Chapter 24
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
Jory
“Dad!” Gus yells, racing around the corner and sliding on his socks like he’s in a nineties romcom. He comes to a stop by grabbing the doorframe to my bedroom. “Hey. Dad.”
“Hey. Gus.”
He lifts a brow the way I do to him when I think he’s mocking me.
“My friends are here, and they’re going to ride bikes by Sugar Creek behind Miller’s.
Ricky … who you don’t know, but he’s been friends with Josh since they were born, and I think they’re cousins, but everyone here seems to be cousins or whatever.
Anyway, Ricky has an extra bike that was his brother’s, but his brother is in college now and doesn’t ride it, and Ricky said he won’t care if I use it because he doesn’t think his brother even remembers that he has it—”
“Gus. Slow down, kid. Breathe.”
He gasps a breath and laughs. “So, can I go? Please?”
I put the socks into the drawer and then peer out the window. The sky is clear with marshmallow-like clouds floating across it.
“Do you have your phone?” I ask.
“Yes. Of course. I know the rules.”
“Then, fine. You can go. But be smart and stay away from the water.”
“Okay.”
“And if I call—”
“I gotta answer!” he says, already out of sight. “I know! Thanks, Dad! Love you!”
The door slams, effectively ending our conversation.
I stare at the spot he just left, thinking we need to talk about patience and respect. Yet a smile touches my lips. The kid’s so new here and yet he’s being asked to do things with other kids every day. Small-town living is good for a little boy. Let him live.
The quickness of my answer jolts me when I think about it because this was the fastest response I’ve ever given him when it comes to things like this.
There was a slight hesitation, mostly because he’ll be around water, but I gave him my approval in record speed.
Is that because I’m more confident in myself or I trust him more? I don’t have a clue.
I sit on the edge of the bed and grab my phone, checking it for messages from Markie.
She’s been at Audrey’s all day, helping prep for the wedding tomorrow.
The updates have been fairly steady, most of them raising suspicions that they’re doing more gossiping and goofing around than putting up floral displays and balloon arches.
But I can see her joy in being with her friends in the words she sends.
That’s really all that matters. And while I love this for her, I selfishly hate it for me.
Because the happier she is with them, the less likely she’d consider leaving them—leaving Sugar Creek, for me.
Markie: You know how they say that if a couple can build a house together that they’re able to work through anything?
My fingers fly over the keys.
Me: I’ve heard that.
Markie: I’m adding to that wisdom. If two friends can decorate a wedding venue together, they’ll stay friends forever.
Me: Why? What’s going on?
Markie: Astrid is … well, you know her. She’s Type A+++++++++++++++. And Gianna is about a Type C- on a good day. Things here are getting froggy. They’re currently arguing whether bows have directions.
Me: I don’t think they do. Or is that wrong?
Markie: Look, I see both sides but stayed out of it. And I almost slipped into the middle of how you center something but caught myself just in time. Gianna is satisfied with “eyeball center” and Astrid almost had a stroke.
Me: For what it’s worth, eyeball center works most of the time.
Markie: Yeah, unless you’re Astrid and carry a tape measure in your purse.
Markie: Astrid just said, “We’re getting off schedule.” Then Gianna fucked up by saying that she didn’t know we had one. I’m now being summoned to a scheduled meeting. Wish me luck.
Me: But aren’t you guys about done?
Markie: I wish. There’s only one meeting I’d like to schedule, and it’s with you, in a locked room with closed blinds and an empty house and kitchen table. Again.
Me: What can I say? I’m a dream maker.
Markie: I challenge you to prove that when I get out of here.
Me: Challenge accepted.
I consider putting an expiration date on my offer to hurry her home, but I’m afraid she’ll actually do that. She needs to be there.
My phone rings, and Miles’s name pops up. The sight of those five letters constricts my chest. I shouldn’t answer.
I don’t have enough information to not answer. Markie didn’t share what her brother said to her, and I’ve never explicitly asked. But, damn, I want to know.
“Oh, fuck it.” I accept the call. “Hey.”
My knee bounces like it does while I’m waiting outside Brewer’s office at the Royals facility. Whatever the reason for the conversation, it’ll probably end up fine. But there’s always an off chance that it doesn’t go well, and my body likes to be primed to fight or fly, I guess.
“Hey,” Miles says. “What’s going on over there?”
His voice holds steady, and I can’t glean anything out of his tone.
“Not much,” I say, getting to my feet. “Just put some laundry away. Gus is hanging out with friends.” I could leave it there, but what the hell. “Waiting on Markie to get home from Audrey’s.”
Miles hums, and I’m not sure what to make of that. He could just be distracted like usual, or just not give a shit. That would be totally Miles coded. Or he may be wondering if I said her name for a reason—perhaps to give him an opening to say what’s on his mind.
There’s a long pause, rippling with anticipation. I stay silent and wait him out because, at the end of the day, his excuse, if he has one, is inconsequential to me. He upset her, and that’s all I need to know. I just hope he’s smart enough to know that.
“Have you been spending much time with her?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“I figured,” he says, sighing. “Listen, Jory, about that … I tried to warn you.”
I bite my tongue, trying to be fair and at least hear him out.
Even if my mind is made up and he’s an arrogant asshole—I knew this prior to his conversation with Markie—and there’s zero doubt in my mind that he’s responsible for whatever hostility transpired between them, he is my friend …
at least for now. The right thing to do is to let him say his piece and then react.
That way, he’ll know that I’m reacting to him and not to anything she said. I’ll be damned if he blames her. He can get pissed at me.
“Markie’s a pistol,” he says. “I tried to tell you that before she had a chance to wrap you up in her nonsense.”
“In her nonsense? I’m not following you, Miles.”
“The pickleball bullshit. She told me you were her partner, and I can only imagine what stunts she pulled to get you to do that.”
I flinch, not just at his words, but at his tone, too.
Miles is abrasive and pretty cold as a human being.
But, for some reason, I expected his relationship with his family to be different.
More … warm. Even though Markie seemed to share a lot of my sentiments about her brother, I still imagined that he had a soft spot for her and Mira.
“Actually,” I say, pacing around the room. “I volunteered, and she turned me down a few times.”
“Right.”
“Really,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “She’s a lot of fun and one hell of a competitor.”
He scoffs, and the sound pisses me off. “She said you were fucking, so cut the shit, Plath.”
“Excuse me?” My feet stop moving. “You wanna rephrase that?”
“No.”
My blood heats, scalding my veins as it races its way around my body. Who the fuck does Miles think he is? And what makes him think that I’m the guy who’s going to put up with it?
“That would be a mistake,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
I have to walk a fine line. If he were anyone else, I’d tell him to screw off. But he’s Markie’s brother and will be her brother whether she and I are fucking or not.
My hand balls into a fist at the idea of oversimplifying what this is between us to just fucking.
That doesn’t come close to describing our relationship.
Hearing it reduced to that—to something cheap and disposable—is an insult.
Especially coming from her brother who, at the very least, should have her back. It ignites something ugly inside me.
“You do know that she does this, right?” he asks. “She’s a little attention whore who—”
“Stop.” The room becomes eerily quiet as my hand curls into a fist so tight that my nails bite into my skin. “I’d stop talking if I were you.”
He chuckles. “She doesn’t need you to defend her.”
“Do you realize that you’re talking about your sister?” I ask. “Forget the way that I feel about her. She’s your family, Miles. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me aside from the fact that I have two sisters who can’t just move on with their damn lives and stop trying to pretend like we’re some big happy family. I mean, I probably wouldn’t even recognize them if I saw them on the street.”
What the actual fuck?
“I’m sorry,” I say, rubbing my temple. “Didn’t you have her leave the house keys and utility information for me?”
The line is silent.
“And didn’t you have her bring me the key to the mechanical room?” I ask. “And when the guy from the water department came around to read the meter, he said Markie had called and asked them to do that.”
He sighs. “What’s your point?”
“The fact that you can’t see my point and have to ask for an explanation says it all.”
Markie has jumped through a number of hoops for Miles since I’ve been in town. And she’s done every one of them without muttering a cross word. She’s never complained or failed to follow through. She’s been … Markie.
The woman spending her Friday night decorating a barn for her friend’s wedding. Who has lunch with her grandma after church on Sundays. Everyone describes Markie the same way—fun, loyal, and responsible.
She answers her brother’s calls when she shouldn’t.
When she said every man aside from her dad and grandfather has let her down, she really meant that shit.
“You know,” I say, pacing again. “Streets run both ways. Why don’t you just stop calling your sisters? Don’t take their calls? Or is there a reason you keep the line of communication open?”