Kiss My Boots (Coming Home #2)

“That makes no damn sense.”

I love Leigh like she’s my own sister, but I don’t need to explain how I feel about this to her, or to anyone. Me knowing what I need to get done has to be enough now. “You don’t have to understand it, Leigh. I just wanted you to be aware so you could be there for Maverick if he needs you.”

“It’s not Maverick that I’m freakin’ worried about, Q! Maverick is the last person I’m worried about. He’s done his time frettin’ about that shit, and all he’s done for a year is prepare himself for when this moment would come. It’s you I’m freakin’ out about. What does Clay think about this?”

“I already talked to Clay. He’s supportin’ me on this, Leigh. It’s somethin’ I need to do.”

“It’s somethin’ you need to do?” she repeats in disbelief. “And Tate? Does he support this as well?”

My shoulders relax at the mention of Tate and I feel the worry leaving my face, my lips tipping up into a small smile. “Tate would support me if I wanted to drive to the moon.”

She scoffs. “Well, that’s ridiculous, you can’t even drive to the . . . Oh.” With the wind taken right out of her sails, she stops talking.

I laugh gently. “I love you, Leighton. You’re my best friend, my sister, my strength through some hard shit, but I need you to not worry about me. You’ll always be the first two, but it’s time I learn how to be my own source of strength—somethin’ I’m findin’ isn’t as dauntin’ as I believed it to be.”

She sniffles and I feel my nose burning, my own emotions getting wonky.

“That being said, you know how much I love you, Leigh, but when I’m done talkin’ to them you’re not gonna be the first person I run to. Don’t spend the rest of the afternoon freakin’ out, but I need to get this done alone, and when I do, it’s gonna be Tate I run to after. I suspect you aren’t gonna be left wonderin’ what’s goin’ on in your snowy flour kingdom for long, though. You might think my brother’s done his time frettin’ about our mama, but he’s still gonna fret over his sister, and you need to give him what you woulda given me when he comes to you, and we both know you’re gonna be his first stop.”

She lets a choked sob out, and I know if I continue this conversation I’ll lose it, and I need to have my wits about me for this talk with Maverick.

“I love you and I’ll call you tomorrow, ’kay?”

“’Kay,” she agrees on a final sob.

It damn near kills me, but I end the call and toss the phone in the passenger seat, just in time to downshift and pull Homer down the drive toward home. Both Clay and Maverick are sitting on the front porch, booted feet up against the rail while they move their rocking chairs slowly, appearing relaxed even thought I know it’s all for show. I can see, even from my spot parked in front of the house, that Clay knows why I asked both of them here. He’s holding himself in a tense way that makes me think he’s bracing for Maverick not taking it well. He should give Mav more credit.

“Damn,” I hear Maverick call from the porch when I climb out of Homer and shut his door with care. “This Tate’s paw’s old truck?”

I look up at Maverick and smile with pride. “Maverick, meet Homer.”

He lets out a few deep chuckles and ambles down the steps toward me, throwing an arm over my shoulder and pulling me into his ridiculously tall body, my head smacking against his chest with a groan of protest when I feel his sweaty pit on my shoulder. I tip my head back and look up from my position under his arm and smile at him, then reach up and twist his nipple.

“What the fuck, Hell-raiser?” he grumps.

“What have I told you about puttin’ your pits on me!”

He tosses his hands up in exasperation. “I hadn’t even been workin’ long enough for my shirt to get wet, Quinn!”

“You took a step outside and that’s all you need, you big brute.”

He lifts his arm and tilts his head to look at the offending pit I’m talking about, and sure enough, the material of his shirt is wet all around it and emanating a distinct odor that ain’t none too pleasant. Gross, man.

I turn to see Clay standing stock-still on the top step of the porch. “Hey, big brother,” I call up to him.

“You all right, Quinny?” he questions, his eyes searching mine.

“Just wanted to talk to Maverick about somethin’.”

“Huh?” Maverick asks, dropping his arm and looking at me apprehensively.

“Where’s Tate?” Clay asks. Getting the lay of the land, I’m sure.

“I would reckon at work, seein’ as he’s got patients all day,” I reply smartly.

“He didn’t want to come along?”

“Not sure, Clayton, I didn’t tell him I was comin’, but even if I had told him, he wouldn’t have jumped in, knowin’ I want to do this alone. For me.”

“What the hell are you two goin’ on about?” Maverick barks, stepping in between us while looking from Clay to me and back again.

“I’m guessin’, Mav, that our big brother is just tryin’ to make sure I know what I’m doing—which I do, thank you—before we go talk.”

“Talk about what?”

I ignore Maverick’s question and move up onto the porch, placing my hands on Clay’s shoulders and pulling him down while I lift up on the toes of my boots. I kiss his jaw and lean back to look him in the eye. “I’m okay and I know what I’m doin’. I need to do this part by myself, Clay.”

His throat works as he takes a big swallow, but he gives me a nod. I walk around him and into the house, waiting for them to follow me into the living room while I pace in front of the fireplace, my thoughts starting to line up in order with the soothing, repetitive movement.

I stop, turn, and face my brothers, both of whom are standing on the other side of the couch, making no move to actually sit down. Knowing it will be pointless to try and get them to sit and relax, I figure I might as well just go for broke.

“I want you to arrange for me to visit Mama at the facility that you’ve got her at.” I hold Maverick’s gaze, my chest heaving while I wait for my request to finish taking root and the shock to clear from his body.

Clay claps him on the back, encouraging him, and gives me another nod to let me know I should keep going.

“I need to let her go, Mav. I need to let myself see that she isn’t the fantasy I spent my life dreamin’ she would be. I need to tell her I forgive her for bein’ selfish and that I’ll spend my life makin’ sure the man I love always knows I choose him, that I’ll never abandon him or us even when things get difficult. I want to look in her eyes, even if she can’t hear or understand me, and let her know that when I’m blessed with children one day, not even God himself could tear me away from them. I need to do this so I can take all the pain she made me feel over the years and drop it off with her, where it belongs.”