Page 44 of Tough Luck

I nodded in agreement. Even though Nova had gotten more hands-on training from the man than I had, he had given me a chance when I was an out-of-luck college dropout.

“How is Jax holding up?” I asked, motioning toward the man I knew my best friend had been infatuated with since grade school.

Her eyes moved back over him. The three brothers had that same lost look in their matching blue eyes.

“He’s holding up.” She turned slightly toward me. “Do you think Rick will return to San Diego now and let Jax take over the family business?”

My heart sunk at the thought of Rick going anywhere.

“I… don’t know.” I felt my head start to pound.

“It’s not that I want Rick to leave.” She touched my arm. “It’s just, Rick has his own business and well…”

“I get it,” I said with a slight nod.

It was strange. This entire time I’d known that Rick returning to San Diego was a possibility. After all, Nova was right. He had his own successful business to run back there, and it had been a struggle to run both businesses since he’d gotten here a few months ago.

“I just want everyone to leave so I can finally wrap my arms around him.” I changed the subject and motioned toward Rick.

“You haven’t told him how you feel yet, have you?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Have you told Jax?”

“It’s… different. We’re complicated.”

I rolled my eyes and turned toward my best friend in the whole world. The person I knew as well as I knew myself. “Man up and tell that guy how you feel, will you?”

She let out a breath and shook her head. “Not the right time.”

I sighed and then wrapped her in my arms, seeing she was hurting not only for Jax but also for the loss of James.

“They’re going to make it through this,” I said softly into her hair.

“I know,” Nova whispered, leaning into the hug for a brief second before pulling back and wiping at her eyes. “Go on. He needs you.”

I squeezed her shoulder and slipped away, navigating the crowded room until I reached Rick. The older gentleman was just wrapping up his condolences, patting Rick’s shoulder before drifting toward the bar. When we were alone, I didn’t say a word, I just slid my hand into his. His fingers instantly clamped down around mine, his grip almost desperate.

It was another two grueling hours before the crowd finally thinned out enough for us to make our escape. After Rick gave his mother and brothers a fierce, lingering goodbye, we walked out to his car. I had ridden up there with Nova, and had confirmed that I’d get a ride home with Rick so she didn’t have to wait around for me.

The weekend stretched ahead of us like a quiet, empty canvas. He drove us back to his rental house just as the sun dipped below the peaks. The second the front door clicked shut behind us, the tight, rigid posture Rick had maintained all day completely dissolved.

He dropped his car keys onto the counter, walked straight into my arms, and buried his face in the crook of my neck.

“I missed you,” he said into my hair.

I wrapped my arms around him, holding him with everything I had. His chest heaved with a silent, ragged breath, and I just held him right there in the entryway, letting him finally drop the heavy mantle of the grieving executive and oldest son. We spent the rest of the night just holding onto one another, tangled in the sheets of his bed, the silence of the house thick and protective around us.

That entire weekend became a sanctuary. The agency didn’t exist. San Diego didn’t exist. Death couldn’t touch us here. It was just the two of us. No outside world to worry about.

I spent those days listening to him. We sat out on the deck under the warm autumn sun, and for the first time, he really talked about his dad. He told me stories about when he was a kid, about how James would drag all three boys out to the construction site of their cabin and make them carry lumber just to teach them the value of a hard day’s work.

He talked about the many fishing or camping trips they’d taken as a family. He told funny stories about the trips the family had taken abroad.

He laughed, a real, genuine sound, remembering how his dad used to cheat at golf when he thought no one was looking, and how he’d roared with pride when Rick had finally launched his own marketing business in California.

But I could tell that the nights were the hardest on him.

In the dark, when the stories ran out and the room grew cold, the weight of the loss would settle back onto his chest. I stayed awake with him, my head resting on his shoulder, my hand resting over his heart. He would lie there for hours, completely still, staring up at the bedroom ceiling as the moonlight cut across the room.