I never expected Opa to crack jokes. Not when he needs that money for the farm. But he just shrugs, gets up, and heads toward the sideboard where he keeps all the best bourbon.
He pulls out a bottle, then grabs three glasses in one meaty hand before plunking back down at the table.
“I was in your shoes once.” He shoots a rare soft look at Oma. “Hard and spiny on the outside, until your oma came along and cracked me open like a fucking crab leg.”
I snort. “Poetic,” I reply, only to look at Oma and see her smiling back at him. Their relationship has always been a fairy tale to me. Strong, sure, and full of mutual respect.
It strikes me now that if I ever do the whole marriage and white picket fence thing, I’d want it to be like what they have.
Opa pours three large glasses of bourbon and slides two toward Oma and me.
“So, what you’re telling me is we’re skipping the payday?”
I groan and drop my forehead into my hands. And this time, tears slip out unbidden.
Get yourself together, I chide myself. I desperately don’t want to fall apart in front of them. But the stress of the last few weeks—the exhilaration of meeting Julia and the disappointment I’m about to dole out on them—hits me full force in a way I don’t expect.
An awkward sob racks me as I try to pull myself together.
I fail miserably.
“Oh, my boy,” Opa murmurs softly. I hear the screech of his chair as he rounds the table and comes to sit beside me.
“You think I give a fuck about that money or that sleazebag who’s going to pay it?” His arm mirrors Oma’s so that they’re both pressed to either side of me, huddled around me. Propping me up.
“Your happiness is our number one priority. It always has been, and it always will be. We promised your mother that we would love you as if you were our own, if anything ever happened to her. And we do. She would have been proud of the man you’ve grown up to be.”
The mention of my mom only makes more tears spring up in my eyes, my throat constricting even further. Opa forges ahead, though.
“You’re thoughtful, but shrewd. Nobody’s fool. You’ve guarded that heart for too long. And you’ve made more than enough sacrifices for this family. So, this is one venture I’m glad to see crash and burn. Because if it means your happiness, then who gives a flying fuck about the rest? I’d sell this farm a million times over to see you or any of your siblings living a good life.”
His words make my throat ache, and dampness trails from my eyes.Thishas always been what being a Brandt is about. This is what’s held me together all these years. The knowledge that no matter what, my family has my back.
And I should have remembered that before I tortured myself over this. I should have known that this is what they would say.
Their hands rub in tandem against my back as I gain my composure. “Oh my god, I’m a fucking mess,” I whisper, sniffling and rubbing my tearstained cheeks on my forearms. As though I couldn’t possibly face them like this.
Oma leans in close, dropping her head to my shoulder. “But what a girl to be a mess over. One who’s strong enough topretend her car stalled just to keep Carl from crossing this property line.”
At that, my head shoots up. “What?”
They both burst out laughing. Opa’s firm clap on my shoulder draws my attention to him. His eyes are watery too. I mouth a silentThank youto him, to which he says back, “Always. Now take a big drink of that bourbon and let Oma tell you this story. It’s an entertaining one.”
The night wears on in a haze of warmth and feelings of love and safety. It’s a good reminder that I’m surrounded by people who love me unconditionally. I head to bed feeling more at peace than I have in a very, very long time.
And as I pull the sheets of my childhood bed up over myself I’m barely able to keep my eyes open. I consider texting Julia, wanting to tell her the good news.
But then I think better of it. She’s out of reception, enjoying time with her family.
Plus, the thought of being able to see her face when I share this good news brings a smile to my lips as I sink into a whiskey-induced slumber.
CHAPTER 43
Julia
IT’S A FAKE-IT-TILL-YOU-MAKE-ITvibe this morning. Partially because the movies ran way past my bedtime and partially because Theo’s overbearing brother act has me in afunk.
I step out of my car near the bunkhouse with a spring in my step and a general feeling of lightness.By choice.
