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“Tell your mama to come over, then,” Lizzie says. “She and I will hang with the baby while you two go have some drinks.”
“You sure, Mom?” Annabel asks.
“Positive.”
Annabel looks up at me. “I don’t know how long I’ll last tonight, but I’d love to come.”
Searching her eyes, I know she’s hurting. She’s been humbled. I know that. I feel it. Recognizing myself in her pain knocks the wind out of me. Like I’ve been taken out midair by a six-six offensive lineman and left for dead on the turf.
I wish knowing that kind of pain, seeing it, didn’t scare me so bad. Makes me feel like a coward. I just—
I’m lost.
But I cannot lose myself in Annabel. I may want her, but she needs me. Everyone needs me to keep it together. For as long as I’m able to, anyway.
“The bellboys’ll help you unpack,” I say gruffly. “See you tonight.”
I tuck my clipboard underneath my arm and hightail it out of there.
I hope coming to Blue Mountain Farm helps Annabel.
I hope her coming doesn’t crush me or the friendship I value so much.
The friendship I need now more than ever.
I feel Samuel’s eyes on me as I drive the golf cart to the barn, my wrist resting on the top of the wheel. Guests meander down the path beside the road. We wave, and they wave back with a smile.
A few stare openly at the three of us. It happens less often now that we’re retired, but three big dudes piled into a tiny golf cart is not a sight you see every day. Especially when those three dudes come from a famous football dynasty.
“Annabel doesn’t know, does she?” Samuel says.
I glance at him. He’s got one arm raised above his head, holding on to the roof of the cart as we round a bend.
“No.” A flush of warmth crawls up my neck. I scratch myself there, my beard chafing against my fingers. “I want to keep it that way. I’ll tell her eventually. I mean, I’m gonna have to. But she’s going through her own shit right now, and I don’t want to add to the pile.”
“It’s none of my business. But I’m just saying, keeping secrets from your best friend is usually a recipe for disaster.”
“Agreed,” Hank says from the back seat. “It’s not like she’s gonna judge you, Beau.”
I turn into the next bend a little too sharply, making the cart jerk. “No, she’ll want to help.”
“So let her,” Samuel says. “You can’t do this on your own. No one can. Just look at—”
“No. Goddamn it, y’all, can you just listen to me for once? I said I’d tell her, just not now. Got it?”
Hank wiggles a finger against my cheek. “Aw, she’s got you blushing.”
“I am not,” I reply, swatting him away. “How many times do I have to tell you—”
“That you and Annabel are just friends.” Samuel gives me a hard pat on the shoulder. “Keep telling yourself that, brother.”
“Is that why you broke up with Gretchen?” Hank asks. “Because you knew Annabel would eventually be coming up to the farm?”
The warmth in my face flares. “I broke up with Gretchen because she deserves more than I can give her. And Annabel isn’t into me like that. We’ve been friends for seventeen goddamn years. Don’t you think something would’ve happened by now if she wanted it to?”
Hank shakes his head thoughtfully. “Not necessarily. Y’all are both busy people. You were married to your career for a while. She was, well, actually married. And let’s be real, you guys are a little intimidated by each other.”
“Agreed,” Samuel says. “She was too smart for you, and you were too…you for her. If you know what I mean.”
“No, I actually don’t know what you mean.”
“You were the jock with the pierced Johnson—”
“Don’t make me stop this cart, y’all.”
Samuel’s shoulders shake with laughter. “You’re cute to think that’s a fight you’re gonna win. Anyway. You were this idiot with a piercing in the wrong place, and she was this gorgeous, genuine, accomplished—”
“You know what’s not cute? Y’all thinking you know better than me.”
Here’s the thing, though: they’re not wrong. Well, not totally, anyway. What kept me from making a move wasn’t that I was intimidated by Bel. It’s that I’ve always had a deep appreciation for her awesomeness. She deserved the world. Deserved someone who could make her wildly ambitious dreams come true.
I’ve worked hard to become that man. But now that I’m finally there, it’s too late.
I all but screech to a stop in front of the barn, making my brothers pitch forward.
“Ow,” Samuel says, rubbing his elbow where he hit it against the windshield. “What is with you today?”
The barn doors are thrown open to the spring afternoon. I can see the tables are already set for dinner service with crisp white tablecloths, heirloom silverware, and vases of flowers from the flower garden up the hill. The smell from the smoker on the other side of the barn fills my head. Chef Katie is doing her brisket tonight. The high/low combination of down-home cooking and fine dining is what we’re known for.
