by Gage Grayson
“But, as of right now, this is where we stand. Now I understand if some of you want to take the rest of the day…or week, even. I won’t hold that against you. This is a huge shock, for all of us.”
Helen dismisses everyone. Some stay, and some leave, muttering curses.
“I need to get back out to the boys and call Jessie. Drinks tonight?” Eric asks.
“Drinks? More like blackout drunk.”
Eric nods in agreement. He tries to force a smile on his face, but he’s still too pissed to fake it.
And I can’t say I blame him.
From inside my jeans pocket, I feel a vibration against my thigh. I slip my phone into my hand and see Jessie’s name displayed across my lock screen.
“Speak of the Devil,” I say as I hold up my phone to Eric.
I unlock my phone to see the message she’s sent me, and I immediately wish that I hadn’t.
Hey. Meredith Andrews passed away this morning. Call me if you need me.
“Fuck…”
“What is it?” Eric asks curiously.
“It’s Meredith.”
“Dylan’s mom?”
“Yeah, she…she passed away this morning.”
My words leave Eric looking like someone just punched him in the gut—and I know exactly how he feels.
Even after Dylan left, we all remained close with his parents. Comes from living in a small town.
Meredith had always been like a second mother to me, and it wasn’t just because I used to date her son.
Losing Meredith is a gut punch that feels that much worse now after the news we all received. And to make matters worse, it means that I’m going to have to see Dylan for the first time in fifteen years.
Just the thought has my stomach twisting in knots as I’m hit with an overwhelming wave of nervousness.
First, I’m dealing with the very real prospect that I’m going to be out of a job. Then, I learn that Meredith has died. And now I have to deal with seeing Dylan again.
The only way this day could get any worse is if those kids change their mind and actually decide to go with an “Under the Sea” theme for prom.
Chapter 3
Dylan
It’s been so many years that I’ve forgotten just how fucking big this house is.
I likely never noticed growing up because it was always filled with people. I always had someone over—usually Brooke—and Mom and Dad always had guests over for dinner or some get together.
Mom always enjoyed—and thrived—in the role of hostess. She was just the kind of person who loved doting on people and making sure they were taken care of.
Her big heart, thoughtfulness, and welcoming nature were all just things that contributed to her being such an amazing woman—and mother.
But now, there won’t be any more parties or dinner dates with friends. Now, it’ll just be Dad and this giant empty house.
I’m anxious to see him, truthfully. I know how hard this is affecting me, and I can only imagine how much it’s affecting him.
They were married for forty-one years, and they dated for several years before that. And then to just lose her out of nowhere like he did—I can’t even begin to imagine that kind of pain.
I pull my rental around the front courtyard and park it beside the Mercedes.
My father appears in the doorway as I climb out of the car. He’s got a smile on his face, but I can tell that he’s tired. Even from here, I can see the bags under his eyes.
I take in the sight of him and compare it to the last time I saw him—which was Christmas time when he and Mom came to visit me in New York.
He’s dressed in a pair of black pants and a white button-up shirt. His brown hair is sun-bleached, making it lighter than normal, and his blue eyes look gray more than their usual sparkling hue.
“It’s good to see you, Pops.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Pickle.”
I can’t help groaning loudly and rolling my eyes. It’s a reaction that makes my father laugh. And that makes me smile.
“You know, I still hate that nickname.”
“Well, it’s your fault that you got it to begin with.”
He has a point, but that doesn’t mean I like it.
“That’s true, but that was like seventeen years ago, Pops. I’m thirty-three now.”
“Well, that’s what happens when you run around naked, painted green, while you have chicken pox, in the middle of a football rally. You looked like a giant dill pickle with a dill pickle. That nickname isn’t going anywhere ever…Pickle.”
“It’s all your fault. I get my sense of humor from you. After all, didn’t you ride out onto the field for a rally wearing only a cowboy hat and boots while riding a horse?”
Dad’s lips turn upward in a lopsided grin, and he shakes his head as he remembers back to his high school days.
“Didn’t Mom say that was the moment she was certain that she would marry you?” I ask, grinning.
“Damn right it was. I look damn good naked on a horse.”
“Looked, Pops. Looked.”
“Hey now. I look damn good for sixty-two. You’re lucky to have these genes.”
He’s not wrong. Even at sixty-two, Dad is in incredible shape. I’ve seen him put men half his age to shame in the gym before.
The man doesn’t have any quit in him.
It’s another trait I inherited from him—that and my jawline.
The two of us share a hug, and I can tell he’s as tired as he looks.
“It’s good to have you home, son,” he whispers in my ear.
“Thanks, Pops.”
The two of us walk inside—my bags can sit in the car for now—and my eyes catch sight of a bouquet of yellow tulips.
I stop at the table and pick up the card sitting among the flowers.
My sincerest condolences for your tragic loss. Meredith was an amazing soul who will be greatly missed by us all. —Brooke
I set the card back down in the flowers and let out the breath I didn’t realize I had been holding in.
I can’t say that I’m surprised that Brooke, of all people, would be the one to send a bouquet of tulips. Tulips were my mother’s favorite flower, and yellow her favorite color.
Mom used to say that the color yellow was impossible to dislike, as it matches the color of the sun, and everyone loves a sunny day.
A large part of me is pleased to see that Brooke sent the flowers and card to my father.
But part of me is nervous as fuck at the prospect of seeing her again.
Seeing Brooke again after all these years has been on my mind just as much as my mother’s funeral.
I know that my mother would be pleased to know how divided my thoughts are.
Mom never voiced her displeasure over it, but I knew that she always wished that Brooke and I would have gone somewhere. Once upon a time, I believed that we would’ve gone somewhere, too.
But Brooke made her choice, and I made mine.
Sometimes life takes us in a different direction than we had planned.
Like now.
“She’s still that same sweet girl that she was in high school, you know.”
My father’s words cut through my thoughts, and I look up to see him grinning at me.
“Huh?” I ask as my brain tries to register what he said. “Oh! Brooke. Yeah, I’m sure she is.”
“You know, after you left for Harvard, Brooke and Meredith were close. Meredith would take her to lunch all the time, or they would go out on shopping trips together. Three years ago, they even went on a ladies-only cruise in the Bahamas.”
“I remember talking to Mom about that. She said she was going with one of her girlfriends but never said who. Now I know why.”
“They were actually planning on a trip to Paris this year after the school year ended.”
“Not surprising.” I nod. “Brooke always wanted to go to Paris someday to see the Eiffel Tower and visit the Louvre.”
I’m in
stantly transported back to high school, lying with Brooke in the middle of the football field with Eric, Jessie, and Colin. Brooke had this massive trip all planned out for us to travel to France after we graduated high school.
She said it would be a fun way to put some miles on our soul before getting lost in books and study.
I remember wanting to kiss her atop the Eiffel Tower so badly back then—back when I was just a foolish high school boy with lofty dreams and fantasies.
I force myself back to the present and push aside the memories of days gone by.
“So, I take it we’re having the wake here?”
“Yes, the funeral home is going to bring her on Thursday. Then, Friday, we will be burying her in the family plot.”
“Under the willow tree?”
“Yes.”
“Mom would like that.”
My dad nods. “Drink?”
“Fuck, yes.”
Dad laughs, and I follow him deeper into the house to his office.
He walks over to his bar and grabs an unopened bottle of Scotch whiskey that I never thought I’d ever see him open.
He pours us each a glass and leans against the custom oak bar.
“I never thought in a million years I’d ever see you open the 1939 Mortlach.”
“I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. And, well, it doesn’t get much more special than this.”
My fingers close around the glass, and I bring it up to my nose. I take in the rich scent of Stilton, walnuts, and stone fruit. I swear I can taste the honeyed fruit and toffee already.
My eyes fall to the bright, amber-colored liquor in my hand. It rests gently in the glass like a calm golden ocean.
There’s almost something soothing about that sight.
Almost.
I tip the glass back and finish it in one go.
The honeyed fruit, orange oil, peaches, toffee, and wood spice taste is crisp, rich, and clean, but not overpowering.
It burns, as scotch should, but it’s a smooth burn.
I look up to see that Dad has done the same. He looks down at his empty glass with a satisfied grin.
“That’s pretty good stuff.”
“Indeed. Another?” Dad asks as he grabs the bottle off the bar.
“Please.”
Dad refills our glasses and then holds his up in a toasting gesture. “To my adoring wife.”
“To my loving mother.”
We clink our glasses together.
We take another drink, one that allows us to savor the scotch this time around.
“Welcome home, son.”
Chapter 4
Brooke
“Now, please welcome to the stage…Coach Eric Mack.”
The crowd erupts into cheers as Helen stands aside to let Eric take the stage.
The football field is packed with students, teachers, parents, and even just locals who are fans of the football team.
It’s like this every year at our final rally. It’s why we hold it outdoors on the football field rather than inside—too many people and not enough space.
Hell, even out here on the football field, we barely have enough room for everyone.
Eric holds up his hands, and everyone begins to quietly hush.
Beside me, Jessie nudges my arm.
I turn to look at her just in time to see her yell out over the crowd, “Take it off!”
The statuesque blonde is grinning from ear to ear, and her blue eyes are dancing with mischief.
The crowd laughs at her suggestion, and more than a couple of single women in the crowd cheer in agreement.
“You know, funny thing is, she wouldn’t date me until after I became the football coach,” Eric says to the crowd in jest.
Again, the crowd laughs.
It’s hard not to with Eric and Jess. The two of them are adorable together. Honestly, it can be outright sickening at times.
I never saw it coming, the two of them getting together, but I’m not surprised by it either. We’ve always been friends since we were kids, and they each always thought the other was hot.
But it wasn’t until after she moved back to town—from New York, of all places—to help run her family’s vineyard that anything came of the two.
Jessie doesn’t talk about her time in New York all that much, but then that’s because I know she spent time with Dylan.
I know they weren’t a thing—they’re too much like a brother and sister to do anything more than a hug—but she knows that Dylan, for whatever reason I can’t explain, is still a sore spot for me.
“Now, before y’all get too excited and start throwing your ones and fives at me, let’s talk about this amazing group of young men behind me. These young men have worked hard, day in and day out, to prove that they’re the best. And for the fifth year in a row, we are…without a doubt, the best there is in the beautiful state of Texas.”
Everyone cheers again. Flags of red and white, with our team’s mascot on them, wave in the air.
It’s no surprise that the team has only lost six games in five years. If Dylan was the best quarterback that our school ever produced, then Eric was its best wide receiver. Back then, the two of them were unstoppable together.
Just like how Dylan and I used to be.
As much as I don’t want to, I can’t help thinking back to our first kiss, our first time fucking, and him walking out on me at prom—after we had just been made Prom King and Prom Queen, I might add.
By the time I force myself to stop walking down memory lane, Eric has finished the rest of his speech.
Slowly, the massive crowd begins to disperse, and I feel Jess grab me by the hand.
“Come on. Let’s go find my man so we can start making plans about the funeral.”
We sift through the crowd of people like we’re trying to navigate through a rough ocean current.
When my eyes do fall on Eric, he’s surrounded by several people, which isn’t all that uncommon after these rallies.
Two of them I recognize as Scott and Krista Jones. The two have owned the local sports store since before Jessie, Eric, and I were even born. They’ve been providing the school—and the town—with our team’s gear and jerseys since they opened.
You’ll never find a bigger pair of fans for any of our teams than the Mr. and Mrs. Jones.
The third man I don’t recognize at all from this angle, but his ass looks amazing in the suit he’s wearing.
Jessica runs past the group and let’s herself get swept up into his arms. The two share a quick kiss before he sets her down.
“Hey, baby,” she coos before stealing another kiss.
She’s all smiles, but once she turns around, her eyes widen in surprise. Jessie throws her arms around the strange man, and I’m both curious and worried—but mostly worried.
I feel my heart beating faster in my chest as Jess let’s go of the man, and he starts to turn.
My mouth goes dry, and my hands begin to tremble once I realize that my worry is well-founded.
“Hello, Brooke.”
I stand there dumbfounded and surprised by the sight of Dylan.
And to make matters worse, he’s every bit as gorgeous as I remember—and sometimes fantasize about. Actually, I’d say he’s hotter than I fantasized.
His short brown hair is darker now—not as much sun in New York as there is in Texas—his green eyes still shine like gemstones made of jade, and the stubble along his jaw gives him a roguish appeal. And his well-tailored suit tells me he’s in better shape now than he was when we were younger.
Fuck, he looks good!
“Hello, Dylan. I’m sorry to hear about your mother.”
His lips quirk upward into a soft smile.
“Thank you. That means a lot, and I appreciate it.”
To my ears, his voice feels like smooth and smoky whiskey does on my tongue.
I realize that our eyes haven’t left each other’s gaze since he turned around, and I feel very exposed all
of the sudden.
“Well, Dylan, my boy, it’s truly a joy seeing you again, but Krista and I have to get back to the shop.”
I’ve been so wrapped up in seeing Dylan again that I have completely forgotten that Mr. and Mrs. Jones are still standing here with us.
“Of course. It’s great seeing you too again, sir.”
“And I’m sorry about your ma. She was a firecracker of a lady,” the old man says with a warm smile.
“That she was. And thank you again, sir,” Dylan answers with a slight smile of his own.
“You take care of yourself now, young man. And make sure to take care of your father, too,” Mrs. Jones chides as she pulls Dylan in for a hug.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Dylan and Scott shake hands quickly before the couple makes their departure.
“So, when did you get back in town? And why didn’t you fucking call to tell us?” Jessie asks before giving Dylan a playful punch in the shoulder.
“I only just got into town this morning. Had breakfast with Pops, went over the funeral arrangements, and heard about the rally. So I figured I’d just come on down and see Big Mac. I would’ve called, but I wanted to surprise everyone instead.”
Well, consider me fucking surprised, Dylan!
“It’s weird seeing you in a suit. It’s like I’m looking at a younger version of your dad,” Eric teases.
“Well, that’s because I have class. You know, like the Patriots.”
Eric rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, and Jessie laughs.
“Agree to disagree, Pickle.”
“You can’t disagree with fact, my friend.”
The way the two carry on makes me feel like we’re all in high school. It’s like nothing has ever changed, and we’ve all stayed together after all these years.
Only, we haven’t.
He left us all—he left me.
“So, how’s your dad holding up anyway?”
I instantly regret speaking.
Dylan’s eyes turn to meet mine, and I have to stop myself from getting lost in them. It doesn’t help that I can see that spark that has always drawn me to him alive and well in them, even with his current loss.
And what’s worse is that I can see his eyes looking at me in the same manner that I look at him.
