Page 47 of Holding Ground

Emelia stops at the edge of the room, facing us with Baylor plastered to her like a koala bear, and I don’t think I’m breathing. “Thanks for a fun evening, guys.”

The three of us watch, speechless, as she walks my daughter down the hallway.

Both my brothers’ heavy gazes fall on me.

Not wanting their attention, I spin and walk over to the fridge. “Let’s get that fire going. Who wants another beer?”

“I’m in. Hollis is my DD,” Ansel says, and I’m thankful that, for once, he doesn’t say anything smart-ass about what we just witnessed.

I grab two beers and shut the fridge door. “Let’s go.”

We put our jackets on and head outside to the middle of the lawn where the firepit rests, surrounded by Adirondack chairs. Ansel, being the fireman, declares it’s his job to get the fire going. Hollis says his job is to put out fires, not start them, but we can’t argue. Ansel makes one great fire.

Ansel and I take a pull off our beers while Hollis pulls a pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his Carhartt jacket.

“You gotta quit that shit.” I nod toward the pack in his hands.

Hollis allows himself one a day, which I suppose is better than being a pack-a-day smoker, but still. One a day? Just give it up already. Not to mention, he ends up having to buy a pack every week because they get stale. Waste of money and bad for your health.

Hollis knocks one out of the pack and holds it between his lips, sliding the pack back into his jacket. “Don’t worry about me.” He fishes a lighter out of his other pocket and lights the cigarette, inhaling with his eyes closed, then leaning back in his seat when he blows out the smoke. “You should probably worry about yourself.”

My forehead wrinkles. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You like her. Like, really like her.” Ansel looks at me over his beer as he takes a pull.

“I love my daughter.” I look between my brothers, who now have serious expressions on their faces. I’m not entertaining this conversation.

“Oh, this is the game we’re playing?” Ansel rests his ankle on his opposite knee.

Hollis blows another ring of smoke into the night sky, waiting instead of poking. All three of us couldn’t be more different.

“I’ve known her a few weeks,” I say.

“And?” Ansel arches an eyebrow.

“And that’s not how it works.” I bring my beer to my lips.

“That’s exactly how it works for guys like us.” Ansel sets his beer on the arm of his chair. “We hold out and we hold out, and then one day someone walks in and holding out stops being a choice.”

“You speaking from experience?”

“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.”

“Well, you sound like a fucking country song.” I take another pull of my beer, wishing I hadn’t offered up the firepit.

“He sounds right.” The end of the cigarette flares as Hollis takes a drag.

I meet his gaze over the orange flames, but he only keeps his eyes on me.

“Don’t start.” My voice holds all the irritation and frustration living inside me.

Hollis raises both hands, the cigarette butt still between his thumb and pointer. “I haven’t started.”

“You’re about to.”

“I’m not. Ansel is going to start because he’s better at it. I’m just here for closing remarks.”

Ansel snorts. I’d laugh too if I wasn’t the target.