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“Didn’t happen,” I say. Though it did.
“Maybe felt each other up a little?” Brock asks hopefully.
“Nope.” Except, yep.
“Leave her alone, Brock,” Dee says. “It’s obvious she’s dopey in love with Dale.”
Brock takes a sip of his dirty martini. “Doesn’t mean she didn’t have her fun before she met him.”
“Oh my God.” I will myself not to pull out a fistful of Brock’s thick hair. “Just stop this. Now.”
He steps back in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I hope Dale knows how lucky he is.”
“He does,” Dee answers for me.
If lucky means a woman who’s infinitely more experienced than he is. But romantically, we’re both novices. I’ve had a few relationships here and there, but never anything serious. I know I’ve had a lot more sex than he has.
Still…that spanking…
He wanted to get rough.
I’ve always shied away from any kind of kink. Wasn’t my thing, or so I thought.
Apparently I was wrong.
It’s definitely my thing now, but only with Dale.
Actually…I never want anything except with Dale. Damn. I want way more than these two months.
I want a lifetime with him. By his side, working together, making great wines.
And all he’s promised me is two months.
I’m so fucked.
Chapter Seventeen
Dale
My brother is home. He’s laughing with Henry and Ava at the moment, while dueling forces keep my mind churning. I stand with them, but I’m not involved in the conversation. They laugh and chat while I stand and burn inside. And not in a good way.
First, my birth father’s revelation. I originally decided not to tell Donny, but now I’m caught. He has the right to know. On the other hand, Donny has succeeded in erasing that part of his life from his mind. Who am I to bring it all screaming back?
Second, Brock. Brock and Ashley. My womanizing cousin is coming on strong, and it’s pissing me off to no end.
Uncle Joe, Brad, and his girlfriend are in the heated pool. Heat isn’t necessary for Uncle Joe, though. The man would swim in ice-cold water. He’s a born fish. So is Brock, but instead of prancing around in his Speedo, he’s homing in on Ashley.
Fuck. It. All.
“What do you think, Dale?”
I jerk at my brother’s voice. “Think about what?”
“Thanksgiving this year,” Donny says. “It falls on Uncle Ryan and Aunt Ruby’s anniversary.”
“Gina and I want to do something spectacular,” Ava chimes in. “We were thinking a big party at the winery. Aunt Marj and I will handle the cooking. Turkey and all the trimmings, of course, and I’ll supply the bread.”
“Seriously?” I say. “You want to party when we’ve lost half the Syrah?”
“We all feel your loss, bro,” Donny says, “but most of it was harvested. We’ll still have—”
“What do you mean we, Don?” I ask, not nicely. “Those vines are mine, not yours. You don’t give a rat’s ass about any of my work.”
“Wait just a minute,” Donny says.
“Easy,” Henry pipes in. “We all know how much the Syrah means to you, Dale, and we’re all glad you’re okay and that you don’t have any effects from being caught in the fire. But none of that takes away from Uncle Ry and Aunt Ruby’s celebration. This is the first year for the old-vine Syrah.”
“Make that the only year,” I say. “The vines are gone.”
“Half the vines are gone,” Donny says. “And they could come back.”
“There’s no guarantee,” I say.
“Damn, Dale. Why is the glass always half empty with you? You lost half, yeah. But you still have half. As for the loss, of course there’s no guarantee they’ll come back. Life doesn’t give you any guarantees. For God’s sake, you and I know that better than anyone.”
Big brick to my gut. Donny’s right, but he doesn’t know the half of it.
No one gets a guarantee in life, least of all Donny and me.
And I…
I could have done so much better all those years ago. I saved him as best I could. Always told them to take me instead of him, and most of the time, they did.
I was determined. Strong and determined.
But in the end, I was not unbreakable.
I shake my head. I can’t think about this now. Let them have their Thanksgiving anniversary party. Let them pretend everything’s okay.
Let them…
“Dale?” Donny says. “You going to answer me or what?”
“What was the question?”
Donny shakes his head. “Never mind. Let it go, bro. You’ve got to let it go.”
Let it go.
So easy for my little brother. He can pretend nothing ever happened to us. He can get through the fog of life without the handicaps I possess.
My vines. I need my vines. But if I go to the vineyards, I’ll be greeted by ash and soot. Maybe the winery. The harvested grapes are there. The young wine is fermenting.
Still, that will give me no peace.
Not that I ever have peace, but I come close with my Syrah.
