CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
At four fifty-six the next morning, Eli turned off his alarm clock. Of course, he hadn’t slept, so the feat was actually rather easy.
The getting-out-of-bed-to-face-his-locomotive-wreck-of-a-life part? Yeah, not so fucking much.
Eli stared into the shadows, a heavy ache centered right in the middle of his chest. His family had been pulled in a thousand directions last night, his old man worst of all. But that family had stood by him, through screwups and brash, mouthy decisions and everything else Eli had ever lobbed at them. He owed it to them to stay here at Cross Creek. Not to leave and become something else. And definitely not to impulsively get on a plane to Brazil and spend a month writing his head off with Scarlett.
Scarlett, who’d believed in him, too.
The only difference was, she’d been wrong.
Cursing, Eli tossed the covers from his legs and plodded toward the bathroom. He was going to have to get back to normal sooner or later. Might as well rip off the Band-Aid now. Plus, maybe they’d make some headway with Marley today. Maybe today would be better.
He looked down to see Scarlett’s cherry-red toothbrush standing at attention right next to his plain blue one in the holder, and God dammit, today was going to suck worse than an industrial-grade Hoover.
Eli turned his back to the vanity for the duration of his tooth-brushing, then went to his room to get dressed. Yeah, he could’ve stood a shower, but he was only going to get dirty in his first fifteen minutes at the farm. Besides, no amount of soap and hot water was going to cover up the fact that he not only hadn’t slept but also looked like he hadn’t slept.
Of course, his brother was all too happy to point that out as soon as Eli stepped into the kitchen at Cross Creek’s main house.
“Whoa, E. I know we all had a rough night, but you look like shit run over twice.” Owen’s brows rode up to the brim of his Cross Creek baseball cap, and Hunter opened the cupboard over the coffee maker to pull down an extra-large travel mug.
“Sorry to say so, man, but Owen’s right. What happened to you?”
Eli laughed, because really, it was that or beat the hell out of something. “Well, let’s see. This look here was actually caused by a combination of factors, but an overabundance of Jim Beam and a nasty breakup were probably the two biggest. Other than the obvious secret-baby-sister thing that’s rippin’ into our family, of course.”
Hunter dropped the half-full mug to the counter with a thunk. “Ho-ly . . .”
“Shit,” Owen finished.
“Yup. That about sums it up.” Eli stepped in to take the mug from Hunter, because some coffee was better than none and he really hadn’t been kidding about the bourbon. Smartly, his brothers let him take a pair of nice, long draws from the mug before saying anything else.
Not so smartly, Owen poked the sorest part of the wound right off the bat. “What the hell happened with you and Scarlett? You guys can’t break up. You’re going to Brazil, remember?”
“She’s going to Brazil,” he corrected, reaching for the coffee carafe to go all-in with his mug. “I’m staying here at Cross Creek. Where I belong.”
Hunter looked at him, his confusion plain. “But you told us yesterday that you want to be a writer.”
“That was before we had a sister who hates our old man. Speaking of which, where are they?”
Eli hoped the question would morph into a subject change, but Owen didn’t budge by so much as a millimeter. The ass. “Both still sleeping. How come you’re not going to Brazil?”
“Pop is still sleeping?” Surprise uncoiled in Eli’s belly, waking him up along with the coffee. “It’s five thirty on a Monday morning.”
“It’s after the harvest,” Owen said. “I told him to sleep in and we’d cover him. Seriously, how come you’re not going to Brazil?”
“Because I’m staying here instead.”
But Eli’s heart wasn’t going to stop with this stupid twist-and-free-fall thing until he put the topic to rest once and for all, so he turned toward his brothers and said, “Look. The journalism thing was just an impulsive mistake. Slapping together a handful of articles for Cross Creek is in a whole different universe than traveling around the globe for the job, and the Brazil assignment got pushed from a week to a month.”
Hunter’s shoulders hitched in surprise beneath his thick canvas jacket, and Owen’s wide-eyed expression matched. “Okay,” Hunter finally said. “So a month is a bit longer than you were expecting. But—”
“No buts.” God, Eli was so sick of this. He just wanted to get back to the farm and get on with his life. “The whole thing was a shit idea to begin with. You guys need me here. I owe it to Pop to stay here. And Scarlett didn’t get that, so”—he pulled a breath into his ridiculous, traitorous lungs—“we broke up.”
“Eli,” Owen started, but apparently Eli wasn’t done in the Big-Reveal department.
“I don’t remember Mom.”
Eli heard the words only after they’d launched, and Christ, emotions before breakfast had to be a bad idea.
“What?” Hunter asked, not unkindly. “What do you mean, you don’t remember Mom?”
“I don’t remember her at all,” Eli confessed, guilt crowding his chest and his words. “I listen to you guys talk about her, and I try so hard, but . . . I can’t remember. I should remember her, right?” He looked at Owen. “I should remember something. But I don’t, and I just . . .”
“She used to read you bedtime stories in that big ol’ rocking chair that’s in Pop’s room. You got too big for her lap after a while, but you asked her every night, and she never told you no,” Owen said quietly, shocking Eli into stillness.
“And she used to mash up your peas and mix ’em in with your mashed potatoes to get you to eat them,” Hunter added.
“That’s disgusting,” Eli said, but he laughed anyway.
“Yeah, but you bought it.” Hunter grinned. “Hook, line, and veggies.”
Owen laughed, too. “God, I’d forgotten all about that, but you sure did.”
Surprise plucked a path up Eli’s spine. “You don’t remember everything?”
“Of course not,” Owen said, his expression soft yet serious. “And just because you don’t remember what we do doesn’t mean you’re any less of her son, E.”
“It’s not that I don’t remember what you do. I don’t remember anything.” Guilt pulsed in Eli’s gut, but Hunter shook his head to cancel it out.
“You still loved her, Eli. Owen and I remember that. Just because you can’t remember her doesn’t mean you didn’t love her, or that you’re any less her son than the rest of us.”
He blinked in surprise. “I guess . . . I never really thought about it that way.”
“You should probably start,” said Owen, reaching out to place a quick, firm squeeze on Eli’s shoulder. “You’re part of this family no matter what.”
“I know.” Eli swallowed back the emotion threatening to spill out of him. “We have to stick together now more than ever.”
Hunter glanced at Owen, the exchange done before Eli could unravel its meaning. “This thing with Marley will be tough, and it’s gonna take some time, but we’re gonna get through it. Pop will get through it. Even if you go to Brazil, and even if you become a travel journalist.”
The words knocked into him with palpable force, but no. Eli wasn’t going down this road. This was over. Said. Done. “I appreciate the sentiment, you guys. I really do. But Scarlett’s leaving Millhaven later today as planned, and I’m not going with her.”
“Eli—”
“If it’s cool with you, I’d really like to just drop it and get to work.”
For a second, Eli was sure his brothers would argue. But then Hunter said, “Okay. Just let us know if you change your mind.”
“Thanks, but I won’t.”
Despite all that effort, as Eli kicked his Red Wings into motion and headed for the hayloft, his heart did the stupid twist-and-free-fall thing anyway.
Six hours later, Eli was filthy, exhausted, and still trying to ignore the giant hole in his chest. He might as well be patching the thing with duct tape and glue for all the good work was doing, and dammit, there had to be a better way to get past this and move on.
Don’t lose this chance to be who you are . . . you’re good enough to be part of your family even if you love something else . . .
Right. Probably, he should’ve stuck with the bourbon.
Tugging the dust-covered work gloves from his hands, Eli headed toward the main house. The sun told him lunchtime was awful close, and even though he had zero appetite, he couldn’t keep working if he didn’t fuel up. And if he didn’t keep working, he’d think about Scarlett, who had almost certainly packed her little yellow convertible to the gills and hightailed it out of town by now.
So, yeah. He’d eat a big fat sawdust sandwich if he had to. It was better than the alternative.
Eli toed out of his boots, abandoning them by the welcome mat. He was two steps inside the main house when Lucy ambled over for a hello, and he bent down to give her a good scratch behind the ears.
“Hey, pretty girl. Where’s Pop? You keepin’ him company today?”
Lucy trotted to the living room at the words. Concern rolled through Eli’s gut, only dissipating halfway when he found his father sitting on the living room sofa, staring out the lace-curtained window.
“Hey,” Eli said softly, not wanting to startle the man. He already looked like he’d been through the wringer, his jaw unshaven and twin shadows darkening the space below his eyes.
But his father looked up, scraping together the slightest of smiles. “Ah. Just the person I wanted to see.”
Okay, so not what he’d expected. “Me?” Eli asked.
“Yes, you. Your brothers tell me you’ve decided not to take this trip of yours.”
Eli exhaled, hard and fast. Of course they had. Gabby bastards. “You don’t need to be worrying about that right now.”
His old man’s smile lingered for a few seconds longer. “I’m sure one day when you have children of your own, you’ll understand this better, but you’re my son. No matter what’s doin’ in my own world, I’m gonna worry over you. That’s just the way of it.”
“I’m sure you’re worried over Marley, too,” Eli said, but his father shook his head.
“That job’s bigger than just today, I’m afraid. So right now, you’re stuck with my concern.”
Eli’s gut tightened before dropping toward the floorboards. “Not sure there’s anything for you to worry about with me, Pop. I decided to stay here at Cross Creek. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is when you’re passin’ on your dream in order to do it,” his father said, and oh hell, Eli really wasn’t going to make it through this conversation twice in one day.
“I’m not passing on anything,” he argued, but his father shocked him with a wistful smile.
“You’re just like your mother. Did you know that?”
For a second, Eli froze, unable to even speak. Finally, he asked, “Do you mean because I’m being stubborn?”
His old man’s smile grew. “Ah, that, too. But I meant you lovin’ to read and write.”
“Mom loved to write?” Eli’s heart started to pound. Could he really have something so fundamental in common with the mother he couldn’t even remember?
“She did,” his father confirmed. “Your momma was such a free spirit. It was one of the things I loved about her most.”
His eyes crinkled slightly at the edges, signaling such a sweet memory that Eli didn’t dare interrupt him. “She read darn near everything she could get her hands on. Kept a journal, too. Oh, she was always scribbling in that thing. Said she was just collectin’ her thoughts, but the truth is, I think she had a bit of curiosity about bigger things. Just like you.”
“I never knew she liked to write,” Eli said, and his father nodded.
“That she did. You’re so much more like her than you know. And I know she’d want you to follow your heart. No matter where it leads you.”
Just like that, Eli dropped back to reality with a hard snap. “Going to Brazil was a bad idea. I don’t belong there.”
“And what about that girl of yours, hmm? What does she think?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Eli registered the gravel in the words only after they’d disappeared into silence. But none of this rift with Scarlett was his old man’s fault, so he eased up on his tone to add, “What I mean is, that’s done. We had a, ah, difference of opinion, and she’s going to São Paulo and I’m not, so yeah. It doesn’t matter.”
“Actually, I think it does.” His father looked pointedly at the side table over by the window, and wait . . .
“Where did all these pictures come from?” Damn, there had to be a dozen of them at least.
One salt-and-pepper brow rose. “Scarlett printed them up to thank us for lettin’ her stay at Cross Creek for the month.”
The hole in Eli’s chest grew another inch. Christ, that was so something Scarlett would do. Had done. “She got everyone in the family.” There was even a shot of him with Clarabelle, and . . . his lungs squeezed. The picture of his old man with his mom.
“Seems she’s pretty smart. You sure she’s not right about this disagreement you two had last night?”
Of course, his father could read between the lines enough to know what had been the source of their blowout. “I’m not sure it’s that easy,” Eli said, but his old man just smiled.
“Ah, but I’m certain it’s not that hard. I know you feel loyalty to this family, and that means more to me than you’ll ever know. But you’re overdue to be who ya are, son. No matter what’s goin’ on here at Cross Creek, and no matter how long you have to be gone to do it.”
Eli’s heart pounded faster in a last-ditch defensive maneuver. “Okay, but everything with Marley—”
“Will be here when you get back,” his father promised. “Do you want to be a writer, Eli?”
He nodded. He couldn’t cover up the truth. Not anymore. “Yeah.”
“And do you love Scarlett?”
“Yes, sir. I do,” Eli said without hesitation, realizing the gravity of the words as he spoke.
He loved her. He loved Scarlett. He loved her too-loud laugh and the fact that she hugged chickens and every brash, bold, in-your-face part of her that had pushed him to be who he was, even when he’d tried his best to fight it.
And now she was gone.
Eli bit out a curse, dropping his chin to his chest. But then he caught sight of the picture frames, each one glinting in the sunlight, and an idea sparked in his head, wild and insistent.
“Pop, can you call Owen and Hunter and ask them to come up here as fast as they can? I’ve got to do something, but I need all the help I can get.”