“You hosted,” Dad replies, like that’s a whole answer. He comes in for a hug, his tall frame so similar to mine, but far less muscular. His short beard is softer than it looks, and it rubs against my ear when he whispers, “And you did a good job, son.”
There’s something uncomfortable in the way those words settle into me. Uncomfortable because I grew up without such acknowledgement from him, and yet... my chest expands with a lightness that rivals the time I went cliff diving with Joaquín. It was technically illegal and we were technically arrested (and I don’t think I’m using the word technically right), but the adrenaline rush was off the charts.
I play it cool in front of Dad though, like his praise is not breathing life into me.
Despite my lack of furniture, no one seems to be in a rush to get home. Dane and Dell lay on the floor and play with the dogs while hair falls to the floor like snow. Robyn sits on the one stool I have while Isaiah stands behind her, snuggling his wife like a pillow as she regales us with stories of the Olympic Village. It does not get old that my sister-in-law is an Olympic rugby star. God, she’s awesome. I want to be her when I grow up.
Seeing my older brother like this, no trace of his usualirritability, a man totally in love and happy in a way I never thought he could be... well, it’s admirable. And I want that.
Joaquín leans against the counter with a beer in hand, and I tuck myself into him. He’s five-nine, so it’s more like I’m falling into him, but he doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around me, and I soak in the comfort I’m suddenly craving. I wish like hell it was Renée, though. Joaquín is all lean muscle and hard planes, but Renée... oh, she’d be soft. She’d absorb me.
I don’t know when my imagination started veering this way—to what it would be like to be hers. To feel the weight of her affection and not just the filthy professor fantasies I have password protected in my spank bank. But I want both.
She’s a prickly one, but I’d wager anything she’s tender and sweet on the inside.
When Christina tells us about the upcoming bluegrass festival she’s organizing, my ears perk up because Renée wouldlovethis. Wouldn’t she? She did say her parents were bluegrass legends.
“How much are tickets?” I blurt. Not that I really care now that I’m rollin’ in the dough, but it’s a gut-reaction to wonder.
“Forty bucks for general admission,” she replies. “Seventy for VIP. I have some tickets I can give away if you want them.”
“Yes! Wait, are kids allowed?”
The look Christina gives me is quizzical. “Yeah...”
“Perfect,” I say. Then I check the calendar on my phone to make sure we don’t have a game or team event that day. “I’ll take four tickets.”
“Who the hell are you inviting?” Isaiah asks. “And since when do you like bluegrass?”
Chapter 19
Change of Plans
Renée
The music coming from Jonah’s property can be heard in my kitchen over the sizzling stove and, despite my best efforts, I catch my shoulders swaying to the beat.
“He’s really good,” my sister remarks. She chops the remaining cucumber and slides it onto the salad. When I don’t say anything she continues. “I still can’t believe you went to his rugby game yesterday.”
I swallow. “It was a nice day. We got some fresh air.”
Amber snorts and side-eyes me. “Right, because you’re usually such an indoor cat.”
The girls are outside, and we watch them through the kitchen window dancing along to the concert next door. I can hear Delta’s voice before she’s even opened the sliding door, Lo in her wake. “Mom, can we go over to Jonah’s house? He’s playing music!”
“No, sweetie. He’s having a family dinner.”
“Please,” she says, dragging out the word, like if she says it slowly and with enough crooked teeth I’ll change my mind.
Lo tugs on my shirt, her eyes so big and shiny she looks like she wandered straight out of a Pixar movie.
I’m a veteran mom. A battle-hardened negotiator. I’ve survived tantrums, bedtime stall tactics, and approximately one million snack-related emergencies. I should be immune to all this, but I’m absolutelynotimmune to that face.
Saying no physically hurts sometimes, like a tiny bruise right behind my ribs. Because I see the disappointmentflicker in their faces, quick and sharp, and I hate being the one who put it there. Still, I’ve spent their whole lives protecting them—rounding off sharp corners, padding the hard truths, keeping the world safely at arm’s length. I built us a fortress, stone by careful stone. I dug a moat. I posted guards. No monsters allowed.
Except now there’s a problem in the shape of an infuriatingly handsome rugby player who moved in next door, who smiles too easily and opens his heart with no reservation. He looks at my girls like the world is full of possibility instead of danger. Like joy is something you’re allowed to touch. The wayIused to look at things before Greg. And every instinct in me screams that Jonah is a threat. Not to them.
To my control.
