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Cutting the engine, John stares toward the brownish brick facade. His cheek is pulled in, teeth grinding. He is all things confident and controlled—but everyone has weaknesses.
He tosses his sunglasses onto the dash. “Let’s go.”
I carry the gift bag as we go up the sidewalk, our shoulders brushing, I know we present as a couple. Is that what people will assume?
Resting his hand on my back, he mashes the doorbell. His warm fingers press into my spine. A few seconds later, an older woman, probably in her seventies, opens the door. Her mouth is tight and her nod short as her eyes carve their way over John.
“Hello, Judy. It’s nice to see you.” Ignoring his smile, she lasers her gaze to me. His fingers burrow into my waist. “Hollie, this is—"
The lady—Judy—turns and goes into the living room.
I look up at John, finding no explanation, only tight features and a forced smile.
He nudges me forward. I’d expected to be in his son’s home, but the décor of this place screams a different generation. I assume the house goes with the greeter.
A sea of close to a dozen people turn our way from their places on a long sofa, a pair of worn blue recliners, and some dining chairs that look pulled from another room. A mountain of wrapped and bagged gifts spill over the top and around the sides of a dark oak coffee table.
I thought this was a backyard cookout. This crowded, cramped space makes me sweat.
A relative hush drops over the room, although a pair of middle-aged women in a corner maintain their own conversation. A younger woman, not all that much older than Jacob, with streaming red hair and an uncomfortable but sincere smile, rises from the sofa and shakes John’s hand. “We’re so glad you made it, John.”
“Thank you for inviting me, Dani.”
“This looks fun.” Her voice is overly cheerful as she takes the colorful bag from me and sets it on the table with the rest of the gifts. There’s an angel tattoo on the hand she extends to me. “I’m Dani.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” John touches my back. “This is Hollie, a friend of mine.”
The patio door opens, and almost instantly the smells of a cookout permeate the room. Charcoal, smoke, and grilled meat. A young man—tall and dark-haired—enters. Even with the unkempt facial hair and the gages in either ear, I’d know this is John’s son. The squirming redheaded toddler in his arms gives another clue, as well as a further identifier of Dani. For curiosity’s sake, I check both of the pair’s hands. No wedding rings.
Tyler wears black skinny jeans. A midnight t-shirt bearing the name of an alternative rock band droops from his thin shoulders. His hair is unruly, and he utterly lacks any of the muscles his father owns. His smile vaporizes at the sight of us, or, more specifically, his father, though I feel included in the scowl.
Again, very like his dad—yet not. There’s a coldness in his deep-set eyes I can honestly say I’ve never seen in John’s.
Seconds lapse.
“Babe, look who’s here.” Dani steps around a wrapped gift on the floor and weaves through the crowd. She takes her boyfriend’s hand and leads him over. Unrest simmers. I brace for an attack.
Tyler’s fists ball as he eyes his father’s hand as if it were a snake. At a not-too-subtle nod from Dani, he takes it, barely long enough to count as a handshake.
“Son.”
Tyler’s face freezes. “John.”
Oh dear.
John’s cheek jerks, but more significantly, his face goes to mush as he stoops and gets in the tyke’s sightline. “Hey there, champ.” He jiggles the boy’s socked toes. Brayden burrows his face into his daddy’s stubbled neck.
Pain grooves its mark into the creases around John’s eyes. The boy’s reaction is normal for a child Brayden’s age, though I imagine, given the circumstances, it feels anything but normal to his grandfather.
Grandfather? Sure, John is the dictionary definition of maturity and authority—butgrandfather? I have a difficult time equating him with that stage of life.
Dani touches my arm. “And this is his friend Hollie.”
“Friend?” Given the slitted eyes on me, there’s nothingfriendlyabout the question.
John dashes his head. “I’m sorry. Yes, this is Hollie Carpenter.”
Tyler’s finger darts between the two of us. “How long has this been going on?” He drips disdain.
