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It was early afternoon and they’d been at it since breakfast with no end in sight. Up next, hot potato toss (whatever the hell that was).
Matt accepted a hot beverage from Betty Jo and leaned back in his seat. The two of them had insisted on a break. A roaring fire was going down near the water and the heat felt wonderful. Beau had just taken Fitz up for a nap and Grace was arguing with her brothers over the validity of one of their finds.
“We already won,” he said to Betty Jo. “What’s the point?”
“The point is, my friend, Grace Simon might be small and cute, but she’s tenacious as hell and doesn’t give up. And she sure as hell doesn’t like to lose.”
Matt watched her, his chest tightening when her brother, Teague, picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. He marched her over to one of the biggest snow drifts around and threatened to toss her into it. The two of them yelled and laughed and yelled some more until they both fell.
Eden Simon came rushing out of the house and peered over the upper deck. She spied her children and then relaxed, shaking her head before disappearing back inside. This family was whole. Intact. And he was humbled to be here with them.
“She’s not going to give up on you. You know that, right?” Betty kicked his foot.
“I’m not so sure.”
Betty Jo grabbed his hand and squeezed it hard. “I’ve never seen you like this before, Matt. She’s good for you. And in spite of what you think, you’re damn good for her.”
“Delilah came back.” And there it was in a nutshell.
Betty Jo sank back into her chair. “Shit. Did she and Grace talk?”
He nodded. “Yep.”
“What did the bitch tell her?”
“Nothing. As far as I know, nothing.” He glanced at Betty Jo. Saw her surprise.
“Well, what did she want? Did you talk to her? I hope you told her to screw the hell off and leave you alone.”
Matt took a sip from his mug, letting the hot tea burn its way down his throat. There were things that Betty Jo knew—things he’d not shared with any other soul. And yet, there was so much more to his story, stuff even she didn’t know. More pain. More shame.
“She told me that Ben is dying.”
“Aw, man.” Betty Jo set down her mug. “She could have written you a letter or sent an email. Or a text message for God’s sake.”
He laughed, not because he found her statement funny, but because it was so damn pathetic. “I guess she could have.”
“Did she fly?” Betty was getting worked up something good.
“Nope.”
“She drove all the way from Arizona?” Grace and Teague glanced their way, no doubt because Betty’s voice had risen at least two octaves. “Mother trucker.”
He looked at her. “Mother trucker?”
Grace looked exasperated. “It’s the only thing I could come up with that makes me feel almost as good as saying fuck.” She made a face. “Beau wasn’t happy because Fitz’s vocabulary was getting a little, uh, colorful.”
“I don’t doubt that for a second.”
“Anyway, he bet me a new Gucci bag that I couldn’t go a month without saying a curse word.”
“Guess you lost then.”
“Huh?” She whipped her head around and frowned.
“You just said the F word that rhymes with truck.”
She punched him in the arm. “Only counts if Beau or Fitz hears it.” She laughed and then grabbed up her mug of tea, her laughter slowly fading as her eyes rested on Grace.
