“Happy birrrr...” My mom’s singing trails off as she steps into the dining room, where she finds an interesting still life. Dax’s fist is wrapped in Tad’s shirt. Tad’s hands are wrapped around Dax’s fist. I have a hand on each of their arms in a futile effort to disconnect them.
“Let go,” Tad says.
“Tell Becca you’re sorry for calling her stupid,” Dax says, unfazed by the arrival of half my family.
“Tad!” That’s Mom, still holding Dad’s blazing birthday cake.
“Tad, seriously.” Lara gestures with the ice-cream scooper in her hand.
“Really?” Tad swipes away Dax’s hands and mine and throws his arms in the air. “You’re all siding with him? This is bull... Bull,” he concludes when my nieces appear on either side of Lara’s legs.
“Did you forget whose big day it is?” My dad holds up the festive paper plates and napkins I picked up when I bought the cake. “We’re celebrating, not fighting.” He levels a glare at Tad and then at me. “Now, what do you say to each other?”
Tad and I exchange glances and at the same time mumble, “Sorry,” to each other. Len Stone has never stood for us arguing or bickering, and he’s not about to start.
My dad slaps down the plates and napkins. “Dax? Tad?”
Dax frowns in misunderstanding.
“Do you also have something to say to each other?”
Dax looks at me like my family has lost their minds. I’m not sure what to say, because I think they might have.
“No,” Dax answers. “I don’t.”
“Neither do I,” Tad snaps.
Ha! Oh, this is too rich.
Before another standoff can occur, I burst into song, a rendition of “Happy Birthday” that might be my best ever. Everyone joins in, except for Dax.
Then it’s cake and ice cream and awkwardness for everyone except my nieces. They’re too plied by sugar and naïveté to be aware of how damn hard it is to be an adult.
Dax
In the passenger seat, Becca rests her head back and eyes me. She’s turning something over, but I don’t know what it is yet. I’m not great at reading her mind—or her expression.
“For a while,” I start, because I’m not sure if she’s going to do a nosedive into this conversation, “I thought maybe you didn’t feel valued because your parents ran you down. After tonight I know it’s not them. It’s Tad.”
“He’s his own creation,” she grumbles.
“But they don’t stand up for you either.”
She sits up in the seat and turns to address me. We’re on our way up the mountain. Soon she’ll be able to leap out of my Jeep and run away from this conversation if she chooses.
“I don’t need standing up for. And what’s with you trying to strangle Tad?” she asks, her voice escalating.
“I bet you’ve wanted to do that for years. You never had the support.”
“It wasn’t your place, Dax.” Her voice is hard. Unyielding.
In silence, we complete the climb up the mountain road. The rain has almost stopped, and the wipers on the windshield swipe intermittently. I reach cabin 7’s driveway and kill the engine. We sit in silence as raindrops fall from the trees, randomly tapping the roof.
I unhook my seatbelt and wait for Becca to say more. She doesn’t.
Guess it’s on me to let it go or keep going.
Fuck it.
“I know you’re not used to having a man in your corner, Princess, but that man is me.” For now anyway. “You brought me to your family’s home and—”
“And you disrespected them!”
“How?”
Her mouth is frozen open while she tries to come up with a reason that’s not BS.
“Because. Because you were...you were manhandling my brother.”
“He insulted you.”
“He always insults me!”
I touch her arm and, in my calmest tone, agree with her. “I know.”
Her shoulders slump. Not because she’s backing down. She understands why I did what I did. Not to show off. Not to usurp control at her father’s birthday dinner. In the days I’ve known her I’ve witnessed Tad undermining and overlooking her repeatedly. It pisses me off.
“You’re too valuable to be disrespected.”
She sighs before she asks the last question I expect her to. “What was that about you offering me a position at one of your bars?”
Yeah, I didn’t really think that part through, but I was on a roll. Although honestly, what is there to overthink? If she wants a place to work out from under her brother’s thumb, I can provide that for her without issue.
“It was what it was, babe. An offer for you to work at one of my bars.”
“You’d just...hire me?”
“Yeah.”
“And I’d…what, move to Ohio?”
“You say that like you haven’t moved in and out of several states multiple times. Like you can’t leave. Like you’re tied down. You’re none of those things.”
Her eyes go to the side in thought. “But I’d be working for you. It’s a commitment. What if I changed my mind in three months? In three weeks? What if I wanted to leave?”
Her comment stings more than I expect.
“I’m not sure a move to Ohio is the right one to make. I’m near my family now. It’d be hard to leave my nieces. I like reading them bedtime stories and hanging out with Lara. I like Grand Lark,” she continues justifying. “I like Tennessee—the mountains, the scenery. The vacation spot you picked to take a break is where I’m privileged to work every day. It’s a lot to give up, Dax.”
“A simple ‘No, thank you’ would’ve sufficed.” Gritting my teeth, I let my stare soften out the windshield and realize my mistake. I was going for ten more yards, not realizing Becca had already quit playing the game.
Our one-night stand may have shifted into a week, going on two, but for her the rules never changed. I wasn’t trying to change the rules. I was going with my gut.
I like Becca. I like her a whole hell of a lot. I like hanging out with her, and I like having sex with her. I’ve scratched the surface of who she is and what she desires, and I’d like to keep digging.
She doesn’t want me to.
“You want me to stop coming for you, gorgeous?” I’m done doing this in my head. Fun as it is to argue with myself and not come up with any answers, it’s time to behave like a grown-up.
“What’s that mean?” she asks quietly.
“I’m persistent. Pursuing you. I can shut that down if you like. I check out next week. I can lob this ball into your court and see you when you want to be seen. In other words, I can stop coming for you.”
“See me when I want to be seen?” Her eyes flash like I’ve hit a hot button and, hell, I probably have.
“I know you don’t like absolutes. That you avoid firm ‘yeses’ and ‘nos.’ That you prefer to show up when you want to and make decisions minus the committee.”
I point to myself, because lately I’ve been telling her my vote.