Page 30 of Fool Me (Timberline Peak #1)
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
ATLAS
On Monday, when I walk over to Denver’s with a case of nonalcoholic beer in hand, still feeling a little off from the heavy workday over the weekend, I find him waiting for me on his wraparound porch.
He’s wearing the same shit-eating grin I remember from when we were kids, and there’s something oddly comforting about it, like with everything that has changed since, nothing has changed between us.
“Did you plan to tell me you were my neighbor, or were you just waiting to see how long it would take me to figure it out?” I holler at him from the lawn.
“I figured you’d work it out when I told you where we were meeting for a beer tonight.”
I hold up the case of nonalcoholic beer. “Got a place I can put this?”
I didn’t want to skip out, but I know alcohol will make me spiral right back into the darkness Harlowe pulled me out of yesterday.
They only had one option for nonalcoholic beer at the General Store, but Gerty was kind enough to reassure me he’d look into carrying more when I brought it up at check out.
I’ve learned to expect the brush off when I ask if a store would carry more choices, even in Houston.
But I was pleasantly surprised when he just jotted down the name of my favorites without question.
Denver scoffs at my dumb ass. “Do I . . . it’s been a while, but it hasn’t been that long. Garage fridge, barn fridge, or house fridge. Pick your poison.”
I chuckle and ask, “Are the horseshoe pits still in the same place?” Denver’s uncle hosted his graduation party and all us newly-minted adults “played horseshoe” because we knew the barn fridge was stocked with beer we could sneak.
“Sure are.”
“Barn fridge it is.” He takes the steps two at a time, greeting me with an arm around my shoulder as he turns us in that direction.
As kids, Denver was the class clown, always quick with a joke and a hug.
If anyone was going to welcome me into the fold like I never left, it was going to be him.
And now that I’m here, it seems silly that I was worried about it.
Denver pushes the sliding barn door open and sweeps his arm out. “Just as dusty as when you left.” He leads the way across the barn to the same mint fridge I remember sneaking into after bonfires and football games.
“Did Uncle Deacon ever figure out that we were stealing his beer out from under him?”
His laugh is as loud and booming as I remember it being. “Why do you think it was always stocked?”
I chuckle. We thought we were so sly, taking it from here instead of our own houses. Turns out we were just as na?ve as you’d expect high school kids to be.
Denver pulls on the handle, and I duck inside to store my cans. “Want me to grab you one?”
“Sure. Any kind is fine.” I grab a local IPA for him along with one of mine and then pause. “Um . . . Why is there a random glove in here?”
He shrugs when I straighten and toss him his can. “No one knows, but until someone claims it, it lives there.”
“Is this some sort of farm superstition that I’m not aware of?”
His smile widens. “Nah, it just gets under Briar’s skin and I like her a little feisty.”
“Still?” I ask with a laugh.
“Forever and always, my man.”
The two of us walk back outside and start setting up the horseshoe pits, catching up as we do. There’s an apology right on the tip of my tongue when Denver’s hand clamps down on my shoulder. “It’s good to have you home.”
“Yeah. It’s good to be here. But . . . um . . . I’m sorry I disappeared the way I did. Without staying in touch, I mean.”
“Nah, after what your brother did to you, I can’t blame you.”
“You know.”
He gives me a look that tells me how stupid that question was.
“Of course, you know. Small town bullshit.”
“Small town bullshit,” he agrees. “Do you two talk now?”
“Only when forced.”
He whistles. “Please tell me you hit him at least once for that. If it had been Briar, I’d have lost it on the guy, brother or not.”
I shake my head. “I walked out, broke my finger punching my steering wheel, and took off before I could do something that would fuck up my future.”
“She started dating her husband right after. Whatever they were, it seemed like it was over the second you left town.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because just like she moved on, so did everyone else. But have you moved on?”
“It’s been a decade and you’re just going to call me out so boldly.”
“You might not have been here, but we never stopped being friends. And that’s what we do for our friends.”
Have I moved on?
“I moved on from Fiona a long time ago.”
He shakes his head, leaning against the barn, and looks disappointed in me for the first time tonight. “Maybe things have changed. You were always the smart one, but you never treated me like I wasn’t just as bright as you.”
I think about Harlowe and the game we are playing with Canyon. Can I really say I’m over it when I’m fake dating his ex in part to stick to my brother? Sure, I have other reasons, but are those reasons enough? Would I have agreed to this if I was over what happened with Canyon?
For her, I would have—I know that without question. And after yesterday, all my reasons have faded. This town might gossip and they might talk about my past, but I’m not going anywhere. Regardless of what they think of me, or how I run the practice, I’m here to stay, because this is home.
Harlowe still needs me, but now I know I’m doing this for her.
“I wasn’t when I moved back, but I am now.”
“That have anything to do with your brother’s former flame?”
“Of course you know about that too. What are we, the worst kept secret in Timberline Peak?”
“My wife and I don’t have secrets.” Uncertainty flashes in his eyes, but his cocky smile chases it away. “Considering I heard two of Briar’s customers gossiping about you two earlier today when I met her for lunch, I think you’re good.”
Lifting my beer to hide my grin, I ask, “What were they saying?”
“Actually, they were complaining that their husbands never give them forehead kisses outside the gym.” He levels me with a glare. “Are you trying to make the rest of us look bad? You were probably wearing one of those cut-off shirts you like to workout in that show off all your muscles, too.”
“Perhaps.” I tilt my beer can toward him. “But you’ve got nothing to worry about, do you?”
“I’m going to have to step up my foot rub game, thanks to you.”
“Tell Briar she can thank me with a few of her grandma’s cookies next time she makes them.”
“I think the fuck not. She makes those for me.”
I laugh. The man has always taken his cookies seriously, but we were all half convinced that he started dating Briar to get his hands on the recipe. “Can you blame me? Is she still refusing to enter them in the Founder’s Day Bake-off?”
“You know it,” he says, standing a little taller, pride for his wife clear.
Gravel crunches around the other side of the barn and Denver sets aside the rake he’d been using on the pits. Together, we walk around the barn to find Jude getting out of James’s SUV. The door raises and Jude waits as the lift extends from the driver's side and lowers James.
Once he’s out and the lift is back in place inside his SUV, they join us.
“Harlowe thought maybe Drake would be here. Should we wait for him?” I ask.
“Nah, he’ll show up on his own time, if at all. He mostly keeps to himself when he’s home, and it’s a fifty-fifty gamble if he’s going to show up to any social function.”
“What’s that about?”
“You know Drake . . .” He bows out a breath. “Moody as fuck, that one.”
“Always has been.”
“It’s worse now. I don’t know if it’s the pressure of the spotlight or what, but he’s a royal pain in the ass.”
He’s got a reputation in the media for being difficult, but I thought it was just public perception. “Is he okay?”
“You’ll have to ask him yourself if he shows up. He won’t tell me shit.”
Denver hands out the rubber horseshoes and we play a round robin. It takes me a few throws to get the hang of the lighter horseshoes, but either way, it’s clear these guys play weekly because I’m the farthest off the mark, until Drake shows up. He gives me some competition for last place.
“You’re a professional athlete—an Olympian. Honestly, this is an embarrassment,” Jude baits him mercilessly.
“Keep talking and I’ll go back to being a recluse, old man.”
“Probably better that you do.”
“It’s fucking horseshoes. You all just use it as an excuse to gossip. Don’t pretend that you take it seriously when I’m not here.”
“This is a gentleman’s game. Stop bickering like an old married couple,” James says, stepping in to referee.
“I can’t remember why I hang out with you guys when I’m home,” Drake mutters under his breath.
“Because no one else will put up with your sourpuss.” This time, it’s Denver giving him shit.
“I’m leaving now,” he says, heading toward the hook attached to the barn with his horseshoes.
“No, you’re not. Get back here and play,” I tell him.
“You just want me to stay so you don’t lose.”
“Not true. Fill me in on your life. How’s training going?”
“My coach hates me more than you guys, so that’s fun. I’ll be lucky if I get a spot on the Olympic team next year.”
We talk about his upcoming trip to Chile and the house he built out in the middle of nowhere.
The recluse comment wasn’t far off. But every time I push for more, I get a grunt or shrug in answer, keeping me at a distance.
In high school we joked that he was a bit of an asshole, but this is more.
He’s deliberate about how he keeps people away.
His attitude is a shield—for what I’m not sure.
Sunlight starts fading and everyone calls it a night and we head back around front.
“Walk with me?” James asks, as he pushes himself along the packed dirt path that leads back to the cars.
I fall in step alongside him, rubbing the prickling sensation on the back of my neck.
“This thing with you and my daughter—she’s not going to get hurt by you like she did with your brother, is she?”
“My brother and I don’t share much beyond our last name. And hurting your daughter is not something I want to have in common with him. She’s safe with me.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Jude waits by the car as the lift moves James into the driver’s seat before getting in. When they pull away, I say goodbye to Drake and Denver before I walk home.