Chapter Twelve

Be A Man

Garrett

“A fence?” Brand asks, eyes lit up.

“Yep,” I answer, attaching the post hole digger to the tractor with Brand standing inches from me.

“Dad’s building a fence, too,” he says, kicking a stone. His expression is different. He looks perplexed.

“What’s up, Brand?” I ask.

“Well...” He stops and cocks his little head to the side. “If Dad is building a fence, who’s gonna run our company? Grandma says he holds it altogether. What does that mean?”

“Gage works hard. Has for a long time.” I set down the wrench and wipe my hands off on my jeans. “Falcon Construction will be fine. Grandma will be fine.”

“How do you know?” He holds his hands palm up and shrugs his shoulders.

“Because, Brandon Falcon”—I poke him in the belly and he laughs—”and Garrett Falcon are going to take over the fence building.”

“We are?” he asks.

I wink. “We sure are.”

I scoop him up and put him up on the tractor’s platform, then climb up behind him. I maneuver around and sit in the seat of the John Deere, grab him, and sit him on my lap.

“Starting now.” I wink again.

“Starting now.” He tries to wink, but blinks instead.

We spend an hour in the field, spray painting where holes will be dug. We count off my steps to twenty, and then we mark them.

I notice he looks a little pink. “You okay?”

“Yep.” He grins.

“You hot?” I reach out and feel his head.

He nods. “The sun.”

I pull my ballcap off and put it on his head to shield his face from the sun.

“Thanks, Uncle Garrett.”

Uncle Garrett.

“No problem.”

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and look to see who it is.

“They’re all in the house. Gonna make jam with Mags. Gage wants you to come help.”

“Are you gonna stay out here?”

I nod. “Gotta get this fence built because I need a few horses around here.”

“Horses? Here?”

I nod. “You like horses?”

“I love them. Mom always reads me stories about cowboys. Always.”

Interesting, I think.

“First it was baby books.” He scrunches up his face. “Then she got Black Beauty. I like that one best.”

My phone vibrates again, and I look down. It’s Gage.

I don’t read the text. I shove it in my pocket, knowing he wants Brand at the house.

“Maybe someday you can read it to me?” I grab the paint can and X the last spot. “For now, we gotta get you back to make jam.”

“I wanna stay with you. I wanna help so we can get a horse.” His smile is big.

I want you, too, bud.

“I’m gonna go in and see if Mags needs any help. I’ll come back to this later.”

I nod to the tractor, and he climbs on, him before me.

***

We walk in to find country music playing on the surround sound. I look around the kitchen, recognizing the song is from Lady Antebellum.

Brand watches as I wipe my feet on the mat, and then does the same thing.

“Think we should take them off?” I nod toward our shoes. “Been playing in the dirt.”

“Probably a good idea,” he says, trying to toe off his little work boots. “Ugh. Mom ties these things too tight.”

I squat and untie the double-knot and he says, “Thanks.”

“No problem, bud.” I untie mine now.

“Gonna go use the bathroom and wash my hands.” I wink at him.

“We can wash in the kitchen.”

“How about you do it in there? I’ll hit the bathroom.”

He seems good with that, so he nods then runs toward the sink.

I walk toward the bathroom and see the back of Juliana. She has a phone to her ear, running one hand through her hair, and then drops it to her side and makes a fist. She then shoves the phone into the pocket of her tan shorts, and then both hands are in her hair, her shoulders slouched.

She’s upset. Understandable, since it’s a fucking mess here. She’s certainly had more time than I have to prepare for it...kind of.

Jesus, what a fucking mess. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. When I open them, she’s looking at me.

Eyes wild, she’s scared.

Eyes desperate, almost pleading for help.

And just like that, eyes angry, and I’m out.

Closing the door behind me, I look in the mirror. My hair’s a fucking mess, my beard is all sorts of fucked up, and what’s exposed of my face is dirty. I look like hell. How fucking ironic is that? Seven years ago, it was her who looked like hell, and now the fucking roles have reversed.

Seven years ago. Christ, it’s been a fuck of a long time, yet I have relived it, that moment, the moment I saw her, every fucking day. Why? Because every-fucking-thing changed.

I wash my face and hands as best I can in the sink. Then I take a piss, wash my hands again, and walk out the door. I glance at the windows and see she’s still standing there, leaning against the railing. As if she knows I’m watching, she looks at me. I think of Brandon and wave for her to come in.

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head from side to side.

It pisses me off, so I walk over to the door, open it, and walk out, closing the door behind me.

“You were on your fucking knees last night for a chance to stay here. What the fuck’s your deal?”

She shakes her head from side to side. “You’d never understand.”

“Is that so?”

Her face reddens, and she knots her hands in front of her, her eyes darting around, looking everywhere except at me. “You know, I have no idea.” She walks past me and inside.

I watch as she walks into the kitchen. Then I walk into the house, taking my damn time as I walk into the kitchen.

She stands near Mags, who pats her hand then hands her a bowl of berries.

I stand back, looking around at a very familiar scene, yet it’s not. Not anymore.

I try to shake off the agitation and focus on Brand, who’s sitting on his knees on the kitchen stool, on the opposite side of Mags.

Mags looks back at me and smiles softly.

I nod and try to give a smile back as I watch them all working together.

“I love you,” I hear Gage say and look over at him.

Phoenix smiles. “You, too.”

Mags laughs, and Brand jumps off the stool and walks over to Gage’s side. Gage looks down at him.

“Cool.” Brand smiles.

Gage winks. “Cool.” Then he looks at me and nods.

I give him a quick nod back and decide I can’t stay in this room anymore. I got shit to do.

***

The sun is setting and I am pounding the last pole into the ground when I see Gage walking out toward me, alone. I dump the bag of cement into the hole and shovel in some dirt on top of it as I wait for him to get to me.

He nods, and I nod back.

“Not into making jam?” He pulls a tall blade of grass out of the ground and sticks it in his mouth.

“You know what they say about too many cooks in the kitchen, right?” I joke.

He leans against the tractor wheel. “You should have been one of them.”

“Pretty crowded in there.” I grab the empty cement bag and shove it in with the others.

“You wanted her here,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, well, she’s Brandon’s mother.” I throw the bag holding all the empties up onto the tractor.

“When she chooses to be,” he snarls.

I nod. “What do you know about your ex-wife, Gage?”

“I know she likes to shop, read magazines, and she’s a cold and heartless bitch.”

“Before. What do you know about where she came from, what she’s been through?”

“That her parents died in a house fire.”

“After she ran away from home because she was...mistreated.”

He looks at me like he wants to tell me he doesn’t give a fuck. He looks at me like he knows he shouldn’t. Then, well, then he’s pissed.

“After what she did, do you really think I’m gonna give a fuck?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “She isn’t the only one who lied, Gage.”

His stance stiffens. “You’re my brother.”

“She’s Brandon’s mother.”

He says not a fucking thing, and I can’t even imagine what the hell he’s thinking. Will this even work? How the fuck will it?

“I’m thinking this may have been a bad idea. I fucked up. I did. But you fucking her that night, that was some shit, too.”

He cocks his head to the side. “She was just some chick, right? Just a piece of ass?” When I don’t answer, he sighs. “How long were you with her?”

“Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change the situation at all,” I answer, itching to get the fuck out of this situation, conversation; escape into a fucking pile of coke, a bottle of pills...

“Jesus, Garrett.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Don’t fucking push me, Gage. I am fighting flight right now,” I admit.

“After spending time with him, you wanna fucking run?” He clenches his fists at his sides.

I nod then walk to the tractor and climb up. “Wanna run for him. Give him a fucking chance. How the hell will he understand this shit?”

“You stay for me then, you fucker. You stay because she’s living with some doctor. She’s getting her shit in order, ducks in line. You stay for me because, if you leave, she can pull a real cunt move and I could lose him.” He pokes himself in the chest. “You stay because you fucking owe me that.”

I swallow down the anger I feel because of his hurt, hurt I helped create, and I nod.

“How fucking long were you with her, dammit?” he demands.

“Long enough to love her,” I answer honestly.

“You got to be kidding me. That bitch can’t be loved,” he snaps.

I climb down off the tractor and walk over until I am toe-to-toe with my brother. “She can, and she can give it, too. She loves that little boy, same as you.”

“Her deception says she doesn’t.”

“Then mine says the same.”

“You went through a lot of shit; it’s understandable. She’s a gold-digging wh—”

“She went through so much fucking more. Never asked me for a fucking thing, but to man-up, and I fucking ran.” I start to turn then stop. “No, I didn’t fucking run. I said some shit while fucked up, slept it off, came out, and the two of you—”

“I had no fucking clue!” he screams. “You could have fucking told me!”

“No, Gage. No, I couldn’t. She saw in me everything I ever wanted to be. She saw in me a man, and not an abused boy. Hell, she doesn’t even know.”

“No excuse for—”

“She knew how I felt about you. She knew I thought your need to be a fucking hero was fucked up. She picked you to raise Brandon because she knew you could. Doesn’t make it right, but all of us had a part in this fucking mess.”

“And you wanna run so you don’t have to face it?” He fists his hands again.

“I’m not fucking running. But this needs to be really thought-out, because we all fuck up when it’s off the cuff. All three of us played a part. He chose none of it. I don’t wanna fuck him up, Gage. I can’t fuck him up.”

I turn and climb back up on the tractor and look back at him. “You wanna ride up?”

“No. But you be fucking present.”

I nod. “Will do.”

***

Been the same for a week. Jam’s being made, fishing’s being done, fence is going up, Brand is fucking amazing, and Juliana sneaks away to chat, or should I say, seems to be fighting on the phone.

Tonight, like the last three, we are sitting at the picnic table down by the lake, eating dinner, and I can’t help looking at her. She’s sitting on the other side of Mags, with space enough between them to be noticeable. She’s not wanted here. Hell, even Brand seems to act mildly annoyed by her. She’s pushing her food around, not eating. I almost feel bad for her, almost.

She’s living with a doctor. Living with someone. Someone she plans to raise Brandon with.

Fuck that.

I watch Brandon with Grayson. He’s been hanging with him a lot, just as much, if not more than, with me. Only right this moment does it rub me the wrong fucking way.

He’s Uncle Gray. I’m Uncle Garrett.

I finish my chicken and stand up. Then I scrape off the plate in the trash and set the plate and fork in the tin bucket that will be brought up to the house to run the dishes through the dishwasher.

As I start to walk up the dirt road, Mags says my name.

I pull my ballcap down, trying to hide my eyes. No one needs to know my fucking mood is foul.