”
“Of all the things Mama passed down, gambling wasn’t one of them.”
“Yeah, it was.” He takes a drink and swirls the glass, staring at the amber liquid. “You bet with your time and your freedom. You got into fights you didn’t know you’d win. You put whatever job you had at the time at risk.”
The next gulp of bourbon warms the cold his words filled me with.
“The day you showed up here is the day you quit gambling,” he continues. “You changed as soon as Mae offered you a job. You weren’t going to risk the opportunity. Now you’ve found something worth risking again. I guess the question you have to ask yourself is . . . are the odds worth it?”