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We all stare at him, especially Mav, who is close to Elena.
“She’s…pregnant?” Mav’s smile is as big as the mountains.
Duke grins. “Yeah. We found out this morning. Feels fucking surreal.”
Mav hugs him, and there are some slaps and whistles and…more drinking.
“Look, man, you came back.” This comes from Cade. “You came back, and you’re working to make things right. That’s about all you can do.”
“Why did you come back?” Hunt muses.
I don’t have to think about this.
“Because I’m in love with her.” I deal. “And because what I did—that’s damage I caused, and I don’t….” I shake my head. “I’ve spent eleven years walking away from things and not looking back. I’ve been very comfortable with that.”
I flip the last three cards on the table. “I can’t do it this time. I’ve tried. I spent a month in my apartment in New York, and I couldn’t find the part of myself that doesn’t care.”
“Hey, you recovered in record time,” Kaz assures me. “I’ve been lying to Bree for over a decade.”
“Yeah, it took me ten years to get my shit together with Elena,” Duke agrees.
I roll my neck, working the tension out of my shoulders. “She kneed me in the nuts last night. On her porch. I went down on the railing.”
Cade makes a sound that’s both a wince and a laugh.
“Good for her.” Mav nods appreciatively.
“I thought so, too. I deserved it.”
Duke laughs. “What did you do?”
“Held the railing. Asked if she felt better. She said marginally. Then she told me to go away.”
“And?” Hunt wants to know.
“I went away.” I pick up my cards. “But I didn’t leave town.”
“Small blind.” Duke drops chips on the table. “You know, Elena never did that, and I was a worse asshole than you could ever be.
Hunt follows with the big blind. “Elena is too soft on you.”
“Hey, you and my baby sister have been sniffing around each other for a long while…so I don’t think you should be commenting on how other men handle their women,” Mav remarks.
Hunt glares at him. “Joy is a friend.”
“Yeah, sure, and I’m Santa Fucking Claus,” Mav quips.
Outside, the ranch hands are loud at the bar. The fryer oil, cigarette ghost, and beer-soaked wood hold us in.
Nobody wins the sixth hand outright—it splits three ways on a bizarre run of identical pairs—and the laughter about it is the first unguarded one of the evening, and it lasts longer than it should. By the end of it we are just men at a table in a dive bar, and the weight is still there, but it has been witnessed, which is its own kind of surcease.
CHAPTER 41
mason
Duke’s phone buzzes at eleven thirty. He grins when he sees the message.
“Cade, Mason…you need to go pick up your women. They’re drunk as skunks.”
