by A. J. Pine
Sam nodded. “I’m thinking you’re right. Come on. I’ll help you clean up, drink your troubles away, and then I’m driving. You can pick your truck up in the morning.”
Ben set his coffee down and held up both hands in surrender. “You’re not going to get any argument out of me.”
Sam grinned. “Good.” Then he produced two metal flasks from an inside pocket of his coat and held them out to his brother. “Courtesy of Casey at Midtown. You got your choice of bourbon or bourbon,” he said.
Ben snagged the flask in his brother’s right hand. “I think I’ll have the bourbon.” Then he shook the bottle slightly. “How much is in here anyway?” This flask was much healthier in size than others he’d seen before.
Sam gently knocked the bottom of his flask against Ben’s. “Enough that you might need the morning off tomorrow. Good thing it’s a national holiday. Welcome to your pre-birthday celebration, little brother.”
The two men sat on the plywood floor, their breath clouding before them. Sam held up his flask to take another swig, his eyes growing wide.
“Whoops,” he said, shaking it around and listening intently. “I just about finished it. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” And then he burped. “Looks like we’re both coming back for our trucks in the morning.”
Ben laughed and took another sip of his drink, then fell softly onto his back, staring up at the not-yet-drywalled ceiling.
“I know you think I’m full of it, but I had goals for turning thirty.” His laugh turned bitter. “I was supposed to have more time to get it right. With Dad, I mean. I was going to be better. I could have been better.”
Sam sighed, then slowly lowered himself next to his brother.
Ben closed his eyes for a few seconds, remembering nights as a kid in their backyard in Oak Bluff—he, Sam, and their parents lying on their backs and staring up at the sky waiting for a meteor shower. Everything was perfect. The future was nothing but possibilities. Now he felt like he’d missed his opening. Or worse—that he’d had it and blown his shot.
“What do you think Dad would have done?” Sam started. “A man like him who prided himself on his achievements, on being self-made, on building a life for himself and his family. What do you think he would have done if he knew in his twenties that before he turned fifty his brain was going to rebel against him and continue to do so until he stopped trusting his wife or forgot that his sons were grown?”
Ben blew out a long, cloudy breath, watching the condensation disappear over his head.
“That would have been tough for him to swallow.” He shrugged. “He’d have probably done something to convince himself he was stronger than the disease. And because he was a Callahan, that thing might have been a little selfish. Maybe reckless.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his brother nod.
“You mean like cheating on Mom?” Sam asked. When Ben didn’t respond, his brother kept going. “I’m not justifying what he did, but think about it. His memory was starting to play tricks on him, and he had no explanation for it. He acted out like you did. Like I did. I think about how scared I was for so many years, and I knew what I might be up against. He had no idea. And once he did, Mom was long gone.” Sam pulled himself to sitting again, then climbed to his feet, not without a struggle. “There’s never going to be enough time, so stop wallowing and get on with it. Do something with the time you still have.”
Ben groaned. “If I wasn’t so happy on this cold-as-hell floor, I’d deck you.”
Sam laughed. “No, you wouldn’t.”
Ben groaned again. “You’re right. I’ve seen you at the speed bag. You’d probably kick my ass, but I would hold my own long enough to show you that there’s a damned difference between wallowing and anger.”
Sam kicked Ben’s boot with his own. “Get up. I have another present for you, which may or may not be out of line and make you want to deck me anyway.” He chuckled. “Tell you what. If my gift insults you, I’ll give you one free swing and a head start after you take it.”
Ben pushed himself up on his elbows, then to sitting. He could hold his liquor just fine, but judging from the fact that Sam looked like two Sams for a brief moment before his vision cleared, it probably wasn’t the best time for a pissing contest he knew he wouldn’t win. Finally, he made it to his feet.
“Can I reserve the right for the hit-and-run offer at a later date should I find it necessary?” he asked with a grin.
Sam reached into his coat pocket again and retrieved a long white envelope that was folded in half.
“A piece of paper?” Ben said with mock enthusiasm. “You shouldn’t have.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Just don’t rip it in half opening it, okay?”
Ben made a show of slowly, gently, separating the envelope’s seal, so much so that Sam finally grabbed it from him and finished the job.
“You always were a pain in the ass, you know?” his brother said, handing it back to him with the contents still inside.
Ben grinned. “I’m pretty sure most people call it charm.” But when he pulled out what was in the envelope, his smile faded. “What the hell is this?” he asked, looking at the cashier’s check.
Sam cleared his throat. “It’s your asking price for the house, which is far below market value, by the way. And a little extra to—”
“I don’t understand,” Ben interrupted, his throat tight. “You don’t have this kind of money. We don’t have this kind of money.”
His brother nodded. “Mom does. I mean, she and Dad did. The divorce settlement combined with his life insurance payout…He never took her off as sole beneficiary. This is her investment in the ranch.”
Ben’s head was spinning. It still wasn’t computing. He wasn’t sure if it was the bourbon or the shock or a combination of both.
“Mom wants to live in a four-bedroom home by herself?” he asked.
Sam laughed. “No. She doesn’t. But she wants to kick me and Delaney out of the apartment the second this place is done, which is going to have to be sooner rather than later. Turns out we’ve got more than a wedding to plan. Delaney’s pregnant.”
Ben’s eyes widened, and Sam continued.
“Before you say anything, let me lay it all out on the table. The offer to throw an upper cut my way still stands.” Sam glanced around the unfinished house that—for a while—Ben thought might be his home. “Colt is going to help, as are Carter and a few other guys from the station. The extra bit is me and Colt buying you out.” Sam jutted out his chin. “Go ahead. Take a swing.”
Ben stared at the check, then up at his brother, then stared at the check again.
What the hell was Sam doing? Ben was committing to this life they’d built. He was going to be the brother, son, and friend he should have been all along.
“Are you firing me?” he asked, thinking a lot more seriously about taking that swing.
“Everything we’ve done since we were barely old enough to do so has been my idea,” Sam said. “Fixing up homes to put some extra money away, then turning a side hustle into an actual business. That was all me. The ranch?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Hell, the ranch? I dove headfirst into that one as soon as we found the facility for Dad, and then I roped you and Colt in for the ride. Maybe it’s what you wanted. Maybe it wasn’t. But I kind of get the feeling you’ve been along for the ride this whole time because it’s been the easy way out, and maybe it’s time for you to figure it out the hard way.”
Ben opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He paced the unfinished floor of what would one day be a living room filled with his brother and Delaney and their unborn child, and he—he needed to do something. To feel something. To hit something.
Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Stop thinking.
He spun on his brother and threw a left hook at his brother’s jaw, but Sam pivoted out of the way and defended himself with a jab straight to Ben’s gut.
Ben doubled over and went down on one knee.
“What the hell was that?” he asked. “I thought I had a free shot!”
Sam doubled over, too—laughing. “It’s a reflex. I can’t help it. And to be honest, I didn’t think you’d actually hit me.” He laid a hand on his brother’s back. “Are you okay, or are you going to lose your liquor?”
Ben struggled to his feet, one hand over his abdomen and the other still clutching the check.
“I’m not losing anything,” he said, straightening. “Except my stake in the ranch, I guess.”
Sam threw his hands in the air. “Tear up the damned check, Ben. If that’s what you want. But I’ll tell you this much. Whether I’m in that little apartment or in this house or wherever Delaney and I end up raising our family, it’s going to be home because she’s there and Scout’s there and that stupid three-legged cat I’ll never admit in public is my little buddy. I’d have stayed in Vegas and told you and Colt to figure out the rest if she wouldn’t have come back with me.”
Ben let out a bitter laugh. “That’s a crock if I ever heard one. You’d have never left the ranch. Or Dad.”
“Fine,” Sam said. “But I had the luxury of falling for a woman who loves this place as much as she loves me. Maybe even more than she loves me. I’m not asking, just to be safe. The point is, you can be a rancher anywhere if that’s what you really want. There’s nothing keeping you here.”
Ben’s breath caught in his throat. “And Mom?”
“She’s exactly where she wants to be. What do you want?”
Even if he had been along for the ride, Ben loved the ranch. And Meadow Valley. But the thing was, he could be a rancher anywhere he could find a ranch. And this didn’t have to be good-bye for good. Just for now. Because if anyone asked him, Ben would tell them that there was one thing—one person—he loved more than everything he had here.
Ben swallowed. “To sober up and get my ass on the first plane to New York.”
“Good. You’ve got just enough time to do it.” Sam laughed and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “I booked you on the red-eye. You leave at midnight.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Charlotte knew it was pointless and maybe a little sad to hang holiday lights on New Year’s Eve, but when she’d gotten off the subway yesterday evening after work, she couldn’t help but notice the Walgreens window advertisement about decorations being half off. Somehow that compelled her to march inside, buy too many boxes of various strings of lights, and take them home to turn her apartment into something that now resembled a cross between an overzealous teen’s bedroom décor and the Griswold house at Christmastime.
Icicle lights dressed the few windows she had while colored lights were tacked to the ceiling and ran down the walls of her living room/dining room. It was, in a word, hideous.
But it reminded her of her grandmother’s inn. Of drinking Irish coffee with Delaney and Ivy. And of a certain cowboy she was never supposed to miss once she left Meadow Valley.
She poured herself a glass of red wine and stuck a frozen meal for one in the microwave.
It’s just a drop in dopamine levels, she reminded herself. Missing someone was simply a chemical reaction. It was like going through withdrawal from a drug. Once her body chemistry regulated, she’d be fine.
Never mind that at least four times in the past two weeks, she’d googled “How long does it take to get over a breakup?” and had read posts on everything from personal blogs, to Cosmo, to Bustle, finding—surprisingly—that they all pretty much agreed that the timeframe was somewhere around three months.
Except she and Ben hadn’t actually broken up. Until then meant someday. Maybe. When the timing was right. Right now, though, it felt like she was hoping for the impossible again, and the more she hoped, the more it hurt.
The microwave beeped, and at the same time, someone pounded on her door.
She startled, wine sloshing over the top of her glass and onto her light gray T-shirt.
“Coming!” she called out, her heart inexplicably leaping at the thought of who might be on the other side of that door.
She set the wine on her counter and grabbed a paper towel, rubbing furiously at the stain that bloomed like a rose between her breasts.
She glanced through the peephole, then exhaled, heart sinking back into her gut.
She undid the chain and top lock, throwing open the door to find her next-door neighbors, Jason and Megan—recent newlyweds—decked out in all-black cocktail attire. Megan even had a HAPPY NEW YEAR headband on. She smiled at Charlotte with painted red lips.
“See, sweetie?” Megan said to her husband. “I told you she was home.” Megan peered inside Charlotte’s apartment and gasped. “Oh my God. What. Happened? Did one of those holiday stores throw up in here? And—” She gasped again. “Your shirt? Oh no. This won’t do.”
Jason let out a nervous laugh. “She’s trying to invite you over. It’s just a few friends. Some music. Food. Plenty to drink. We’d love to have you.”
Megan nodded earnestly. “You need to slip on a little black dress—I know you have one—and come to our place. Quick. You are not spending New Year’s Eve alone.” Megan kissed Jason on the cheek, leaving a crimson smooch mark on his skin. “I’ll help her get ready. Why don’t you get the sushi platter out of the fridge?”
“You got it, babe,” he said, then planted one right on her lips. Her cheeks flushed when he pivoted and strode back to their apartment. Then, without technically being invited, Megan strode straight through Charlotte’s front door.
Megan sniffed, then wrinkled her nose. “Why does it smell sad in here?”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “It’s a Trader Joe’s broccoli and cheddar quiche. It’s perfectly suitable as a meal for—”
“Nope,” Megan interrupted. “Nope, nope, nope. I don’t want to hear anymore. I know we don’t know each other well, but I feel like if we did, we’d be friends.”
Charlotte forced a smile. “That’s sweet of you, but I work long hours and do most of my patients’ paperwork at night. I really don’t have time for much else. It’s nothing personal.”
Megan waved her off. “Honey, I’m in law school, and Jason is a fifth-grade teacher. We pretty much only see each other on holidays and in the summer—and every night in bed.” She laughed. “That helps. A lot.” She shrugged. “We can be friends even if we only see each other when one of us is saving the other from starting the New Year alone. The rest of the time you can just know I’m here if you need something, and I’ll do the same.”
Charlotte felt a strange yet familiar warmth in her chest, one much like she’d experienced while hanging her monstrosity of lights. She opened her mouth, then closed it, not sure how to respond.
“This is the part where you say, ‘Thank you, Megan. I’d love it if we were friends, especially if you’d style me for your fabulous New Year’s Eve party tonight.’”
Charlotte looked down at her stained T-shirt and laughed.
“Thank you, Megan. I’ve never been great at the whole friend thing.” But then she thought about Delaney, Ivy, and Casey, how easy they’d made it for her to open up. She thought about Ben. Maybe what they’d had wasn’t exactly a friendship in the traditional sense, but she realized now how closed off she’d been before she’d left and how she was falling back into old habits now that she was back home. “You know, scratch that. I used to really suck at letting people into my life, but I don’t want to be that girl anymore. I don’t want to be alone on New Year’s Eve.” She laughed nervously. “Sorry. You asked for thank you, and I gave you word vomit. Is that too much information for a new friendship?” She winced at her own awkwardness.
Megan grabbed her hand and pulled Charlotte toward the only other room in the apartment other than the bathroom, her bedroom.
“You want TMI?” Megan asked. “How about my mother taking me and my bridesmaids out for lunch and telling all of us how she and my stepfather go on annual swingers retreats?” Megan covered her ears and shook her head. “
I’m as sex positive as they come. Believe me. But it never gets easier hearing about your own mother’s—”
“Or grandmother’s—” Charlotte interrupted.
“Sexual exploits,” they said at the same time.
And just like that, after the two most unlikely words, Charlotte realized she wasn’t the same woman she was two months ago. She could do this. She could start letting people into her carefully planned life because where had those plans gotten her other than stringing holiday lights alone a week after the holiday was technically over?
Charlotte did have the perfect little black dress and an equally perfect pair of red suede pumps to give the look the pop of color it needed.
“All we need is to lose this ponytail,” Megan said, sliding the rubber band from Charlotte’s hair. “And…” Megan rummaged through Charlotte’s makeup bag and pulled out a lipstick as ruby red as her own. The shade she wore on her first official date with Ben when he made her a picnic on top of a fire engine.
Charlotte swallowed. “No,” she said. “I’m good with just some gloss.” She grabbed her tube of sheer, pale pink gloss and applied it to her lips before Megan could protest.
Her neighbor shrugged. “Whatever works for you. Let’s go!”
Despite a fabulous sushi platter, endless bottles of prosecco, and finally feeling like there might be more to her life than work, eat, sleep, repeat, Charlotte made her way to Megan’s door at precisely 11:50 p.m. She almost made it through said door when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
“You’re not seriously leaving before midnight, are you?” Megan asked as Charlotte turned to face her.
Charlotte forced a smile. “I am.” She was ready to throw out her patented excuse—an early day at the office tomorrow. But even pediatricians took a couple of holidays off throughout the calendar year. Tomorrow was one of those days, and the second was her regular day off, so she had some wiggle room to…to what? She went for honesty, which surprised even herself. “The thought of watching everyone kiss at midnight, it…I mean, I don’t have someone to…” She groaned. “There’s this guy, and I might love him—and there is an entire country and my own stubbornness between us.” She covered her mouth with her hand.