Page 19 of Beg Me

SIX

Jory

“Look who it is,” Gray says from the porch of the farmhouse. He waves before trotting down the steps toward the driveway.

Gray Adler is a beast and the fiercest scrum half I’ve ever played with or against. I’m used to seeing him battered and worn down from the season, held together by muscle cream, tape, and the will of a champion. But there’s an air about him this evening that’s different. Lighter, maybe.

“Hey, Adler,” I say, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “Gray, this is my son, Gus. Gus, this is the legend, Gray Adler.”

“Legend, my ass.” Gray chuckles. “Nice to meet ya, Gus.”

Gus smiles. “I’m happy to meet you, too. Nice place you got here.”

I bite back a laugh. This kid.

“Well, thanks,” Gray says, amused, too. “This is my brother Hartley’s house. I live down there.” He points toward a gravel lane extending up and over a small hill.

The property is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. It’s not that far from town, yet it feels like you’re in your own world nestled among the trees. Wildlife sings from every angle—from the fields surrounding the house, to the forest that starts on the edges of the very same fields, and from the sky expanding endlessly above us.

Still, somehow, it’s quiet.

Gus spins in a circle, taking it all in. “I’ve never been to a farm before. What’s in that barn?”

“I think it’s a ranch,” I say.

“Call it whatever the hell you want. Same difference—to me, anyway,” Gray says, smiling. “And I have little to no idea what’s in that barn except for a pig.”

“You’re serious?” Gus asks, facing him. “A real pig?”

“Yup. Named Pigasso.” Gray looks at me. “Don’t ask.”

“A pig named Pigasso,” Gus says, snorting as we follow Gray into the house.

The steps are sturdy as we trudge up them, passing a goose statue dressed up in a raincoat and boots. Gus and I exchange a look as we cross the doorway. We nearly make it inside before a voice welcomes us from the kitchen.

“Hello, there,” a woman says, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She’s older, probably in her sixties, with a grandmotherly vibe. Her smile is as wide as her hips.

“This is Cathy,” Gray says. “Cathy, this is Jory and Gus.”

“Oh, I remember you. I’ve been to a few Royals games.” She smiles at me. “It’s nice to officially meet you.” She turns to Gus. “You look like a man who likes cookies. Am I right?”

Gus’s shoulders slump in relief. “You couldn’t be righter if you tried. I’m practically starving, to be honest, because this guy”—he jams his thumb over his shoulder in my general direction—“thinks heat-up pizzas can be eaten for a week straight. I haven’t seen food from an actual food group since he picked me up.”

“Oh, come on,” I say, laughing.

“I have never been more prepared to fix someone’s problem than I am right now.” Cathy points at a stool at the island, then turns to the refrigerator. “Gus, sit. I have fried chicken, meatloaf, and a little bit of Salisbury steak left from last night. Probably have an ear of corn in here, along with some baked beans. I can always make a fresh batch of mashed potatoes if you'd like. What sounds good, kiddo?”

“Um, all of it,” Gus says.

I take a step forward. “He’s exaggerating. Please don’t feel obligated⁠—”

“Shush.” Cathy gives me a look like my mother gives me when she’s really saying shut the fuck up, Jory. “No one invited you into this conversation.”

“You’re fighting a losing battle,” Gray says with a slight shrug.

Gus smirks at me from the stool.

“Go on,” Cathy says, shooing us away. “Go do your business somewhere else. Gus and I will find you after his belly is full.”