Though it doesn’t hurt one bit to have Peace pressed against my side.
He finally lets us go and takes just a few more selfies with Andrea before we all break apart to start the kitchen cleanup. I tell Justin he doesn’t have to help since he’s a guest, but he’s already gathering up dishes.
Whatever.
Like I said, I want him feeling like he’s part of something, even if it’s not quite family.
As he’s helping me rinse dishes and load up the dishwasher, he glances over at me several times. It’s this uncertain look that tells me he’s probably got something emotional to say, but you know how younger guys are.
All ego and pride and being emotionally constipated. Like it’s weird or some shit to just have a feeling in front of another man. Or anyone at all.
Can’t say I have room to talk with the way I seize up around Peace till she splits me open with her sweetness.
“Hey, Chief…thanks,” he manages finally.
It’s gruff, quiet, but there, and he clears his throat, avoiding my eyes.
I don’t push it, just nod, smiling to myself as I scrape the last of the half-burnt sauce out of the ribs pan and into the trash.
“Just dinner,” I say, giving him an easy out so he won’t be too embarrassed. “You’re welcome over any time.”
“Yeah?”
For just a second he’s young again—eyes lit up, eager, head lifting to look at me with something almost like wonder. Then it’s like he catches himself, and remembers we’re supposed to be big tough manly men. He clears his throat again and takes the pan from me to angle it into the lower rack of the dishwasher.
“That’d be cool, maybe,” he says.
Maybe.
Again, I keep my grin to myself, and we just settle back to work.
I think that’s the end of it till we’re almost done and I’m draining the sink.
Then he speaks so quietly I barely hear him, looking down at his hands as he dries them off.
“Thank you again. I mean…with my mother gone and who knows where my dad ran off to…it’s cool. So I hope this isn’t weird or out of line but…I’ve kind of always looked at you like a stand-in dad, Chief. And it’s nice just to…” He makes an embarrassed sound, then finishes, “…to have something like a family.”
Yeah.
Yeah, now I know one hundred percent I’ve done something right.
Ma never gave me a good example of what a family should look like, but I’ve been trying to work that out for myself come hell or high water.
One thing I’ve learned over the years is family doesn’t always mean blood.
It means you can rely on each other. And I hope I can let Justin rely on me.
With a snort and a smile, I clap a hand on his shoulder.
“Just don’t start calling me Dad,” I tease and squeeze gently so he knows it’s okay.
It’s damned well okay by me.
Then I toss my head at the kitchen door. “C’mon, man. Let’s go see what the girls are doing.”
* * *
The rest of the evening is pretty uneventful.
We chill and chat for a bit. Andrea gets tired of pulling Justin between grown-up conversations and curious questions and heads upstairs to sulk in her room.
Justin looks almost guilty, looking after her, but he’s distracted soon enough. We talk about the safety course and listen to Peace tell stories about the weird places she’s been all over the States where they do similar big shows with fire.
I’m tired by the time he heads out and go out back with one last beer for the night by the fire pit.
It’s becoming something of a ritual.
Beer, quiet, and the silvery snow all around, the flames lashing at my side.
Least my bum leg’s not acting up, so I can enjoy it.
Gotta say, I wouldn’t mind if Peace had a go at it again.
Being under her healing hands beats the starry darkness and silence.
Thinking her name summons her. The door opens behind me, light spilling across me and then dimming again as it closes, and her soft footsteps take her to the chair on the other side of the pit.
She flops down, bundled up in her big coat, hands in her pockets, and blows out a little cloud of breath before murmuring, “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.” With a small smile, I set my beer down on the little side table.
“Dinner was nice,” she says, quiet but sincere, while she looks up at the sky and the horizon.
“Yep, chef’s special,” I agree, then add, “Thanks for helping out.”
She tilts her head toward me with a little smile. “Just earning my keep, right?”
I chuckle. “You don’t have to.”
Come on, man, a voice growls in the back of my mind. It’s now or never.
“I’m sorry, Peace. About before, going off on Holt in front of you.” I throw her a heated look.