by Zoey Castile
“Okay, I’m in charge of the playlist for the next hour,” Mari says, swiping through her phone.
“That doesn’t seem like such a good idea,” I say, and wink at her. She calls me an old man, and I keep following Lena around the kitchen table.
I meet River, a gorgeous blonde with blue eyes as sharp as knives. There’s a steady quiet to her, and when she looks at my face, her eyes don’t linger on my scars. When she introduces us to her fiancé, Hutch, I pause at the memory I have of him. He’s the guy that dropped Lena home in July. Months later, I feel a twinge of embarrassment at how I reacted. He’s a couple of inches taller than me, with a short crop of dark-brown hair and brown eyes.
“Hey, Patrick,” he says in a voice so familiar I nearly jerk back. “Chris Hutcherson.”
I force myself to grip his hand tighter and take a deep breath. It’s incredibly fucking weird being face-to-face this way with my therapist. “Hey, man, nice to meet you.”
He gives me a nod that tells me he is, in fact, who I think he is. He slaps my shoulder good-naturedly, and moves on to Lena.
“What do you need us to do, Scarlett?” Lena asks. There are various pans in stages of prep. The oven is blazing, and though the kitchen is small, it feels like being home. The kind of home that welcomes you back even after you’ve been gone for too long.
I glance around the room and realize there’s someone missing. Scarlett’s coach boyfriend. I’m about to ask when she turns a nervous stare to me.
“Pat,” Scarlett says, twisting the bottom of her sweater. “I have something to tell you.”
I rub my hands over my face, a knot forming in my chest instantly. “Why do people think that’s ever a good way to start a sentence?”
“I have a surprise for you. At least, I thought it would be a good surprise to invite him because you’ve been doing so well. But he’s been here for so long I might kill him myself if things don’t work out.”
“Scarlett, what are you talking about?”
“Don’t get mad at me for bringing him here, okay?”
I snap my attention to the door leading to the living room. I walk around her, taking long steps, ready to see my brother’s face. Of course, she’s talking about Jack. Who else would it be? But why would I be mad at her for bringing him here?
Unless—
Standing in front of the roaring fireplace isn’t Jack.
Dressed in a deep-green velvet blazer and black jeans is Rick Rocket.
“Heya, kid,” he says, a smile ticking up his bearded face and glass of amber liquor in his hand.
“Hey,” I say, a tremble in my voice.
I don’t know what to do because I can feel everyone behind me staring at us.
The last time I saw him, that I can remember, was after that long-ass drive. Fallon and Aiden and Rick. The brothers that chose me, that tried to put me back together and I wouldn’t let them.
“I’m sorry.”
He sets down his glass on the fireplace mantel and opens his arms. “Come here, mate.”
“I’m sorry, Ricky,” I say again. I hug him, and he’s solid as ever. My fucking eyes are burning and I know everyone is watching us and Lena’s probably crying, but she was also crying while we watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas last night because she felt bad for the Grinch and of course she does, since she’s got a heart three times bigger than anyone I know, definitely more than me.
Ricky slaps my back a few times and clears his throat, like the big fucking man he is. “We’ll be all right, kid. ’S good to see you. You’re copying my look and everything.”
He tugs on the bottom of my beard and punches my shoulder lightly.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” I ask, now that I have a good chance to look at him. There’s more silver in his blond hair than I remember, deeper laugh lines at the corners of his eyes.
The most shocking addition is a solid platinum ring around his wedding finger.
“Did you get fucking married?”
Ricky’s eyes widen with sheer white fear. “Fuck no. This is the latest tech to keep track of my sleep habits. My doc wants to keep me fucking monitored twenty-four-seven, can you imagine that?”
“Why? Is something wrong?”
He shakes his head, but I see the lie forming on his lips. “No, not at all. High blood pressure, lack of sleep, but at least business is good. Show’s good. Boys are good.”
I want to ask about them. Do I have the right to after the way I treated them?
“I want you to meet someone,” I say, and hold my hand out for her.
Lena breaks apart from the throng jamming up the hallway. Chris ushers the others back to the kitchen to give us privacy. I was right. Lena’s dabbing at the corners of her eyes when she stands in front of Ricky.
“Hello, gorgeous,” he says, and hugs her. “So, you’re the one that’s brought this sorry lump back to life.”
She reaches for my hand, and when she sets those deep-brown eyes on me, I know that I am the luckiest man alive. “It’s been pretty mutual. How are you liking Montana?”
His pale-blue eyes dart to where Scarlett comes in with a little red bell and I don’t think I’m imagining the smirk there. “Okay, people. Dinner isn’t ready yet, but there’s still work to be done. Let these two catch up. Mari and Kayli, you make the mac and cheese, Lena—stuffing. Chris—remind me not to burn the bird. River—you keep making cocktails.”
We take the two upholstered armchairs in front of the fireplace. There’s a pile of clothes tucked in the corner, which I won’t point out in case Scarlett freaks out some more. Lena had offered to help her clean yesterday since we knew how tight Scarlett’s deadlines have been, but she declined.
“Has she been like this all day?” I ask Ricky.
Scarlett only reappears once to pop a drink my hand. She doesn’t even look in Ricky’s direction before she stomps away.
He raises his brows, scratching the back of his neck. “Try days.”
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I say. “How did Scarlett get a hold of you?”
Ricky rubs the sides of his beard. “She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. I thought she was just another groupie trying to get a hold of you. But then on the twentieth nonstop call, I had to pick up. Gave me the lowdown. I got here three nights ago.”
I try the drink River made. It’s like a Manhattan but sweeter, and delicious. “Huh. No wonder she didn’t want Lena coming over yesterday.”
“About that,” Ricky says, ice-blue eyes darting to the living room entryway. “Scarlett’s, uh, kind of mad at me.”
I look at him, confusion making my eyes strain. “Why would she be mad at you?”
He tries for a look of innocence. “It’s a long story.”
“Turkey isn’t done yet, and I could use stories that aren’t about me.”
Ricky settles in with his drink in hand, very much the king of the castle. “Well, once she told me how well you were doing, I said I’d come out. The hiccup was that my assistant booked me on the wrong date and to the wrong airport. I’m a big boy, you know, so I rented my own damn car and drove from Missoula. I got to her place and she was fighting with some bloke. I grabbed him by the neck and we got into a blue.”
“Wait, what?”
“Her ex. The coach.”
Understanding hits me. That’s why the boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—isn’t here and she’s so flustered. “Let me understand this. You got here, punched her boyfriend, and she’s mad at you? That doesn’t add up.”
Ricky waves his hand in the air, like he’s trying to clear the board. “She said she had it under control, which she might have. But I was tired and he had a punchable face, Pat. You should’ve seen him. Anyway, she’s been irritated with me ever since. I also watched her kill a turkey and make eye contact with me the entire time. Women out here are—”
“Easy now,” I say, laughing my warning. “These are my people.”
“I’m just trying to be a good houseguest,�
� he says, slapping his knee.
“Uh-huh,” I say. Trying to picture high-maintenance Ricky, who gets a weekly pedicure, spa treatments, and goes to the gym six days a week living with Scarlett. The woman who mows her own lawn and chops wood to think and lives off chips and diet coke while she’s on deadline. “Bro, you must be driving her bat-shit crazy.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Ricky says, his eyes darting to the hall again.
There’s something he’s holding back, and I wonder what’s happened in these past two days that has him uncharacteristically frazzled. Maybe it’s been so long, I’m reading him wrong. He slaps my arm, and his eyes settle on my scarred face. I think of the first time we ever met. We were both at some party in the Hamptons and I was a shitty waiter surrounded by women. He looked me up and down and nodded his approval. He said, “Hey, kid, I’ve been waiting for my drink for an hour.”
“It’s good to see you, Pat.”
I look down at my drink, and play with the rim of the glass. Then, I find the courage to ask something I’ve been dying to know since I saw him. “Tell me about the boys.”
LENA
While the rest of us are making sure everything is being cut, cooked, salted, and mixed, Scarlett is going through her checklist.
“Where’s your coach?” I ask Scarlett.
She crinkles her nose, and I see the moment Hutch looks out of his element and concentrates on chopping apples for the sangria.
“As of yesterday, he’s no longer my coach,” Scarlett says.
“Damn, Scarlett. I’m sorry.”
Scarlett shrugs, but she doesn’t seem terribly bothered over it. “It wasn’t going to work out. I’m fine. Really. He didn’t understand my schedule and that I wasn’t going to have time to go to Texas to meet his family.”
“He wanted you to meet his family?” I ask. “That’s huge.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t going to say yes even if my schedule allowed. It was just supposed to be fun and stress free while I finish this series.” She moves hair away from her forehead, and I wonder if it’s a good time to tell her she smudged flour on her nose. I decide to walk to her and clean it up myself, which gives us all a laugh.
“At least that’s good?” I ask, tentatively.
Hutch clears his throat and we all turn to look at him at the same time.
“Are you analyzing me?” Scarlett asks.
“Me? I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, smiling all the way to the fridge to get a can of Moose Drool.
“Lay it on me,” Scarlett says, pursing her lips and making a beckoning sign with her hands.
Hutch shakes his head, and I kind of agree with him. But Scarlett insists and so he sets his drink down and meets Scarlett’s eyes.
“You say you’re fine, but are you trying to convince us or yourself? You’ve been forgetful all morning, but it isn’t because you’re careless. It’s okay to let the people who care about you take care of you and be there to listen. Something else is bothering you.”
I feel his words in my bones.
Scarlett nods slowly, like she’s listening to a faraway song the rest of us can’t pick up. “Jake and I had a really big fight three days ago when I said I couldn’t go to Texas next week, and I said things that I didn’t mean. I even called him by my ex-husband’s name at one point. And the thing is, I don’t miss my ex. Part of me just wanted something physical, and I know I was wrong because I didn’t tell Jake that I wasn’t looking for anything serious. Then Ricky shows up and punches him, and—”
“Hold up,” I say, surprise rippling through the room. “Ricky punched him?”
“You definitely left out all the good stuff,” Mari says, popping a cheese cube into her mouth.
“I suppose it’s a good thing Ricky showed up when he did,” Scarlett says, “because I was ready to get my shotgun from the porch.”
I scoff and throw my arms in the air. “What is it with you guys and your shotguns?”
“You’ll never get used to it,” River says, while filling a bucket with ice.
Scarlett rolls her eyes and continues. “Anyway, Ricky’s been here since then, moving around all of my things and criticizing me because I don’t have a hair dryer. I air dry my hair, okay? I made this beautiful loaf of sourdough and he wouldn’t eat it because he’s on some fucking Whole30. Why did he even come for Thanksgiving if he wasn’t going to eat?”
Hutch bites his lips and we share a knowing look. I wonder if Scarlett would kick me out of her house if I suggest that maybe she likes having Ricky around, but just then Ricky comes marching out of the living room with a very amused Patrick at his heels.
“Excuse me, Duchess,” Ricky says, “I have a gluten sensitivity.” Scarlett’s cheeks are red as she brushes a stubborn bit of hair away from her eyes. I realize—wait, is she wearing lip gloss?
“You didn’t have a gluten sensitivity in the middle of the night when you ate my Pop-Tarts. And you’re drinking whiskey. Do you know what that’s made out of?”
Ricky unbuttons his velvet blazer, the fitted shirt beneath tapered to his solid body. “You told me to make myself at home. Maybe you shouldn’t say things you don’t mean, Duchess.”
“I told you not to call me that,” she says, this time holding her chopping knife in his direction.
“How about some music?” Hutch asks me. “Mari?”
“On it!”
“As long as it’s something Patrick and Ricky can dance to,” I say, smirking at the beautiful men.
The two of them suck in a breath so sharp, it draws everyone’s attention to me. The others dissolve into laughter, while Ricky comes over to me to pick me up into a strangling hug and says, “Oh, I know I’m going to like you.”
We spend the next few hours eating the appetizers and drinking sangria and whiskey punch on the deck. Ricky says today is the exception to his gluten sensitivity so that the liquor will keep him warm. While the turkey is on the last half hour of being done, River and Mari set up a giant Jenga game in the backyard. Hutch and Patrick chop up firewood for the pit. Kayli told them that they were out, but I highly suspect it was to get them grunting and doing manual labor in their tight T-shirts. Scarlett brings out a bow and arrow from her garage for the target practice that hangs on an old tree.
“Americans,” Ricky mutters, but I notice how he lingers, like he’s waiting to see if she’ll look at him.
“Hey, don’t look at me,” I say and bring my sangria to where he’s sitting. “Though maybe that target practice would have come in handy when I had to live with my stepmom.”
Scarlett aims. She glances at Ricky, a tiny smile creeps on her face before she fires and hits the white outside of the bull’s-eye. Ricky and I high-five.
“That doesn’t sound like you, Lena,” Scarlet says. “I know you had problems but . . .”
She lets the question go unasked. What did she do? Was she really that bad? In this yard, I feel safe in a way that I haven’t in so long. There are people who love me, and despite the forty-degree weather, I feel warm and it has nothing to do with the drink. I look at Patrick standing a few yards away laughing with Hutch. He’s not the only one who should open himself up,
I exhale tiny frosted clouds. “She stole my identity.”
Scarlett lowers the bow and turns to me. “What?”
I laugh at her reaction and the surprise on Ricky’s face. I tell them all about how I was a week from quitting college, how that’s why I went to work for her and Patrick and answered the ad. How I have more debt on my shoulders than I ever thought I’d be responsible for and I know this isn’t what my parents would have wanted for me. And yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way right now.
“Oh, come here, baby girl,” Scarlett says. There is no judgment. No pity. She hands me the arrow and helps me aim. I let go. Something unsprings, breaks, and I feel that freedom of the arrow.
Ricky starts to walk away toward the Jenga game, but I clear my throat. I give Scarlett a meaningful look.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Scarlett asks him. “You’re next.”
Ricky smirks. “For lessons or target practice, luv?”
I go over to Kayli, River, and Mari. The Jenga tower wobbles on the deck table precariously.
River lifts her chin in the direction of the bull’s-eye. “How much do you want to bet they’re going to screw tonight?”
“I don’t need to take that bet,” Kayli laughs, her cheeks pink. “I know.”
“No one fights that way unless they’re into each other,” Mari says, poking my side. “You should knoooow.”
I touch the center of their Jenga tower and it comes crashing down. They threaten to kill me, but I run inside to check on the turkey.
When the turkey’s finally ready, we gather in the warm living room to eat and go around saying the things we’re thankful for.
“I’m thankful I’ve allowed myself to take time off when I need it,” Kayli says.
Mari follows, raising her glass. “I’m thankful for you all welcoming me into your home. It’s rough being away from my family around the holidays.”
River holds Hutch’s hand and whispers something to him. “I’m thankful Hutch is letting me elope and not be a bridezilla. You’re all invited to our Caribbean wedding, by the way. And also, to having Lena around.”
I feel the tears bubbling to my eyes, but Patrick grabs my hand and squeezes. I mouth a thank-you to her and reach over the table to bump fists.
“For found family,” Hutch says, raising a glass.
“I’m thankful for deadline extensions and last-minute party preparations,” Scarlett says, and we all laugh. I notice how she licks her bottom lip and seems to chance a glance at Ricky. “But honestly. I’m thankful for all of you. It’s my second holiday since the divorce but the first one that I’m not alone. It means so much to me.”
“Glad to be here, Duchess,” Ricky says to her, his voice husky and playful. Even my toes curl when he speaks like that.
Ricky stands, stuffing one hand in his pocket. “I’m thankful for Scarlett.” We all turn to her, feeling the same gratitude for this woman. “For not giving up on trying to reach me. For opening up her home so I can be here. For taking care of Patrick. I’ve had a great couple of years professionally, and a shitty one personally, what with losing one of my balls and all.”
