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My heart sank as she ran to a nearby table and picked up two hats made of construction paper, complete with yellow square buckles.
“You did a great job,” I told her. “Sheridan won’t be here today, though.”
“What?” She made a grumpy face. “You’re supposed to bring your girlfriend to Thanksgiving, you know.”
“Hey, peanut, go help in the kitchen,” Wes said, rescuing me.
“But I’m helping Lars with his hat.”
“You can help him later. Go.” He hiked a thumb in the direction of the kitchen.
“But Mommy said the best way I can help is to leave her alone.”
Wes smiled at that. “Ask her if you can please have a job, okay?”
She nodded glumly and reached for my hand. “Let’s go, Lars.”
Wes arched his brows, amused. “Lars is staying with me. Now beat it because today is the first day Santa gets serious about the nice and naughty lists for Christmas.”
Annalise’s eyes widened and she took off. Wes shook his head and smiled at me.
“Let’s get you a drink, man,” he said.
We walked to the room on the main level of their home that he’d turned into a bar and lounge area, complete with a large TV, a couple leather couches and matching club chairs, and a wooden bar that ran along the wall adjacent to the TV. This was the area the guys would be congregating in now that it was too cold for cookouts.
“You have become a good father,” I said to him as he drew me a beer from one of the taps behind the bar.
“I don’t know about that,” he said, “but thanks.”
“You are good with them,” I assured him. “If I am ever a father, I want to be like you.”
Wes passed me the glass and said, “Thank you. That really means a lot.”
I took a long sip of my beer. “I hope that keg is full, because I am going to be drinking more than my share today.”
“I heard you and Sheridan broke up. You okay?”
I shrugged. “Not really. I had just found out I had autism and then I found out she’d been lying to me. It has been a very shitty week.”
“Oh wow.” Wes came around the bar and sat down on a stool next to me. “How did you find out about the autism?”
I hadn’t planned to tell Wes—or anyone—but the words had just come out. And as much as I’d thought I didn’t want to discuss it with anyone, it felt good to admit the truth out loud.
“I had testing done by a psychiatrist.”
“Because of what Keegan said?”
I nodded.
Wes frowned and shook his head. “Fuck that fucker, Lars. None of us give a shit what he says about anything. He thinks I’m a shitty captain? I’d like to see him do better.”
“He was right about me, though.”
“So what? You’ve made it pretty damn far in life just the way you are. I’d trust you with my life, or my kids’ lives.”
“Thank you.”
Wes nodded toward my glass and let out a single note of laughter. “You’ve already finished half your beer. You weren’t kidding, were you?”
“No.”
“Well, I bought a couple of kegs, so drink up. But you’re staying in our guest room if you do.”
“I miss Sheridan.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“The more I drink, the more I’ll want to talk about it,” I cracked.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, lying is a hard limit for me, too.”
I looked over both shoulders to make sure no one else was in earshot before I said, “She is married, Wes.”
His brows shot up. “What? How?”
“She said she was planning to tell me, but I found out when a photographer asked me about it.”
“Wait, seriously…how? How could someone as famous as Sheridan have a husband at home that you knew nothing about?”
I shrugged. “They do not live together because they are legally separated.”
Wes gave me an incredulous look. “Way to bury the lede, dude.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you left out the most important part. Being legally separated is a lot different than being married. Is their divorce pending?”
“She says she has been trying to get a divorce for more than a year, but he will not cooperate. He used to be her agent, since she was a teenager and she started modeling.”
Wes nodded knowingly. “So she’s his meal ticket.”
“What is meal ticket?”
“Sorry,” he said. “It means he relies on her for his income. He doesn’t have his own gig to make money. I’m sure he doesn’t want to let that go.”
“He should have to,” I said, aggravated. “The law should not allow him to just not give her a divorce.”
“I don’t think the law is set up that way, actually. I think if one person stalls long enough, a judge can decide it. Maybe there’s more to the story than you know.”
“Probably,” I said, finishing my beer. “More she should have told me.”
