Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
“I can’t believe you did this,” I say, sitting next to Stella in my Bronco. We’re already on the highway, just forty minutes from Reno and the bar where Callum first met Fran.
“What’s Fran and Callum’s story anyway?”
“I don’t know their story, and you’re avoiding accountability.”
Stella scoffs, her bright green eyes, free of glasses, glittering in a feisty way as she gawks at me. “You forced me into socializing. Let’s just say I’m returning the favor.” Then, in a voice that I’m assuming is meant to be mocking of my own, she adds, “This will be good for you, Roman.”
I cough. “I bet.”
“But I actually think it will. The Roman Graves I knew needed his friends.” I can see her peeking at me, waiting for my reaction. “How’s your family, Roman?” She clears her throat. “What’s up with your parents these days?”
I shrug and keep my eyes on the road. “Still divorced. Mom’s living in England with some guy I’ve never met. And Dad and Felicity have a four-year-old to keep them busy.”
Stella coughs. “Whoa, what? Your dad has a four-year-old?”
“Yeah. A few years ago, he married Felicity. She might be two or three years my senior—I’m not sure. I wasn’t invited to the wedding.” In truth, I don’t think about my parents much. Dad left when I was young, and I didn’t see him much. I’m not close to either of my parents.
“Roman,” Stella scoffs. “You’re telling me that you have a sibling?”
“I guess I do.”
Stella smacks my arm. “Roman! You’re a brother. Boy or girl?”
I assume she’s talking about my sibling. I lift my brows in thought. “Brother. I think.” But the truth is, I know. I have a brother. His name is Mason.
“You don’t know?” She turns herself in her seat, and she’s staring at me now.
I brace myself for another smack. “I haven’t met him. Dad has a whole new life with Felicity and their kid. He’s pretty happy to keep his old life in the past. Including me.”
Stella’s hand reaches out, planting on my thigh. Her voice is soft, like this is terrible news. “I’m sorry.”
But I blow out a tired sigh. I lamented over the loss of my father long ago. And after we lost Brice, it felt obsolete. “I’m over it.”
“No,” she says, her fingers moving in soft circles on my leg. “That isn’t something you just get over.”
I swallow with her touch but keep my eyes on the road. “It’s okay, Stell. Really.”
She leans back in her seat once more. “You have to meet this kid, Roman. You have a brother!”
“Wha—No, I don’t. I just told you. Dad’s moved on. We aren’t really part of—”
“Roman. You have a brother. A brother! What would Brice say?”
I swallow past the ache she’s caused in my throat.
But before I can answer, she’s talking again. “What’s his name?”
“Mason,” I say. There’s no use in fighting her on this. “But it’s not like he’ll care about me. He’s got his parents and—”
“Believe me,” she says, that hand back on my thigh, forcing me to glance her way. “He’ll want to know his brother. Having a brother is special. I’d know.”
I can’t argue with her. Not when it comes to Brice. He was important, and he was a great brother. I clamp my mouth shut, keeping quiet on the subject.
“We need to go see him. We need to bring him a Christmas gift.”
“Stella,” I growl.
But Stella is unaffected. “We’re not going to argue about this. You have to—”
“Fine. We can send him a Christmas gift.”
“And you’ll call him.”
I huff. “Fine. I will call my dad and see if he minds.”
She retracts her hand, facing forward, making me wish we were still arguing.
“Since you made plans for us tonight, I think it’s only fair that I get a say in our activities.”
“You made plans for me yesterday! I wouldn’t have asked Fran and Rosalie over.” She’s looking at me again, like my own personal sunshine lighting up the cab of this vehicle.
“Admit it. You’re glad I did.”
She deflates, looking away from me. “Fine. I like them. They’re nice. One day, I might even call them friends. There. Happy?”
“Very.” But I’d be happier if she’d touch me again.
“Tell me about this plan.”
“I think we should drink to your recent problems and then toss them away, with a promise to no longer dwell on them.”
“Recent—but I don’t smell anymore!” she blurts. “I don’t, do I? Sometimes, I’m afraid I’m just getting used to it.”
“Not that problem. You once again smell like a garden, Stella. I’m talking about your other problems.” I grip the steering wheel, hoping this works. Hoping my Stella can get some confidence back.
Stella smirks, making me glance at her once more. “You think I smell like a garden?”
“No.” I laugh, uneasy and nervous. “Maybe. I’ve noticed a floral scent around you at times. Do you agree to my plan or not?”
She pulls in a breath through her nose before exhaling. “I don’t know. Drink to my problems? Like ‘cheers’?”
“Like ‘so long.’”
“I don’t know, Roman. My hard stuff is fully leaded Coke. I get a little hyped up with all the sugar. I’m not sure adding alcohol is a great idea.”
“One sip to each trouble. Whatever you want to drink. Then, we break the glass to see it into the next life.”
She’s quiet for a minute. “That doesn’t sound terrible.”
“It’ll be fun. And I read somewhere that intentional physical acts help a person move on. It’s a tangible thing associated with emotional closure.” I did read it—in one of those self-help books Willow is always sending Stella.
“Hmm.” She thinks. “Okay, I’m in.”