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“I’d say it’s your pickle that landed you in this mess,” Beau says darkly.
Hank rolls his eyes. “Really? That’s the best you can do with pickle?”
“Hank’s right. There are”—Rhett blows out a breath—“many, many directions we can go with that—”
“Enough,” June says in the most mom-voice ever. “You’re just using humor to deflect. I won’t see my babies fighting for a second longer than is necessary. The past year has taken a toll on our family. On me. Let’s get down to business.”
Her eyes well with tears, and I watch Hank’s Adam’s apple bob.
“I’m sorry, Mama.”
Across the table, Samuel clears his throat. “I’m sorry too. None of us have been a saint, that’s for damn sure.”
The urge to add my apology to the pile rises up inside me, the words on the tip of my tongue. But Hank has the mic, and I want to give him the space he needs to say his piece.
“I would do anything for y’all,” he continues. “Your happiness means the world to me. For a while there, your happiness actually meant more than my own.”
“Doesn’t have to be that way,” Samuel says. “No one asked that of you.”
Hank nods. “That was on me. As great as it sounded in my head, it kinda wreaked havoc on my life. Turns out, putting yourself last is a recipe for disaster.”
I find myself nodding along, falling more in love with this man with each passing second.
Maybe that’s our glue—the thing that holds us together: the certainty that we’ll never allow each other to abandon ourselves again.
“But even after what happened last spring, guess I still hadn’t learned my lesson. Samuel, I wanted you and Emma to start planning the wedding of your dreams. I knew how excited y’all were, and how much you wanted to celebrate the fact you found each other with all your friends. I wasn’t gonna hold you back. So I cooked up what I thought was a harmless white lie.”
The table is quiet as Hank’s words sink in.
“My intentions were good. My methods were not. I never expected to come home and, you know, bam, realize I’ve not only healed from what went down, but I’m also ready to move on to something—someone—else. I never expected to fall so hard and so fast for Stevie”—he turns his head to look at me—“but in retrospect, the writing was on the wall from that first night in Vegas.”
Annabel arches a brow. “So you guys really did meet in Vegas.”
“We did,” I say. “The story we told y’all about us pretty much went down exactly like we said.”
“That was Stevie’s idea, by the way—sticking to the truth,” Hank adds.
Beau does not appear pleased by this revelation. “It’s not Stevie I’m worried about. No offense.”
“None taken,” I say.
“It’s you.” Beau looks Hank directly in the eye. “This worries me. A lot. The brother I knew a couple years back was a man of integrity. He made good choices and did good things. I thought you’d be on your way to becoming that guy again after your year doing, well, whatever the hell you and Rhett did.”
Rhett points a finger at Beau. “That is none of your beeswax, okay?”
“Dude, I truly don’t want to know.” Beau glances around the table. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we had high hopes for your return, Hank.”
“He did seem happy,” Annabel says, cutting Hank an uncertain glance.
“I am happy,” Hank replies. “Because this—me and Stevie—it’s real. Y’all really think we could fake this much lovey-dovey shit?” He holds up our joined hands.
“You guys are definitely gross,” Rhett says.
“We fell for Stevie,” June says. “All of us did. Did you not think you’d hurt us all over again by bringing her to Blue Mountain, saying it was serious, when in reality you had no plans to ever bring her back?”
My face burns. Hank runs a hand over his face. “That’s fair. Look, like I said, the pessimist in me was still very much alive and well this time last week. I knew Stevie was great, but I had no idea just how quickly she’d bond with you guys. I honestly thought you’d have some polite chitchat, spend a few hours together, and maybe share some laughs. Did I think my mother would end up twerking with her the first night she arrived?” Hank looks at me. “No, that was definitely something I did not anticipate.”
A few chuckles break out, easing the painful silence.
“That was fun,” June says. “I’d twerk with you any day of the week, Stevie.”
I manage a smile. “Same goes for you, June. I’ll never forget that night.”
Still looking at me, Hank says, “I think we can all agree that Stevie is exceptional. Maybe my biggest mistake was not realizing it sooner.”
Emma, up until now silent, scoffs. “So basically we’re all pissed because Stevie is awesome, and Hank fell in love with her without meaning to?”
