ONE WEEK LATER
With my arms full of photos from last weekend’s fundraiser, I walk into my parents’ house for Sunday supper. I’m starting my new scrapbook tonight, and it’ll hopefully take my mind off Fisher for a few hours.
When I told him I loved him and he walked out the door, I was furious. And heartbroken. But mostly sad he didn’t say the words back.
Even though I expected things to end, it still stung when he said I deserved better than him and brought up our age difference.
I can’t even be mad at him for wanting to do the right thing, but I’m angry with myself for falling for him. As soon as I figured out who he was, I should’ve kept my distance. At the very least, when I knew Fisher was trying to mend their relationship, I shouldn’t have pushed him to be more than friends.
Now we’re both suffering.
Selfishly, I wanted one more night with him. No outside noise, no rational reasons we couldn’t be together, just us making love.
It was even better than our first time, which is saying something because that night, he said dirty filthy things to me that had me losing my damn mind. But it was better because my heart was his this time. The emotions swirling through me were intense, and it meant more being with him that way.
Now, it’d only be a long-lost memory.
Before he left and I told him how I wished I could hate him, I almost did when he walked out the door. I know he only said those things because I told him to, but he sounded like he truly meant them and that hurt even more.
“Hey, sweetie!” Momma greets me in the hallway with her apron still wrapped around her waist. “You’re early.”
“I wanted to get here before the chaos.” I smile weakly.
I wanted the distraction.
“The photographer sent me some of the files. Magnolia and Ellie also sent me some they took, so I got a good chunk printed and ready for my book,” I explain as she leads me to the kitchen.
“That’s great, honey. Can’t wait to see them.”
“Hey, Gramma.” I set my stuff down and give her a side hug as she stirs white gravy on the stovetop. “Smells delicious.”
Before I walk away, she nudges me. “That man of yours couldn’t keep his eyes off ya last time he was here. Betta make sure y’all ain’t so obvious this time.”
Her voice is low, but I swear I hear her wrong.
I lean in closer. “What? Who’re ya talkin’ about?”
She looks around and pointedly stares at Momma before bringing her focus back to the pan in front of her. “Honey, I’d never seen a man look at a woman the way Fisher looks at you. I may be old, but I ain’t blind.”
My lips go dry as I comprehend what she’s implying.
“How does he look at me?” I whisper.
“Like you’re his whole world and he’d rather die than not exist in yours.”
I gulp as my heart nearly stops beating. “You’re wrong, Gramma. Nothing’s goin’ on.”
“How come? Jase find out?”
“What? No.” I shake my head. “I mean, there’s nothin’ to know.”
“Mm-hmm.” She smirks smugly.
Before I can continue the conversation, the front door swings open, and the sound of boots aggressively pounding the floor echoes throughout the house.
And there goes the peace and quiet.
“Wow, y’all are on time. Color me shocked,” I muse when all four of my brothers enter the kitchen.
“Go clean up,” Momma orders.
“That means with soap, too.” I grin, grabbing the plates from the counter to set the table.
“What was that? You wanna hug?” Wilder comes over in two large steps and wraps his filthy arms around me.
“No! Get away! Ugh, ew. Take a shower once in a while.” I push him off with my free hand. “If I drop these, it’s your ass.”
“Noah, language,” Momma scolds.
My other brothers manage to find the bathroom, yet he’s still here bothering me.
“Then tell your alien spawn to go away.”
Momma raises her brows at him and warns him without speaking a word.
“What? I was just givin’ my little sis some love,” he taunts, then pokes my side when Momma turns around.
“I’m gonna murder you in your sleep,” I whisper-hiss, then kick his shin.
“Wilder, quit annoyin’ your sister and go,” Dad barks as he walks into the kitchen and heads toward Momma.
“Yeah, to the next galaxy preferably.”
“You’re such a baby.” Wilder yanks on one of my braids.
“Oh my God. How old are you? Grow up,” I snap, elbowing him as I walk to the table.
“You first.”
I grind my teeth. “I swear, you were dropped on your head when you came out of the womb. Killed all your damn brain cells in one shot.”
“Pretty sure that’s what happened to you when they let me hold ya for the first time.”
“You kiss Momma with that mouth?” I snarl.
He taunts me with kissy-mouth noises, aggravating me even more.
Before I can throw a plate at him, Dad grabs his shoulder and forcefully leads him out of the kitchen. “Go wash up now.”
He finally listens, and I continue setting the table.
“Momma, there’s two extra plates here,” I say.
I’m about to put them back when she stops me. “It’s for Mr. Underwood. I invited him for supper. Jase is comin’, too.”
I blink hard. What?
My heart flatlines. It’s bad enough I’ve had to see Fisher every day for the past week. I wasn’t expecting to have to face him at family dinner.
“Why would you invite my ex-boyfriend and his dad?” Especially without telling me.
“We need to squash the tension between him and your brothers. It’s time they act like men instead of talkin’ with their fists.”
“Why did no one warn me?” I could’ve prepared at least.
With a tranquilizer.
“Oh, sweetie, I didn’t think you’d mind. You two are friends. Didn’t y’all make up yet?”
From him calling me a whore and shoving me? That’s a big fat no.
“Not really.”
“Well, now y’all can smooth things over.”
Oh my God.
“Do the boys know?” They’re going to flip their shit.
“Know what?” Landen asks as they all return and pile at the table.
“Y’all need to listen up.” Dad stands tall at the front of the table with his arms crossed. “We’re having two guests at dinner. Y’all are expected to act like gentlemen and be respectful. Got it?”
“Depends. Who is it?” Tripp muses, and the three of them laugh.
As soon as Dad reveals who, they lose their minds.
Just as I knew they would.
“He ain’t even apologized,” Waylon says, leaning back on his chair with his hands folded behind his head.
“They’re comin’ to rectify that,” Momma claims. “Now best behavior or else.”
Or else she won’t think twice about kicking them out to eat on the porch.
You’d think Momma was talking to a bunch of toddlers with her tone, but she knows their history. Four rowdy boys who grew up on a ranch and entertained themselves by doing reckless shit tend to act like wild horses on a good day.
“Hello,” Fisher calls from the front door, and I wince at having to sit through an entire dinner with him.
And my ex-boyfriend.
I guess, technically, they’re both my ex-boyfriends.
I want to throw up. How is this happening right now?
The last time the three of us were in the same room together, we were at Lilian’s, and I was tempted to throw a piece of my shrimp at Jase’s face for his rudeness.
“Hi! Come in, come in.” My mother waves them in.
Gramma Grace meets my eyes with a wink before taking her seat.
What the hell is she up to?
“Sorry we’re a little late,” Fisher says, greeting her with a bottle of wine.
“Not at all. You’re right on time,” Momma reassures him.
“There’s two spots for y’all by Noah. I’ll open this bottle, and we can say grace.”
I swallow hard as I actively try to keep my focus away from the two unwanted men walking toward me. Jase takes the chair next to me, and Fisher sits next to him on the other side.
Dad and Gramma set dishes of food on the table as Momma uncorks the wine. Silence lingers as my brothers stare at Jase.
“So this ain’t awkward or nothin’, huh?” he whispers.
“No more than gettin’ my first period during gym class in seventh grade.”
He snorts, which grabs Fisher’s attention. His eyes meet mine for a split second before I tear my gaze away.
Jase leans over so no one overhears. “I almost didn’t come, but my dad insisted. I’m sorry for last weekend. You didn’t deserve any of that.”
“You coulda called or texted…” I briefly glance at him.
“I figured ya wouldn’t wanna hear from me, but I really am sorry, Noah. I want us to go back to bein’ friends again.”
Friends? Does that mean he’s not in love with me, then?
This time, I angle my body toward him and study his sincere expression. I avoid looking at Fisher even though he’s close enough to smell his cologne.
“You’re gonna have to apologize to my brothers, too,” I remind him.
He winces, furrowing his brows. “They gave me two black eyes!”
Landen clears his throat from across the table, grabbing our attention.
“What?” I mouth.
My parents and Gramma sit, patiently waiting for us so we can pray.
Everyone stays quiet as we say grace, and once it’s over, Momma tells us to dig in. At first, there’s an awkward silence as dishes get passed around and clink together until Wilder stupidly speaks up.
“Your face healed nicely.”
It’s been over a week, so the swelling and bruising have already gone down.
“Yeah, thank goodness. Told my clients I walked into a metal post.”
Landen snorts. “If ya consider my knuckles metal, then sure.”
Dad clears his throat, glaring at Landen.
“What? I’m just sayin’.” He shrugs, then directs his attention to Fisher. “Sorry ’bout hittin’ ya in the midst of it.”
“It’s fine,” Fisher says.
Jase sets down his fork. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for my behavior. I have no excuse except I’m goin’ through a lot and wasn’t thinkin’ straight. I assure y’all, it’ll never happen again. Noah’s been my friend for many years, and I hope it stays that way.”
Wow. I don’t think I’ve heard Jase speak with such sincerity before.
“That was very well said, Jase.” Momma smiles at him.
“That’s very sweet, Jase. Thank you,” I say.
“Well, we don’t accept,” Tripp snaps.
Dad snarls, grabbing his attention with a warning glare.
“I think we oughta take him to Twisted Bull and see how long he can last before pukin’,” Tripp suggests. “Then maybe we’ll accept.”
“I like that idea. We’ll even buy you a few kegs first.” Wilder laughs.
“He’ll be sick for days.” I scowl, shocked at myself for defending Jase after what he did, but my brothers are brutal. “Plus, he works with clients. He can’t show up hungover and walkin’ in circles.”
“Sounds like a fair punishment to me,” Waylon says.
“He apologized and gave us his word. That’s enough to earn our forgiveness,” Momma says.
My idiot brothers roll their eyes and groan, but they’d never take it easy on Jase since they’ve never liked him.
“Y’all don’t need to worry. I met my therapist for the first time last week, and I’ll be seein’ her weekly for a while. Realized I had some past issues I need to work through,” Jase explains.
“Really? I’m so proud of you!” I wrap an arm around him and gently squeeze. It takes a lot for someone to admit they need help.
“She, huh? She hot?” Wilder blurts out.
“If you’re into older women with gray hair.” Jase shrugs.
“That’ll be good for Wilder’s mommy issues.” Landen laughs.
“Out…” Dad points at Landen and Wilder. “Take your plates and go.”
“Whaddido?” Wilder asks with a mouthful. “I was just makin’ conversation.”
Landen’s chair scrapes across the floor, and Wilder’s soon follows. The room goes quiet as they walk out the door.
“Your therapist have room for another client?” I lean over and whisper so only Jase can hear me.
He chuckles. “I’ll put in a referral for ya.”
Smiling, I dive back into my food. It feels nice to be on good terms with him again, even if I’m at odds with his dad. The room goes back to quiet conversation as my parents talk with my brothers and Gramma. Fisher stays quiet, only speaking when he’s spoken to.
“My dad went with me to a grief support group Friday night,” Jase tells me a bit later.
My heart swells, knowing how badly they both need that. “That’s wonderful. I mean, not that you have to go, but that—”
“I know what ya mean, Noah. It wasn’t as bad as I anticipated. Free snacks.” Grinning, he shrugs.
I cackle. “You could lure me to a lot of places with free snacks.”
“You still trainin’ with Donut this week?” Tripp asks me.
“Yep, startin’ tomorrow. Gonna try to get an hour in each day so I can give Delilah an answer. Figure if he ain’t killed me by Friday, I’ll accept her offer.”
“Dude, that’s so messed up,” Waylon complains. “You can’t work with my ex.”
“Why not? I didn’t cheat on her.”
He points his fork at me as if he’s tempted to stab me in the eye. “I didn’t cheat! We were on a break.”
I roll my eyes at his pathetic excuse. “Doesn’t every man in the history of the world say that? We were on a break…” I mimic in a mocking tone.
“And with Marcia Grayson, no less.” Tripp’s whole body shudders. “Girl talks with a lisp.”
“Tripp!” Momma scolds.
“Yeah, but imagine her tongue skills.” Waylon sticks his out, then waggles it.
“You’re two seconds from eatin’ on the porch with your brothers,” Dad scolds.
“My apologies, Fisher. They seem to have lost their manners and minds,” Momma says.
“None needed, ma’am. Reminds me a lot of the young bull riders I traveled with.”
“You’d think ours were raised out with the pigs.” Momma glares at Tripp and Waylon, who quickly stuff their mouths with potatoes.
“Wait till there’s grandchildren,” Gramma Grace speaks up with humor in her voice. “Those boys will realize soon enough to watch their mouths around toddlers.”
“Ew. Don’t put the image of them reproducin’ in my head.” I shiver.
“Oh, I cannot wait. Five grown adults and no grandchildren yet…” Momma side-eyes me, and I glance around to see who she’s talking to.
“Don’t look at me. The twins are almost thirty. Harass them to settle down first.”
Waylon chuckles. “Wilder would get a vasectomy if the doctor would allow it.”
“I hope he ends up with ten kids, all like him,” I say.
“Is it dessert time?”
Speak of the devil.
Wilder charges into the house with his empty plate in hand as if he didn’t get in trouble twenty minutes ago. He goes right to the counter where the pies are cooling.
“I gotta finish muckin’ out at the trail barn before dark,” he explains as he helps himself to a slice.
“Why wasn’t that done before dinner?” Dad asks.
“I got busy,” he exclaims. “And one of the fence wires needed fixin’. Slowed me down.”
Landen comes through next, takes a slice for himself, then pulls Wilder back out the door.
Once the two of them are gone, Tripp and Waylon quickly finish theirs and find excuses to leave early.
“I’ll help with dishes, Momma.” I stand from my chair, grab my plate, and then offer to take Jase’s.
“Are you done, Mr. Underwood?” I finally make eye contact with Fisher.
“Yes, thank you.” His polite, formal voice is a contrast to the gravelly one he whispered in my ear last weekend.
“Jase, are y’all stayin’ for scrapbookin’?” Momma asks, and my heart stops.
I barely survived dinner as it is.
“Actually, I have a client pickin’ me up in about ten minutes. They wanted to view a house tonight, and I said I had plans to come here, and they offered to get me. I couldn’t say no.”
“I’ll stay,” Fisher says, and my spine goes ramrod straight.
Damn him.
“Oh, lovely! Noah brought a bunch of photos from the fundraiser. You did such a great job judgin’. I’m sure she’d love to show them to you.”
Glancing over, I find Fisher staring at me with warmth in his eyes. “Can’t wait.”
“Fisher, how’re things goin’ with Jase now?” Gramma Grace asks him fifteen minutes into scrapbooking.
We cleaned up the kitchen before sprawling the supplies across the table. Fisher sat next to me so I could show him the pictures. Then he proceeded to help me decorate the pages, which felt a bit too relationship-y, but if so, no one else has noticed.
“It’ll be a slow process, but I’m glad he agreed to get help and is talkin’ to me. I told him some things from the past that he never knew, so he’s also dealin’ with that.”
“I knew he wasn’t in love with our Noah, but at least, I could see the remorse on his face when he apologized. That’s a big step for anyone,” Gramma says, and I blush when she brings me into the conversation.
“It is. I’m spendin’ as much time with him as I can between jobs and am tryin’ to be there as much as he allows it. His mom ain’t my biggest fan, so I’m tacklin’ that as well.”
“Mariah will come ’round, especially if she wants what’s best for Jase,” Gramma offers.
“I hope so.”
“Look at this one.” Gramma holds up one of the new photos. It’s me standing next to the judges’ table and Fisher’s sitting closest to me. “That one’s a keeper. Put it in the book.”
Her demanding tone has me slowly taking it from her, suspicious as to what she’s up to now.
“Refill anyone?” Momma asks, grabbing the coffee pot.
“Yes, please.” Fisher holds up his empty mug.
“No, thanks.” I smile. “I gotta be up early to train with Donut.”
“About that…” Momma puts the pot back before sitting. “You got hurt last summer when you were doing trick ridin’ with him. You need a spotter this time.”
“That wasn’t my fault, though. Landen kept ridin’ his dirt bike near the trainin’ center and spooked him.”
“What happened?” Fisher asks.
“Nothin’ really. I rolled off and scuffed up my knees. It wasn’t that bad. But Donut was shaken up after that, so I didn’t continue.”
“That’s why you need a spotter this week if you’re gonna practice.”
“Momma, I don’t need that. I’ve already warned the boys they aren’t allowed to come around the center before nine o’clock. That’s why I’m startin’ early.”
“Don’t matter, sweetie. Can’t risk ya gettin’ hurt. You have clients countin’ on you. Plus, y’all give me heart attacks with your antics as it is. I don’t need you to give me a real one because you’re in the hospital.”
“I agree,” Dad chimes in from the head of the table. He’s been reading the newspaper this whole time. I didn’t even think he was listening.
My shoulders slump as I fight the urge to stomp my foot like a pouting child. Have I not proven myself enough around here?
I wave out my arm and shrug. “Well, who am I supposed to ask at the last minute? The ranch hands are all busy through lunchtime. I can’t sit around and wait for one of them to come and babysit me. I have a schedule to stick to and—”
“I’ll do it,” Fisher blurts out next to me.
I whip my head around toward him. “What?”
“I’ll come in an hour earlier so you can have a spotter. That way, you don’t have to worry about waitin’ on anyone else.” He shrugs and lowers his eyes down to the scrapbook as if he didn’t just ruin everything.
How am I supposed to focus on training with Fisher watching my every move?
“That’s a great idea!” Gramma smiles wide. “Fisher has experience handlin’ bulls. I’m sure he can handle Donut just fine.”
I pinch my lips together and narrow my eyes at Gramma Grace. Now I know for sure she’s up to something.
“I like that idea,” Dad says. “Donut’s already familiar with him, too.”
“Now I feel much better knowin’ Fisher will be there,” Momma gushes.
I exhale sharply. “Fine. Come at seven thirty.”
“I’ll be there,” he confirms.
