Page 89 of Silver Brewer

“Marcus,” I warn him and his euphemisms.

“Something happened right. You connected. No man travels hundreds of miles to see a girl if he doesn’t want her permanently. Nor does he wash her hair.”

“Marcus!” I growl.

“I’m just saying. Letty, so what if he hasn’t asked? It’s the modern age. Look at Peter and me. Ask Giant or, better yet, be your demanding self and tell him: I’m moving to Georgia. Ask him to marry you!”

Marcus and his partner had this unconventional question. When you’re gay, who does the proposing? Marcus decided to ask Peter to marry him. Peter’s the one who proposed a child through adoption.

“That’s ludicrous,” I admonish.

“And so is throwing away the love of your life. And don’t tell me Hudson was him because I’ll never believe you. I’ve seen you with Giant.”

Marcus met us once for brunch, and another time, we had dinner with him and Peter. He’s seen Giant and I together. We laugh. We stare. We touch.

I exhale in frustration. “I didn’t do the right thing, did I?”

“Want the truth this time?”

I shake my head, but I’ll listen.

“I don’t think so, honey.” His squinting eyes tell me I should have been honest with Giant. Told him the stress I was under. The news I received.

“I know,” I mutter. “But it’s not like I can call him back and say, hey, I’m a nut-head lately, forgive me. Or better yet, race down to him and grovel at his feet.” I can’t leave Illinois, and I want to curse the adoption process even though I understand its reasoning. I want to raise my fist and scream. I am a good woman. I deserve this abandoned child. Why can’t you trust me? But I don’t want anything to get in my way of keeping Finn forever.

Nothing’s permanent, Olivet, until it’s in black ink on dotted lines. It might be Uncle Frank’s only decent advice.

“If you call him, I think he’ll understand you’re a little off balance lately. And yes, typically an apology works best, and when groveling, so do blow jobs, but we don’t need to discuss that.”

My head can’t wrap around the fact I won’t be giving Giant one of those to make up for what I’ve done. I won’t be kissing him or touching him or anything ever again.

“You didn’t even tell him about Mr. Calder?” Marcus reminds me, and I sit up, brushing at my cheeks.

Marcus gives me a disapproving look once again. It took a few months of persistently pestering one Drake Calder, grandson and attorney to Sam, to forgive me and then get what I wanted—an interview with the old man. I’d been hurt after what my uncle thought I’d done, but I couldn’t shake the feeling there was a reason I met Mr. Calder, the elder, in the wrong place at the right time instead of his grandson. Maybe it was the romantic in me, but I couldn’t let it go.

“Why didn’t you at least tell Giant about that?”

Never let anything divide you. Not family, business, money, or a river.

Oh Mr. Calder, how right you were, yet what about miles and miles of distance? His girl moved to California, and he never got her back. Why didn’t she come back? I bet she was afraid. I bet the resort in her memories didn’t match the reality of her heart, and she couldn’t turn back. Her summer of love was all a fantasy. A great adventure. One she’d never forget.

My shoulders fall, and I reach for Finn on Marcus’s lap, needing the comfort of holding my child. Once he’s in my arms, I remind myself I need to think about more than me. I need to continue with my initial plan despite the stabbing pain in my chest. I need to do what’s best to keep Finn.

“I think I need to let the poor man be.” My resolve returns just a little bit. The best thing for Giant is to set him free.

33

Brotherly love

[Giant]

Three more months have passed, and being the last week of May, her six months are up any day.

“You look like shit.” A gruff male voice mocks me while my throat burns with another swallow of whiskey. I should be over at Blue Ridge Microbrewery and Pub, celebrating the Summer Fling Sample Thing Billy thought up as another draw to the bar. Samples and such will be provided to introduce our summer brews, but I couldn’t handle the festivities.

“Surprised to see you here.” A heavy hand pats my shoulder, holds a moment, and then a man sits on the barstool next to me. I turn to face James. This is his hangout. Ridged Edge is a bar on the outskirts of town, appropriately named, as well as owned and operated by Rebel’s Edge, the local biker club. James is second in command. He joined them at a low point in his life. They aren’t hard-core one-percenters, but they’ve had their share of unsavory dealings. It’s one reason I didn’t feel safe with Letty up on the mountain with him nearby.

You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, along with Finn. Then don’t walk away, I wanted to shout during that phone call months ago, but I heard it in her voice. We were over.