Page 39 of The CEO and the Mountain Man

He raised his brows. “Season of grief, Dad? Really?”

“I guess it was more like two seasons.” I counted my fingers. Winter, Spring, Summer… “Almost three if you really think about it.”

“Such a dork,” he whispered under his breath before closing the distance between us. He paused, then dragged me into a hug.

My heart swooped in my chest. I gripped him tight.

Who allowed this kid to get so much taller than me?

“The thing I saw from you today,” I said into his shoulder, “is that every time you dipped, you fought your way back up. You would go quiet but then would let yourself laugh.”

“Miguel was the one who made me laugh,” he admitted softly. “But not like … because he was uncomfortable with me being sad.”

I pulled back to look at him again. “No. He let you be sad and only made you laugh when you were already climbing out of it on your own.”

With what little that Beau had shared with me about Miguel’s childhood, I was amazed by the kind of man he was becoming.

“He’s only a year older than me,” River noted, confusion across his brow. “How do you think he learned how to do that?”

“Beau said that he didn’t have the best family. I’m guessing that means he learned it the hard way.” I tilted my head from side to side. “Probably because it was what he needed and never got.”

“Beau paid a lot of attention to you today,” River said, changing the subject.

Like a troublemaker.

“Not this again,” I moaned.

I mean … River wasn’t entirely wrong. But I didn’t want to think about what any of that meant.

“I’m just saying.”

I rolled my eyes and shooed him toward the front door.

“Just … be safe. Text me if you’re going to stay the night.”

“Dad?” River said, hand on his walking stick.

“Yes, son.”

His grin grew to shit-eating status. “I’mdefinitelystaying the night.”

Ugh.

Who let him grow up?

I’m blaming my dead ex-wife.

“Good,” I said instead, trying for cool. “And obviously you can always call me if?—”

“I know, Dad. I know,” he said, chuckling as he closed the door behind him.

Then, as I often did in these quiet moments, I spoke to Monica.

You really hurt him. But I know you loved him. I just wish you hadn’t caused so much damage on the way out. I wish you were here. I wish … I wish things could’ve been different.

She didn’t answer, which was probably for the best.

As I was deciding whether to get into my pajamas, my phone buzzed with a text.