He takes a shot of the tequila, hissing afterward. “I was such a dick to Cal. I helped him pay for these business courses in Austin. I thought it would help him get focused. He was always a little flighty. Always had his head in the clouds. I was worried about him. That he’d wander through life without a plan. But when he didn’t come home, when he and Melissa eloped, I was so pissed. I just assumed everything he was doing here was a joke.”
I’m not sure what to say, so I don’t say anything. Finally, he shakes his head. “The irony is that I was telling a friend of mine to go for her dreams. To take chances. To do what she loved. And the whole time, I was being an asshole to Cal, pressuring him to figure out his shit.” A sad laugh leaves him. “I can think of a hundred other things he should have studied instead of business.”
I have to admit I’m wildly curious about her, the friend, but I ignore it to focus on what he’s saying about his brother. “If it’s any consolation, Cal really did help Mel organize her finances. The farm is still struggling because we had a lot of rain last winter, which affected the crops, but he helped her create a budget and set up her accounting system so her bill payments wouldn’t be late any more. And he helped me get her bath products online.”
He rolls his lips between his teeth and stares into his glass of tequila like it holds all the answers. “And he made a will. Only someone who's thinking long term makes a will.”
I nod as I think about what I need to tell Brady. The idea suffocates me, like it's a physical entity tightening around my neck. But he looks so heartbroken, and I can’t bring myself to say the words, because all I want to do is make him feel better.
Before I can second guess myself, I touch his arm. “Brady, I swear to God, Cal was happy. No matter what you had going on between the two of you, he had what he wanted. He was excited about the new baby. That’s one thing that gives me solace. Knowing that Mel and Cal had what they wanted—each other and Bella with another one on the way. Most men would be so lucky.”
After a moment, his shoulders relax. “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”
He leans back against the sofa, and we sit there in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts for a while.
I motion toward him. “My little sister drives me crazy too. Tori’s seventeen and thinks she knows everything and doesn't want my input unless there's a crisis she can't handle. But when she needs money, she heads straight to me like I’m her personal ATM.” My lips twist. “I can handle the thankless role of big sister, but she’s going through this wild phase right now that worries me.”
“So I’m not the only one who struggles with this stuff?”
“Not at all. Tor definitely tests my patience. But I love her, and she knows it. The same way Cal knew you loved him.” I bump his knee with mine. “If it makes you feel any better, Cal said you were a ‘well-intentioned asshole.’”
I'm trying not to snicker when Brady rolls his eyes, but when he starts to laugh, I pour us both shots and raise my glass. “To being a well-intentioned asshole.”
Grinning, Brady shakes his head and clinks his glass against mine. “To being a well-intentioned asshole.”
We toss back the shots. Shivering, I place my glass on the coffee table and slouch back on the couch.
My eyes are getting heavy, and I'm thinking I should take a power nap when Brady breaks the silence. “Can I ask you something else?”
It's funny how he prefaces every question with a question. Rolling my head against the couch, I turn to look at him. “Anything.”
“How does the whole town know you? Not just know you, but downright adore you. Not that you’re not awesome. You are. But you said you’ve only been here a few months and yet you seemed to know everyone who came out today.”
I try to focus on what he’s asking instead of the way my heart flutters at his compliment. The answer is something that would’ve embarrassed my ex. Shamed him, really. And that plain sucks. Nobody should have the right to make me feel that way.
Pointing to my shot glass, I motion for another drink. Here’s to me embracing where I came from. Brady obliges, and in a matter of seconds I’m tossing back more tequila. The sharp taste burns my throat and I wince, covering my mouth with my hand.
“I grew up here,” I blurt. Lowering my hand, I place it in my lap, wishing I had something better to do with it. Like touch Brady. I’d like to touch Brady. I smile to myself, making a mental note to cut myself off from the booze.
His eyebrows lift, and I shake my head. “Not here here exactly.” I lick my lips, which are numb.
Suddenly, I want to tell him and see his reaction. I tense, hoping like hell his response doesn’t ruin what I’ve already come to admire about him.
“My parents were migrant workers, and when I was little, we traveled all over South Texas. This was one of the farms we worked at.” And then I hiccup.
19
Brady