I shook my head. “No, but I’ve got it covered.”
“I’ll be your second.”
I would’ve asked, eventually, but given his current mood, his offer surprised me.
As the other three men were leaving, I asked him to stick around.
“Fancy a pint?”
“Sure.”
I handed him a beer and a glass and joined him at the breakfast bar. “Not going to England for the holidays, then?”
Grinder leaned forward and put his head in his hands.
“Talk to me, mate.”
“No. I’m not.”
“Right.”
I sat back in the stool and looked out the windows at the rolling hills of King-Alexander Ranch. I often thought I could happily spend the rest of my days right where I was. Would that be enough for me? I worried that it wouldn’t. The idea that someone, namely Rebel, would be by my side made it seem more sustainable.
If she were to follow her dreams, she wouldn’t be here, though. She’d be in Austin. To me, any city was just that. They all blended into one another at some point.
The question begged, why was I putting so much stock in the possibility of a relationship with her? I’d told her that the amount of time we spent together was irrelevant, but was my sudden desire to settle down circumventing all logic? Was it more about me than her? I didn’t believe it was, but it was certainly a thought worthy of consideration.
I found myself wanting to talk to my brother again. There were times in our lives when I could’ve gone weeks, perhaps even months, without doing so, but in this, I needed his counsel.
“I’m getting a Christmas tree. Rebel and I are going to decorate it with popcorn,” I blurted.
“You’re off your trolley.”
“Maybe not, Grind. Maybe for the first time in my life, I want to make memories rather than just avoid looking back.”
The sadness I saw in my friend’s eyes cut me to my core. So many times in the years I’d known him, I wished I could do something—anything—to help him. Like now, I felt powerless to make a difference.
“I’m not ready to talk about it.”
I walked over to the fridge and pulled out two more bottles of beer, steeling myself against any reaction whatsoever. Never before had I heard those words. I was stunned.
“Get over yourself,” he said, yanking one of the bottles from my hand. “I’m not suggesting we start a quilting circle.”
“A quilting circle?”
“You know what I mean, ya wanker.”
“I love her.”
Grinder nodded. “We all know that, Edge.”
“Why doesn’t she?”
“Gonna take something a lot stronger than a pint to answer that one.”
37
Rebel