Barreled Over

by Jenna Sutton

“Yeah. We’re wrong for each other, in every way.”

  “Not in every way,” she pointed out.

  He swallowed audibly. “We need to stay away from each other. This can’t happen again.” He stepped back. “That’s what I should’ve said in the rickhouse.” Shoving his fingers into the front pocket of his Rileys, he fished out his keys. “I have to go. If I don’t, I’ll end up saying or doing something I’ll regret. Again.”

  When he reached the front door, he turned to look at her. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I hope you’ll accept my apology. Someday.”

  He was gone before she could tell him that she accepted his apology … but not his explanation.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Beck adjusted the baseball cap to shade his eyes from the midday sun and scoped out the park. Since it was Thursday afternoon, the park wasn’t too crowded.

  His gaze settled on Ren’s daughter, who was playing fetch with Chicken. The two of them had fallen in love at first sight.

  Ren and Gatsby had returned from Atlanta last week. Since school was out for summer, and he hadn’t found childcare yet, he brought his daughter to the Trinity office to hang out while he worked. Today, they’d decided to go to the park so Gatsby could play while the adults talked business.

  So far, Ren was still in the dark about Beck and Ava Grace rocking the rickhouse three weeks ago. He knew he should tell his friend and business partner about it, but he hated to admit how weak and stupid he’d been.

  And really, there was no reason Ren had to know. Ava Grace was still working with Trinity, much to Beck’s relief. He wasn’t delusional enough to think she’d forgiven him, though.

  He hadn’t seen or talked to her since he’d apologized. She had flown back to Nashville the next day.

  Gatsby waved a tennis ball in front of Chicken’s face and then tossed it at least forty feet across the park. The dog darted forward, running as fast as he could to chase it down for his new favorite person.

  “Gatsby has a good arm,” Beck noted, leaning back on his hands and stretching his legs out in front of him. “Maybe you should sign her up for a summer softball league.”

  Ren nodded. “That’s a good idea. I don’t know if she likes softball, but I’ll ask if she wants to do something like that.”

  Beck glanced toward Ren. He was watching Gatsby, a little smile playing around his lips.

  “I know you haven’t been home for long, but how do you think she’s adjusting?” Beck asked.

  “I don’t know.” Ren’s mouth turned down in a frown. “She doesn’t say much. And she doesn’t smile or laugh unless she’s with Chicken.”

  “Maybe she takes after you. You’re not exactly talkative.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.” He looked toward Beck, his eyes shadowed. “I don’t know anything about little girls. I don’t know what’s normal and what’s not.”

  “I don’t either. My knowledge is limited to big girls,” Beck quipped.

  Ren sighed. “I don’t know how to be a dad, Beck.”

  “I’m sure every guy feels that way, but you’ll learn. You’ve only been a dad for a few weeks. Give yourself some time to get up to speed.”

  “If I mess this up—if I mess her up—she’ll end up dating losers, hooked on drugs, and wearing an orange jumpsuit in a state prison.”

  Beck couldn’t help laughing at the other man’s dire predictions. “Jesus, Ren. Do you always have to think worst-case scenario? You’re not going to mess her up.”

  “There’s a high probability I will, especially since I have to raise her by myself.”

  Beck nudged Ren’s foot with his own. “You don’t have to raise Gatsby by yourself. You’ve got me and Gabe. Between the three of us, we’ll figure it out. I promise. We’ll make sure she dates good guys, stays clean, and abides by the law.”

  “Three men and a little lady … plus a distillery and a dog?” Ren asked wryly.

  Beck laughed. “Something like that.”

  Ren glanced away from Beck, his eyes scanning the park until he found his daughter. “Come a little closer, Gatsby,” he called out.

  She waved and obediently trotted toward them. Ren returned her wave before bringing his attention to Beck.

  “Before I found out about Gatsby, I wasn’t even sure I wanted kids,” he confessed. “I just never felt the desire to…” He paused, obviously struggling to find the right word.

  “Procreate?” Beck suggested.

  Ren huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. Procreate.” He eyed Beck. “Do you?”

  “Yeah, I want kids.”

  When he’d been younger—when his dad was still alive and his family owned Jonah Beck Distillery—he’d wanted to continue the family tradition. He’d assumed he’d teach his children the bourbon business just as his dad taught him and then pass the reins of the company to the next generation of Becks.

  Now that he was older, he felt differently about having children. He still wanted them, but not because they would carry on the Beck tradition of distilling bourbon. He wanted them for himself.

  He wanted a family. He hadn’t been part of one for nearly fifteen years, and even then, it lacked the closeness he’d craved. Yes, he had Gabe and Ren, but he wanted a wife who stood by him and a houseful of kids proud to call him Dad.

  He didn’t want to make the same mistake his father made and end up with a beautiful, but unfaithful and unloving wife. He wanted his children to have a better mother than he had, and to make that happen, he needed a better wife than Sibley Beck. He needed a woman who was loyal and loving.

  Suddenly, an image of Ava Grace roasting marshmallows popped into his head. Wow. He’d managed to not think about her for a whopping two minutes. That was a new record.

  Even though he tried not to, he thought about Ava Grace constantly. Every time he talked with Quinn, the conversation worked its way around to her, usually because of Beck.

  He’d been curious about her before the rickhouse sex. Now he wanted to know everything about her.

  Mostly, he wanted to know if he was just one name on a long list of guys she had sex with. He wanted to be special to her, which didn’t make a damn lick of sense.

  “I feel like Gatsby has changed everything about my life,” Ren added, bringing Beck back to the current topic of conversation, which was not Ava Grace Landy.

  Beck eyed his best friend. “What’s everything?”

  “Everything,” Ren repeated. “Yesterday we went to the grocery store, and while I was in the beer aisle, I started talking to this woman. She was wearing these tight workout clothes, and goddamn, her ass was amazing.”

  “So far, I’m not hearing any difference, chief,” Beck replied, swallowing back a laugh.

  “Before Gatsby, I probably would’ve asked her out just to get my hands on it. I was about to get her number, and it suddenly crossed my mind she might not be a good role model. So I said good-bye to her and her amazing ass.”

  “Yeah,” Beck agreed, “you have to think about Gatsby now. You can’t just hook up with a woman because you like her ass.”

  “You see what I mean … everything is different.” Ren sighed gustily. “I’m going to have to find a new place to live too. My apartment doesn’t have enough space, and it has zero privacy. Gatsby needs her own room where she can do girly stuff.” He flashed a rare smile. “And I need my own room where I can do guy stuff.”

  “Guy stuff?” Beck laughed. “Like scratching your balls and trimming your nose hair?”

  Ren’s laughter joined his. “Exactly.” When it trailed off, he said, “Thank you, Beck.”

  “For what?”

  Ren stared at him for a moment. “For being someone I can trust with my daughter. For having my back. For trying to make this situation a little less fucked up.”

  Beck shrugged off his friend’s gratitude, uncomfortable with the shift in conversation. He was just doing his best to be a decent human being, and he didn’t want or need any thanks for it.

  Ren cle
ared his throat. “I also wanted to apologize for not being here for the interview with San Francisco Living. Gabe told me what happened. I know how much you hate it when reporters bring up that shit.”

  Beck glanced away from Ren’s sympathetic gaze. Unfortunately, Ethan Maynes hadn’t been the first reporter to ask Beck about his dad’s death, and it was doubtful he’d be the last. After all this time you’d think Beck would be used to those kinds of questions, but they always hit him with the force of a Mack truck.

  Although Beck had managed to push the awful interview out of his mind, he couldn’t shake the memory of Ava Grace clasping his hand before he’d walked out. When he’d looked down into her wide hazel eyes, he could’ve sworn they were filled with concern for him.

  As Beck’s gaze wandered around the park, he caught sight of Gabe making his way toward them, carrying a brown paper sack and cardboard drink caddy. Beck raised his hand in a wave, and Gabe held up the bag in acknowledgement.

  “What a shock,” Ren said dryly. “He stopped for a snack.”

  “What do you think? Hot dogs?”

  Seconds later, Gabe stopped beside them. “Hola.”

  Beck and Ren looked at each other and simultaneously said, “Tacos.”

  Gabe passed the drink holder to Ren before dropping down beside Beck. He crisscrossed his jeans-clad legs and placed the bag on top of them. “Brisket tacos from I Heart Tacos. I got enough for everyone.” His gaze found Gatsby, and he shouted, “Gats, tacos!”

  Ren grimaced. “Please don’t call my daughter by a nickname that rhymes with rats. Her real name is bad enough.”

  Chicken sprinted toward them, and Gatsby followed in hot pursuit, her golden hair streaming out behind her. The dog skidded to a halt like a cartoon animal, his front paws digging up grass and his rear paws leaving the ground. He flopped down next to Gabe, and when Gatsby reached them, she collapsed next to Chicken.

  “Hi, Gabe,” she said softly.

  “Hey there, pretty girl.” He tilted his head toward the drink caddy. “I got you raspberry iced tea.”

  She gave him a shy smile. “Thanks.”

  Gabe had three younger sisters, so it was no surprise he’d bonded with Gatsby. He knew how to expertly handle both little girls and big girls.

  “I talked with the hotel,” Gabe announced as he passed out tacos. “Even though they’re completely booked because of the International Wine and Spirits Show, I was able to finagle one more room for Ava Grace.” He glanced toward Ren. “I also switched your room to a suite so you can bring”—he tapped Gatsby on the nose with an aluminum foil-wrapped taco—“our favorite girl.”

  “Good.” Ren unwrapped his taco. “Now no one has to double up.”

  Gabe slanted a mocking glance toward Beck as he peeled the aluminum foil from his snack. “Yeah, it would’ve been a real shame if Beck had been forced to double up with Ava Grace.”

  Beck glowered at Gabe. Shut up, he mouthed, even as images of sharing a bed with Ava Grace filled his head. Gabe grinned before taking a huge bite of his taco, his eyes glinting with amusement.

  “I’m really excited Ava Grace will be at the show with us,” Ren said around a mouthful of taco.

  The International Wine and Spirits Show was the biggest event in the spirits industry, attracting tens of thousands of people, from distillers and distributors to restaurateurs and hoteliers. It was a great opportunity for Trinity to get in front of new and existing customers, as well as connect with new distributors.

  Each year, the show was held in a different city. Last year, it had been in San Francisco, which had been very convenient. This year it would take place in Seattle, which wasn’t as inconvenient as New York City or Miami, but they still had to ship crates of Trinity along with the tradeshow booth.

  The show started Monday morning, but exhibitors arrived a couple of days early to set up. Beck and his partners (and Gatsby) were flying into Sea-Tac Airport the day after tomorrow to get an early start Sunday morning. Ava Grace’s flight arrived later that day, and the five of them were supposed to eat dinner together.

  “I think Ava Grace is going to bring a lot of foot traffic to our booth,” Ren added.

  “I still think it’s a mistake to bring her,” Beck countered with a frown. “No one is going to pay any attention to Trinity if she’s there. She’s a distraction.”

  Gabe laughed softly. “Only for some people.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The black newsboy cap and oversized sunglasses had done the trick, allowing Ava Grace to slip into the medical office building without anyone noticing her. The media had never followed her to Dr. Hanna’s practice before, but she never knew when a pap or a reporter would pop up.

  Plucking her phone from her purse, she checked the time. She’d been waiting in the neurologist’s book-lined office for thirty minutes while he assessed Chuck’s physical and mental condition.

  Naturally, her father was more comfortable when she wasn’t in the exam room, so Kyle stayed with him instead. Dr. Hanna would join her in his office when he finished with Chuck, and they’d discuss his findings and options for dealing with her father’s disease. Dr. Hanna was one of the nation’s top Alzheimer’s experts.

  Her phone vibrated in her hand, and a text from Ren floated across the screen. “Hotel reservations confirmed for IWSS!”

  She couldn’t help smiling when she saw the exclamation point. In person and on the phone, Ren Holt was reserved. In writing, however, the man used exclamation points as if they were the only way to end a sentence.

  Another text from Ren popped up. “We’re so excited to see you on Sunday!”

  She snorted under her breath. Gabe and Ren might be excited to see her, but she doubted Beck was. Instead of being appreciative she had agreed to help promote Trinity at the International Wine & Spirits Show, he probably was annoyed.

  More than likely, he was thinking of ways to avoid her. That was fine with her. She didn’t want anything to do with him either.

  How many lies can you tell yourself, Ava Grace?

  Irritated by her honest conscience, she turned her phone to silent and tossed it back into her purse. She wished she could just forget Beck. The glint in his dark eyes. The sound of his voice. The way he’d felt inside her.

  But she couldn’t forget him. He was under her skin, like a splinter, and she couldn’t seem to dig him out.

  She shifted in her seat, struggling to find a position that would alleviate her numb butt. Why were the chairs in doctors’ offices always so uncomfortable? Was that part of the Hippocratic Oath?

  Trying to distract herself, she dug through her purse and found a notepad and a pen. She needed to finish the song she’d promised to write and record for Trinity.

  Ellis had provided the inspiration when he told her about the head, heart, and tail of bourbon distilling. The song’s chorus and melody had come easily, but she was struggling with the rest of the lyrics. She hoped to get them down soon so she could run the song by the Trinity guys at the spirits show.

  The lyrics compared the process of distilling bourbon to a romantic relationship that burned out fast. In the beginning, the feelings were too strong, and in the end, the feelings were too weak. But the feelings in between—those were the ones you wanted to savor.

  As she sang the last verse into the empty room (which had terrible acoustics), the door opened behind her. She shoved the notepad and pen into her purse before standing to greet Dr. Hanna.

  A Vanderbilt University Medical Center badge hung on the breast pocket of his white coat. Underneath it, she caught a glimpse of his blue plaid button-down shirt and khaki pants.

  Ava Grace wasn’t sure of Dr. Hanna’s exact age. His daughters were in college, so she estimated he was in his early to mid-fifties. He wore his silver hair in a short Caesar cut, and a white horseshoe mustache framed his mouth. It always distracted her when he spoke.

  “I heard you singing down the hall. Is that a new song?”

  “Yes.” />
  Stopping beside her, he gave her a brief hug. She was wearing flats today, so they were about the same height.

  “It’s good to see you, Ava Grace.”

  “You too, Dr. Hanna. Thank you for fitting us into your schedule.”

  Chuck’s appointment had been scheduled for next Tuesday, when she was supposed to be in Seattle at the tradeshow. Fortunately, Dr. Hanna’s receptionist worked them in early.

  Kyle had assured Ava Grace he could handle the appointment without her, but she wasn’t okay with that. She already felt like she relied on him too much.

  Chuck was her father. He was her responsibility, not Kyle’s.

  “Kyle wanted me to let you know he’s taking Chuck for a walk,” Dr. Hanna said.

  That information gave Ava Grace a measure of relief. She’d worried Chuck would become agitated if he had to sit in the waiting room or the SUV.

  Dr. Hanna gestured to the chair. “Please, have a seat.”

  She reclaimed the uncomfortable chair while he settled his thin frame behind his walnut-stained desk. It was completely bare except for a computer monitor, keyboard, and a mesh cup filled with markers, pens, and pencils.

  “So…” Dr. Hanna’s pale blue eyes studied her from behind his rimless glasses. “Tell me how things have been at home.”

  “It seems like Chuck is getting worse every day. This time last year, he still recognized me and Kyle. He still recognized his surroundings. He was able to dress himself and go to the bathroom on his own. But not now.”

  Dr. Hanna cupped his hands together on the desk. “I’ll be honest with you. I thought your father’s disease would plateau. But it has continued to progress.” He twisted his thick platinum wedding band around his finger. “I’m sorry to tell you this, Ava Grace, but Chuck is showing signs he’s in the sixth stage of Alzheimer’s.”

  She nodded slowly. “I thought that might be the case.”

  She’d spent hundreds of hours reading about Alzheimer’s, everything from first-person accounts to scientific research studies. The Alzheimer’s Association broke the disease into seven stages.