My brother’s eyes flash in surprise, and for a moment, I think he’s going to back down, but alas, he’s far too wound up to hear anything beyond the anger that’s so obviously churning inside him. He snarls—literally snarls—at me with seventeen years of pent-up anger behind it, opening his mouth to no doubt dish out more snark, but he’s cut off abruptly by the fist Jack slams down on the table. Glasses and dishes rattle. The effect is almost comical as heads snap up around the room, and Connor lets out a bark.
“Enough,” Jack says through clenched teeth.
Aidan blinks furiously, rubbing at the back of his neck in shame. He casts his eyes around the table, taking in theanxious and uncomfortable faces, swallowing thickly as the reality of what’s just happened sinks in, the private fury he’s just somewhat publicly unleashed.
“Apologize to your mother,” Jack orders, and it truly does brook no argument.
“Sorry, Mom,” I murmur. “And to all of you. That was inappropriate.”
“Sorry,” Aidan parrots.
Mom sighs and nods, patting me on the shoulder before getting to her feet and beginning to collect the now-empty plates, spawning a flurry of activity as others jump up to assist her.
“Who’s ready for dessert?”
25
Riley
Ihelpmymotherclearthe table, along with Lucy, Steph, and the boys, while Aidan and Piper retreat to the living room for a few minutes, presumably so he can calm down.
Twenty minutes later, we’ve made coffee and are settled back in with dessert, though I stick with a beer, nursing it sullenly. The rest of the group chats happily over pecan pie as Aidan’s earlier outburst, and our argument, are seemingly forgotten but none of this day has gone the way I’d hoped.
Connor sleeps contentedly on the rug by the back door, his belly full for once with all the leftovers my mom made up forhim on a plate of his own. Lucy and Noah discuss the upcoming day trip they have planned to the city to shop for baby gear, and Jack mentions wanting to go ice fishing this winter. He and my mother, who also enjoys fishing, debate how soon it will be before the lake has frozen over enough to safely set up the fishing huts, and it’s concluded that it likely won’t be before January.
I watch Steph.
She avoids meeting my eyes.
I’m kicking myself over that blowup with Aidan. Even if itwasinevitable and long overdue, the timing could not have been worse. I’ve made a horrible impression on those boys, which is the opposite of what I’d set out to do tonight.
But … Steph knows the truth about where I’ve been. Why I couldn’t come back, at least not at first. I thought we were in a much better place now.
So why won’t she just fuckin’ look at me?
I clear my throat, in frustration more than anything else—because I don’t actually have anything to say—but the sound manages to carry over the din of conversation, causing Steph to jump in her seat. Her eyes flick in my direction for the first time since we sat down. The connection is brief, too brief, but I see a flash of … something …
She’s nervous, I realize, with surprise.
It’s not the first time I’ve noticed her behaving like this, either. Initially, I’d chalked it up to her shock at seeing me after so many years and her resistance to my overtures, my attempts to spendtime with her. But, can that be right? With all the progress we’ve made in recent weeks … the texting, the flirting … thekiss—I’d thought we’d moved beyond that.
Now I’m beginning to wonder if there’s something else going on here.
The thought snags on the edge of a memory, and I allow my mind to wander back to that first night at Aroma’s. Even then, and despite our history, I’d been puzzled by her initial reaction. By what I can only describe now as panic at the sight of me.
“Hey Noah, is that a GTO you’re driving?” Matt’s question snaps me from the frustrating path of my thoughts.
“Sure is. A ’69 Judge. You know cars?”
“Not really. But I want to. I’m hoping to buy an old beater and fix it up soon. I’ve been saving for a while, and Mom said she’d chip in a bit for my birthday in May.”
Noah smiles. “I know a thing or two about engines. I’d be happy to give you a hand with it.”
So the fuck do I, I growl internally, but I don’t feel it’s my place to offer, nor do I think Matt would be receptive to it.
The boy sits up straighter in his seat, excitement and more hero worship shining on his face. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Noah laughs. “My Pops and I actually rebuilt that GTO when I was a teenager. Some of my best memories are of working on it together.”
