“Did I what?”
I can hear his eye roll. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”
“Okay.”
“Liz! You better tell me!”
I’m laughing. “You just told me not to.”
“Grant said Fallon was at the house last night.” His playful tone of voice says that’s not all Grant told him.
“He was.”
Julien huffs good-humoredly. “I forget how evil you can be sometimes. Just tell me one thing. Are you good?”
I get up and pace to the window. Opening the reclaimed wood shutters, I gaze across the backyard to the lone magnolia tree at the bottom of the hill. “Very.”
“I love Fallon, but if he hurts you?—”
I turn away from the view. “I’m actually glad you called. Have you, um…have you heard from Jayson?” I ask as I gnaw on my thumbnail, a nervous habit I can’t seem to break.
“No. Why?”
I wish I knew what their fight was about last year. It must have been really bad for Julien to cut off all ties with his twin brother. Trying to get him to tell me has been met with a brick wall of absolute avoidance.
“He showed up at the house last night.”
I wince at Julien’s thunderous vocal barrage of curse words that would earn my children an instant grounding if I ever heard them coming out of their mouths.
A door slams. “What the fuck did he say to you?”
“That he was sorry.” But it’s what he didn’t say that worries me.
“Why now?”
“I don’t know.” But, hopefully, I can get some answers when I see him later.
“I’ve got to go.” Julien abruptly hangs up, and I immediately text him.
Me: I’m meeting him after lunch. Please let me talk to him first before you storm off to find him.
When he doesn’t reply back, I berate my stupid mouth for saying anything.Dammit.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ELIZABETH
Pieces of My Heart
Tuckingmy phone into my back shorts pocket, I pick up my locket necklace from the dresser and secure it around my neck, momentarily debating whether I should also wear the quartz heart and promise ring Jayson gave to me. Deciding to only add the heart, I slip it onto the chain, then follow the enticing aroma of coffee to the kitchen.
I pause in the entryway, and a ball of emotion lodges in my throat at the endearing scene of Fallon—wearing one of Ryder’s black T-shirts—with Christopher and Charlotte making breakfast.
Nostalgia comes crashing in, as bold and bright as the morning sunlight streaming in through the windows. How many times had I stood in this exact same spot, watching Ryder cook with the kids, his deep laughter mixing with theirs, his larger-than-life presence filling the room? Fallon somehow seamlessly steps into the spaces where Ryder once stood—not replacing him but adding something new. It’s a bittersweet sight to behold.
With a smudge of flour streaking his cheek, Fallon playfully hip-bumps Charlotte as she dances in place to the low musicpumping out of the ceiling speakers, making her drip yolk on the counter as she tries to crack eggs into a large mixing bowl. Her carefree giggles melt my heart when she hip-bumps him back.
Christopher stands at the stove, carefully flipping strips of bacon in the frying pan, while also keeping an eye on the coffee maker as it gurgles, then clicks off.
