“It’s fine, bro. We’re good.”
Joe was just apologizing to apologize, to make everything good again. He was my brother, so forgiveness was built into our bond.
“Are you doing okay today?” Joe whispered. He glanced at his boots and then back to me and then at his boots again. It was shame and guilt that made it hard for him to look me in the eyes. Grace peered over her shoulder at us.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I said. “Why don’t you fire up the grills?”
“Sure thing, bro.” He nodded, pressing his lips firmly together. “I’m gonna grab the coolers from Wyatt’s truck quick.”
“Wyatt’s here?” I asked.
“Yeah. How else would I have gotten here? You have my truck,” Joe called over his shoulder as he disappeared outside.
Grace turned toward me. “Who’s Wyatt?”
“Charlotte’s ex.”
And if I was being honest, I’d tell Grace she was technically my ex too . . . if one-night stands counted for anything.
27.
Grace I went back to stirring the brussels sprouts that had partially burned during our make-out session. I figured they were still salvageable. Most things were salvageable if you put in a little extra effort. A bit of burn would give them a nice, charred flavor. My lips were swollen, and my heart was still racing from the moment we shared. I wanted more. I wanted to cancel this whole barbecue and spend the day exploring Calvin’s body rather than the ins and outs of his family and friendship dynamics. Every alarm inside me was going off, saying, don’t get involved—but there was a part of me that needed him like one needs water or food or shelter.
Calvin kissed my ear and neck. “To be continued . . .” he whispered.
I had forgotten he was still in the kitchen. I didn’t say a word, and he scurried down the hallway toward his bedroom. I turned off the burner and added a honey-balsamic mixture to the pan. The sliding door off of the deck squeaked open.
“Hey,” Joe called from behind me.
I took a deep breath before turning around.
“Want one?” He stood there holding two beers, one outstretched to me.
I accepted and took a swig, turning back toward the stove to continue stirring the brussels sprouts. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could feel them. I set the beer down and pushed the food from the pan into a serving bowl, pretending I didn’t notice that Joe was still there.
“Whatcha making?” he asked.
“Brussels sprouts.” I finally looked over at him. His eyes were right where I thought they’d be—on me.
“That’s odd,” Joe said. He swigged his beer.
“Why?”
“Because Calvin hates brussels sprouts.”
My lips parted but I quickly pressed them together. “Oh. I didn’t know that.”
Calvin had lied to me about something as stupid as liking brussels sprouts. I’m sure it was because he didn’t want to hurt my feelings. But it left me wondering what else he was lying about.
“Is there something I should know about today, Joe?” I lifted my chin.
“What do you mean?” He leaned against the counter and slouched his shoulders like he was trying to make himself look smaller. Maybe that’s how he felt—small.
“I’ve noticed people have been treating Calvin like he’s glass today, like he could shatter into a million pieces at any moment. Why?”
Joe swallowed hard. His eyes bounced around the room, deciding what and what not to tell me.
“Joe.” I said his name sternly, probably how his dad used to say it.
His eyes now had a sheen to them. “Calvin’s girlfriend, Lisa, died one year ago today. That’s why we’re all treating him like glass, as you put it.”
I took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
I knew about Lisa, but I didn’t know it had happened on his birthday. That must have been tough. One thing stuck out though—Joe’s choice of words and Calvin’s. Joe had called Lisa his girlfriend, while Calvin had referred to her as his ex. Maybe it was easier to mourn her that way.
Joe swigged his beer again. “I’m glad he has you today but I’d be careful if . . .”
Before he could finish his sentence, Calvin appeared in the kitchen dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. “What are you two talking about?”
Joe straightened up and cleared his throat.
I smiled at Calvin. “Just deciding who’s going to lead the happy birthday song.”
He eyed both of us for a moment but then cracked a smile. “Please, please no singing.”
“I guess you’ll have to use your birthday wish to stop that from happening,” I teased.
“That’s fine. I don’t need it for anything else. I already got everything I want.” Calvin winked at me, then turned to Joe. “Did you get the grills going?”
“Not yet,” he said.
Calvin gave him a pat on the back. “Let’s get to it,” he said, steering him outside. Calvin was like a sheepdog with his brother, always herding him away from me.
Joe gave me a long look but didn’t say another word and left the kitchen through the sliding door.
“Need any help in here?” Calvin planted a kiss on my cheek.
I scooped three brussels sprouts onto a spoon and held it out. “Just for you to try this and tell me how great it is,” I said with a coy smile, thinking, The punishment fit the crime.
He looked at the brussels sprouts and then at me. “I can do that,” Calvin said with a gulp. As soon as he opened his mouth, I shoved the spoon right in there. He chewed quickly and swallowed hard. “So good,” he lied.
He planted a quick kiss on my cheek. “Come join us outside when you’re done,” he called out before hurrying outside and closing the door behind him.
As I finished up in the kitchen, my thoughts went back to Joe. Why had he been so apprehensive about answering my question? I’d be careful if . . . If what? The words cut short swirled around my brain.
The sound of laughter pulled me from my thoughts and the kitchen. I grabbed a beer and made my way to the back deck.
Joe and Calvin were side by side, preparing the grill. Another guy, who I presume was Wyatt, stood with his legs slightly apart and his back toward me. A stream of liquid hit the patch of grass in front of him. He was as tall as Calvin but much broader in the shoulders. Calvin glanced over at him.
“Jesus, Wyatt. I have a bathroom. Stop pissing in the grass.”
Wyatt shrugged and wrestled with his zipper. After he straightened himself, he leaned down and grabbed the beer sitting in the grass beside him.
“Sorry, Calv. This beer is going right through me.” His voice was as thick as molasses. He took a long swig and then turned, facing me.
“Oh, shit. Sorry, I didn’t realize you were standing there.” The tops of his cheeks flushed.
His beard was thick and his hair was scruffy, going in all directions. Wyatt was dressed in a faded flannel shirt, ripped jeans, and dirty cowboy boots. Overall, he was unkempt in both his appearance and his manners.
“Hey there. I’m Deputy Wyatt Miller,” he said, taking a few steps toward me. He extended his hand. I hesitated, not wanting to shake it since he had just urinated, but not to be rude, I put my hand in his. I had touched grosser things in my life.