“I don’t know,” I said. God, I was getting sick of those three words. When would I ever figure my shit out? I was twenty-seven, for fuck’s sake. Shouldn’t I have moved past the indecisiveness of youth and inexperience?
“Well, you let me know when you figure it out.”
And with that, he was gone, gobbling up the distance between us and my family like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.
When did things between us get so complicated? It was supposed to be a business partnership and nothing more. So why was I having all kinds of thoughts of a future—a family—that involved him?
Somehow, despite the obvious tension between me and Owen, he fit himself into my family dynamic with ease. Maybe it was the former athlete mentality still running through his veins, or the fact that he came from a large family as well. Whatever it was, everyone obviously loved him. The easy way in which he spoke with my sisters and parents. How quickly he got used to Logan’s particular brand of Golden Retriever energy. How he’d managed to even charm my dad who, as a rule, hated any guy we brought home. It wasn’t difficult to imagine him there allthe time. To picture him coming to family events and attending holidays at my side. He slotted in perfectly, just another one of the guys, another significant other for my sisters to rib endlessly like they did Calvin and Logan and for my mother to fawn over.
He quickly became one of us, and I realized that was what I had been searching for with TJ—with all of the guys I’d dated in my lifetime. Having someone at my side, andonmy side, was a high unlike any other. That hole in my heart rapidly filled with his easy smiles and carefree laughter. I wanted to keep him here forever, but I wasn’t sure that was a dream I should be chasing. While a friendship had easily bloomed between us in all the time we’d spent together the past few months, I wasn’t sure it should go beyond that.
For both our sakes, it was probably best if I got my wild, rampant dreams and desires under control before I fucked everything up.
The moment my footfirst sank into the bucket of grapes, I let out a yelp that Cal mercilessly teased me about for the rest of the day.
What could I say? Haveyouever crushed grapes with your feet? Unless you’ve done it, it was a difficult sensation to explain. The squishy texture, the way they popped open under pressure, spilling their guts out all over my toes. The coolness from being housed in the shade of the barn for god knew how long. And the liquid that collected the further the grapes broke down.
All of it was weird.
And I was having the time of my life.
Needing a bit of space from Delia, mostly to give her a chance to sort herself out, I found myself in a bucket between Ella and Brie. The two could not be more different, both from each other and from Delia. As the youngest, Brie was quiet—presumably from a lifetime of yielding her voice to her older and more extroverted siblings. She reminded me a lot of mybrother Finn, the soft, careful foil to his loud and proud twin, West. From an outsider’s perspective, she seemed more intentional, both with her words and her actions. When I’d first met her, she’d still been in college—about the same age as my sister was now—and it was pretty impressive to see the growth she’d undergone in the five years since.
Ella, on the other hand, wasn’t quiet so much as she was sullen. Where her sisters’ skin was unmarred by ink, Ella’s arms were lined with tattoos. Her hair was chopped to her shoulders and bright pink streaks framed her face. With her denim shorts—that had to be men’s, based on the length and the fact that they were cinched like a paper bag with a brown, braided belt at her waist, and not in the fashionable way—and oversized band tee tucked into one side, she gave off a starving artist vibe.
I’d spent enough time around people, studying them and learning their ticks, to recognize the clothes, the hair, the heavy eyeliner and ink, were only masking some deep-seated insecurities.
But that was none of my business.
After grape crushing concluded, we hosed off and headed over to the winery, where Ezra had been slaving away all day to prepare an epic buffet-style feast for the family. As plates were loaded and we settled at the long table, a pang of jealousy echoed through my chest.
Being around the Delatous, I couldn’t help but miss my own family. I hadn’t been home in ages, coming up on two years if my quick mental calculation was correct. And it wasn’t that I didn’t want to see my mom and siblings, because I did. The easy rapport between the Delatou sisters reminded me of how easilymy brothers and I conversed. Our ages old inside jokes weaving into every conversation, years and years of it being the Lawlesses against the world, every formative moment of my life until I left for college involving them. All of it made me feel safe andseenin a way no other people or place ever had.
No, the reason I didn’t like going home was because every corner of that town, of Dusk Valley and our ranch, held a memory of my dad. And most days, it was simply too much for me to face. For a man who’d make a career of staring down two hundred and fifty pound guys, knowing any one of them could break through my offensive line and drive my ass into the ground, I was a coward where that was concerned.
Hell, he’d been gone nearly seventeen years and I still hadn’t visited his grave.
At least, not since the day we buried him.
“Lawless!” my roommate Bucky shouted from the living room. “Get your ass out here and entertain our guests!”
“They’reyourguests! And I’m busy!” I hollered back.
Not technically a lie, though Bucky wouldn’t appreciatewhyI wasn’t joining the party. The end of the semester neared, and I had a lot of studying to do. Could I have saved it for our daily, team sanctioned tutoring sessions? Absolutely. But I didn’t get to be the starting quarterback for the University of Oregon Ducks by only working out and doing drills when my coaches told me to. I applied that same drive to earning my degree.
It was Thanksgiving weekend, and we were on bye until weplayed in the Pac-12 championship the following Saturday. Still, we had to practice, which meant I wasn’t able to go home for the holiday. I wasn’t overly heartbroken by that fact. As the eldest of seven kids—including five boisterous younger brothers—I relished the separation from my family more often than not. Maybe that sounded bad. Truthfully, I loved my family, but growing up in that farmhouse damn near bursting at the seams to contain us all, sharing a room with my next oldest brother, Trey…well, having a room to myself for the first time since the twins had been born thirteen years ago was a luxury I wasn’t eager to be rid of.
The pregame going on in the living room didn’t bother me, though. Since I’d moved off campus at the start of my sophomore season last year, Bucky and I had roomed together, and I’d gotten used to his noise. It was early enough yet that things were chill, just a few guys from the team and random jersey chasers hanging out on our couches, watching the few college games on and shooting the shit. By midnight, they’d all clear out, leaving our apartment for greener pastures—namely the football house, where four of our teammates lived and routinely held parties.
I avoided those like I always did. I wasn’t much for drinking to begin with, never having gotten the taste for it like other teenagers from back home and my college classmates had. Maybe that was the natural born leader in me. Or the fact that my only goal in life since I’d first picked up a football at age ten had been to play professionally. I wouldn’t stop until I got there, and things like underage drinking—I was only twenty, after all—or blowing off my homework, while innocuous enough decisions in the moment, could be a slippery slope that led to dangerous consequences.
Okay, maybe I was a bit of a tight ass, but I liked to think of it as simply knowing what I wanted and going afterit.
I was halfway through the end-of-semester bookkeeping project that counted for half my GPA in my accounting class when my stomach let out a loud grumble. I briefly lifted my eyes to my alarm clock on my nightstand, noting it had indeed been longer than I’d thought since I’d last eaten. After inputting one final formula on the spreadsheet I had opened on my desktop, and tapping the save button to make sure I didn’t lose my work, I rose from my chair.
Since I’d started college roughly two and a half years ago, I’d filled out a lot. The twig I’d been in high school had nothing on the muscular man I was now. Working out harder than ever meant I had to eat a lot more to maintain my weight and bulk, and it seemed like every day my diet changed, necessitating the addition of higher protein and more calories to counteract the loss I sustained while lifting or running drills.
When I swung open my bedroom door, Bucky let out a low whistle.
