“Donny’s not the shy type,” I say.
“Not at all. Talon and Dale, on the other hand, would just as soon stay inside and avoid the crowd.”
“Is Dale’s wife here yet?”
“She should be here soon. She had to pick up her mother at the airport in Grand Junction. They’re on the road now.”
“Ah. Got it. How is Willow doing?”
“Okay, I think. It’s been a struggle. She was going to wait a while longer before moving, but Ashley talked her into coming out earlier to get settled. Her car and RV and the rest of her things will arrive in a week or so.”
“If there’s anything we can do…” I say.
“I’m sure Ashley will ask if there is. Time is really what Willow needs, and she’ll have plenty of that.”
“I hear she’s opening a salon in town.”
“That’s her plan.”
“Raine’s a little worried about it.”
“Raine has an established clientele. I doubt there’s any reason to worry.”
“That’s what I told Rory.”
Marjorie Simpson races toward us. “Jade, there you are. I need your help with some stuff. Hi there, Callie.”
“Hi.”
“Duty calls,” Jade says. “Go on in and tell my husband and sons they need to get their butts out here, will you?”
“Sure. If you say so.”
Diet Coke in hand, I walk through the French doors and through the gigantic kitchen. I’ve been here before, so I know Talon Steel’s office is down the right hallway, second door on the left. If they’re talking, that’s probably where they are.
I inhale deeply, trying to slow the race of my heartbeat.
Just being this close to Donny Steel has me on high alert already.
I walk toward the closed door.
Chapter Seventeen
Donny
“You really thought you could keep this from me?” I yell at my brother.
“I wasn’t keeping anything from you, Don,” Dale says. “I just found out myself.”
“A week ago.”
“Yeah, a fucking week ago. It was a lot to process.”
“Fuck you!” I yell.
“Donny,” Dad says, “you’re not angry with Dale. You’re angry with the situation.”
“No, I’m angry with Dale.”
But Dad’s right. Dale is just taking the brunt of my rage because he’s the messenger. Plus, his wife’s stepfather died right after, and—
I can’t help it. I’m still pissed as all hell.
“This is ancient history,” Dad says.
“Okay,” I say. “Sure, it’s ancient history. But I just fucking found out that my birth father sold us off to psychopaths for five grand. Just how am I supposed to feel? Happy?”
“You’re the one who pushed, Don,” Dad says. “Neither Dale nor I wanted to tarnish this party.”
He’s right, of course. I’m the one who forced the two of them into this office for a talk. I’m the one who knew Dale didn’t level with me at lunch.
This is all on me.
I’m still pissed.
Pissed at the fucking world. Pissed at Floyd Jolly, now dead. Damned good thing for him, or I’d be on my way to Grand Junction to kill him with my bare hands.
So much for never thinking about it.
“Yeah, yeah. My big welcome back party. Fuck it all. Send everyone home. I’m not in the mood.”
“That would kill your mother,” Dad says.
I have to hand it to Dad. He knows my weak spots. I’ll do anything for my mother.
“For God’s sake, Dad,” Dale says. “It would hardly kill her.”
“I’m not being literal, and you know it.”
“It’s okay,” I relent. “I won’t ruin Mom’s party. But damn.” I rub my temples with both hands.
“None of this changes anything,” Dad says. “Dale didn’t want you to ever have to know.”
Classic Dale again. Willing to bear this burden alone. Always thinking he has to protect me.
Why did I push? I could be out there right now flirting with Callie, having one of Mom’s froufrou drinks. Talking to Jesse and the band about our old football days.
“Dale,” I say, my tone serious, “you’ve got to stop protecting me.”
Dale shook his head. “I can’t do that, Don.”
“I’m thirty-two years old. We’re not being held captive in a concrete room anymore.”
Dale winces. Very visibly.
“See? You still can’t shake our past. Part of you still lives in that room, Dale.”
Dale clears his throat. “You’re wrong. I can see why you might think that, but you’re wrong.”
“Am I? You’ve been carrying the world on your shoulders for the last twenty-five years. Let it go, man. For Ashley. For your future. For yourself.”
“I’ve let it go,” he says.
“You haven’t.”
“Actually, I have.”
Dad speaks then. “The two of you handle things differently. That’s not to say one of you is right and the other wrong. It’s just how it is. There’s a reason you’re so close to your mother, Don. It’s because you’re so much like her. You always see the glass as half full. Dale is more like me.”
“You’re not that way at all,” I say to Dad.
“No. Not now. But I was. Long ago, before I met your mother. I was a lot like your brother, for reasons—”