“I feel like such a prick. The one time you really need me, and I turn you away.” My brother’s voice warms me with his sincerity and makes me snuggle deeper into my spot on the couch.
“You didn’t turn me away. You have twin baby girls in a two-bedroom house. I think you have your hands full as it is. Besides, this is more than fine. I needed somewhere to crash long enough to give me a breather, get my work done, and clear my head before I head back and figure shit out. If I were at your house, I’d probably be so distracted playing auntie that I’d never work.”
“I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but I still feel helpless. I’m your big brother. Between you taking the burden with Mom—”
“You have the twins. The last thing you need to be thinking about is Mom and—”
“And now this with Jett—”
“I’ll be fine, Damon.”
“I still feel like I should be doing something. More. I don’t know.”
“You did do something. More,” I repeat with humor in my voice to try and put him at ease that I’ll be okay. That it will all be okay. “You found me exactly what I needed. A place to stay where I could tuck my tail between my legs and lick my wounds for a bit.”
“Yeah, but it’s four hours away from me here in Lake Tahoe.” His guilt tinges the edges of his tone.
“And I’m normally nine hours away from you when I’m in Los Angeles . . . so think of it as me moving closer for a bit,” I tease. “Look, Damon, I appreciate all your help. I was upset, in a hurry to leave, and you helped me out by thinking of somewhere I could go and get my head—and heart—straightened out without living in a hotel for months on end. I’m thinking of it as a personal Airbnb.”
“With a firefighter.” And there it is. The one thing he neglected to mention when he called and told me about the old friend he had who lived away from my beaten path. Said friend also happened to have an extra room, an abundance of quiet at his house, and would leave me be so I could work.
A firefighter. Faded memories of our dad flicker through my mind. Ones I’d rather forget. Ones that have left me always waiting for the man I’m with to walk out the door one day and never come back, because his love for his job, his friends, his freedom, his whatever-the-hell excuse is more important than his family.
“It’s fine, Damon. I’m okay with it.” Except for every time the damn scanner goes off I’m left thinking of our mother. How she left the thing on for months after he left us, hoping to hear his voice . . . making her feel close to him even though he didn’t want anything to do with us. And then how in the absence of the scanner came the alcohol. “I am. I promise.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
“Believe me.” My smile pulls tight even though he can’t see it.
“How are you holding up otherwise? I mean, it all happened so fast, it has to be hard.”
“It sucks. It stings . . . but that’s Jett.” And I wish everyone would stop asking that because it does more than suck. It’s a dagger in the heart.
“Don’t I know it.”
“Look, I don’t need you to start in on me about him.”
“I was right, wasn’t I?” And that’s why I didn’t want to stay with him even if he had the extra room.
“You aren’t making me feel any better. It’s my heart that was hurt, so at this point, does it matter if you were right or not?”
Silence eats up the discord between us. “You’re right. I’m sorry . . . I know you still love him, and I know you still have to work with him, so please promise me you won’t fall for his shit again.”
I think of Grady’s comment about the heart versus the head and grit my teeth, hating that he’s pegging me as the helpless female. “My life. My choices.” There’s a bite to my tone he doesn’t deserve, and yet, it’s still there.
“I know . . . I just . . .”
“I’m not sixteen anymore, Damon. Heartbreak is a thing, and it’s part of life. You can’t protect me from it or go around punching guys to prevent it.”
“You know I would if I could.” There’s softness in his tone. A resignation that his defiant little sister is going to do what she wants regardless of his big brotherly warnings against it. “Are you getting settled in?”
“Were you going to warn me that Grady is a manwhore or is that part of the man code not to?”
“Grady is Grady.” I can see him shrugging as he opens his mouth and closes it to try to make up a better excuse even though he knows it won’t work with me. “He’s a good guy. I wouldn’t have let you stay there if he wasn’t. Wait . . . tell me he isn’t being a dick?”
“No.” I think of everything I’ve learned about him so far. The funny. The sweet. The perpetually cheerful. The total guy part. “He’s just unexpected.”
“He’s had a rough go of it lately, so let me know if he’s being an ass, and I’ll put him in his place.”
“What do you mean he’s had a rough go of it?”
“Almost two years ago he . . . you know what, never mind. It isn’t anything other than knowing he’s not your type, and he’s not the staying kind because of it. It makes me breathe easier as a big brother, knowing nothing will be happening between the two of you.”
“I’m a grown woman, Damon. I’m more than capable of deciding whom I do or don’t sleep with . . . so tell me again, what’s going on with him?”
“Nothing. Forget I said anything.”
But I don’t buy it. I find it hard to believe the man who hasn’t been anything but happy and welcoming is having a hard time.
I hear cries beginning in the background and smile when I think of my brother being a dad—to twins no less.
“I’ve got to go . . . Tessa is starting up.”
“Give her a kiss for me.”
“Hey, Dyl? I know you like to be left alone while you work, which is why I figured Grady’s place would be perfect for you, but don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t.”
I end the call and wander through the house aimlessly. It’s decorated in warm colors with the sparseness that bespeaks of a single male living here. There are touches of his personality here and there in pictures of who I can assume by resemblance are his family or his brothers at the fire station, but it’s missing that feminine touch. There are rugs on the hardwood floor but there are no random tchotchkes cluttering the space. No throws on the back of the couch to add a touch of color. No candles half-burned on holders.
And yet while it is void of those little touches, Grady’s house still screams comfort to me. It feels like a place anyone can walk into and feel at ease.
I run my hand along the back of the brown leather couch as the squelch of the scanner becomes background noise I don’t think I’ll ever quite be comfortable with.
It’s the view that pulls me to the kitchen window. Past the fenced-in backyard where the half-built shed is on one side of the yard and a small covered patio with a fireplace is on the other. There are acres and acres of fields with grapevines growing. Their rows line the hills and their stakes make an optical illusion I stare at for some time, lost until the parachutes in the far distance near where I saw the airport on my drive into town catch my attention. Then I notice the space. Wide-open space without high-rises, or neighbors nearby, or the constant sounds of the city.
It’s beautiful. It’s foreign.
I stare as the tears burn my eyes and the emotions I continue to bury try to fight their way to the surface.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I yelp when something wet and warm hits the back of my leg.
What the hell?
When I whip around, I’m met with the ugliest, cutest thing I have ever seen. All fifty-or-so pounds of her.
The pig is whitish-pink with black spots. She has a fine layer of wiry hair coating her skin, and her pink snout is wet and quivering as she sniffs the air.
I know what I’m seeing, but it actually takes me a few seconds to really believe that I’m standing in Grady’s kitchen having a staring contest with a pig.
“And who, may I ask, are you?”
She shifts her feet, but her eyes stay fast on mine.
“Do you have a name?” I look for a collar, but then realize how stupid that sounds to be treating a pig like a dog . . . and yet, there is a pig in front of me. One that is very comfortable in . . . I bend over to check out the pig’s underside just to be sure of her gender . . . her surroundings.
Her tail twitches some, and I laugh. I’ve resorted to speaking to a pig. Maybe I’m going crazy.
“Well, I’m going to eat some breakfast,” I say. “No worries though. It isn’t bacon. Just cereal.”
Yep. Definitely crazy.
It’s when I set the phone on the counter behind me that I see the handwritten note.
Dylan,
Don’t be alarmed by Petunia. I forgot to warn you about her, but the vet dropped her off this morning. She’s perfectly harmless . . . mostly. She has a doggy door so no need to take her out.
Grady
I stare at the note for a few seconds as Petunia grunts from the floor.
“Well, Petunia . . . it’s just you and me today.”