Page 2 of Let It Breathe (The Can’t Have Hearts Club #1)

“Yes, sir. Still with Dorrington Construction. They’ve had me working out of southwest Idaho until just a couple days ago.”

Clay watched their faces for a reaction, for some sign that Eric had told them the news. There was nothing.

Then again, they weren’t paying much attention to him. Jed was busy trying to look like he wasn’t intentionally grazing the side of his wife’s breast with his arm, while June brushed a strand of salt-and-pepper hair from his temple.

Some things don’t change, Clay thought, trying to decide if that was a good or a bad thing.

“So we hear you, uh—made some changes in your life,” Jed said.

June shot an uncomfortable grimace at Jed.

Jed met his wife’s expression with an apologetic eyebrow lift, and Clay watched June’s frown soften.

It dawned on Clay that he’d just watched an entire conversation between two people who didn’t require a single word to communicate, and he wondered what it would be like to have that connection with another human.

He also wondered whether he should just go ahead and address the elephant in the room. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I went to rehab. I’ve been clean and sober almost four years now.”

Jed smiled. “ Sir? I’m not used to hearing you be so polite, son. Is that the sobriety talking?”

“Something like that,” Clay agreed, fighting the familiar sensation of feeling awkward in his own skin.

“Congratulations, honey,” June said, touching Clay’s shoulder. “That’s great news. So how long are you in the area? I’m sure Eric and Reese would love to catch up.”

Clay took a sip of coffee, then cleared his throat. “Well, actually, I’ll be here awhile. Dorrington won the bid to build your new tasting room and event pavilion out at the vineyard.”

“Oh,” June said, surprise registering across features that didn’t look a day over forty, though Clay knew her daughter was thirty-four.

Reese, he thought, and felt an unexpected flood of warmth.

“We knew Dorrington won the bid, of course,” June was saying.

“They did such a nice job with the new cellar for our neighbors at Larchwood Vineyards last summer. It’s just that Jed and I have been gone for two weeks on the most romantic Caribbean cruise, so we’ve been a little out of the loop. I didn’t realize?—”

“Does Reese know?” Jed asked, never one to beat around the bush.

“I’m not sure,” Clay admitted. “I told Eric last night when I had dinner with him and Sheila. He was planning to tell Reese this morning.”

June and Jed exchanged a look, though Clay couldn’t know for sure what it meant. Might have been concern. Then again, they might have been telepathically communicating plans for a quickie in the restroom.

“Will you boys excuse me a minute?” June said. “I need to visit the restroom.”

Clay choked on his coffee. Jed smiled at his wife and squeezed her hand. “Want me to order the usual?”

“Thanks, honey. Blueberry this time?”

“Perfect. I call dibs on the crust.”

“I call dibs on the orange coffee mug.”

“All yours, baby.” He kissed her temple, then turned and sat down in the seat across from Clay. As Jed picked up the saltshaker, he studied Clay from across the table. “You’ve seen the plans for the new building, then?”

“Looked them over last week with the branch manager,” Clay replied. “That’s great you guys are going green, doing the LEED certification and all. Environmentally conscious building is the hot ticket in Oregon wine country right now.”

“That’s why they sent you.”

“That’s why they sent me,” Clay agreed.

He paused, waiting to see if Jed would add anything else. Jed seemed content just fiddling with the condiments, spinning the pepper shaker around in lazy circles. Clay remembered a joke he’d heard about a woman with a medical condition that caused her to have an orgasm each time she sneezed.

What are you taking for it? the joke went.

Pepper.

Clay opened his mouth but shut it again fast.

You’re a sober adult now. No more dirty jokes.

“So are you still leading wine country bike tours, sir?” Clay asked.

Jed laughed. “Sir,” he repeated, shaking his head. “I can’t get over that. Yeah, the bike tours have gotten pretty big. We’ll have three dozen people out with us at the height of summer.”

“No kidding?”

“Nope. The winery’s booming. June’s still managing the business end, of course, and Eric’s still making great wine for us. Larissa’s doing marketing, and we’ve got Reese running the vineyard full-time now.” He grinned. “She’s got plans to make Sunridge the next big thing in Oregon wine country.”

“And she’s succeeding?”

Jed nodded with fondness and leaned back in his seat. “Ever known Reese not to succeed at something she put her mind to?”

“No, sir,” Clay said, though he knew damn well Reese would disagree. After all, her marriage to Eric hadn’t gone according to plan.

A marriage you never should have let happen, dumbass.

Clay cleared his throat, forcing his brain not to venture down that path. “How’s Grandpa Albert doing?” he asked, hoping like hell the old man was still alive.

“He goes by Axl now.”

“Axl?”

“It’s his street name. He got it in prison a few years ago.”

“Prison?”

Jed shrugged. “He only did a few weeks. Got caught trafficking drugs, but they let him off easy since he was just selling counterfeit Viagra to a rival biker gang.”

“Isn’t he in his late seventies?”

“Just turned eighty last week, but that hasn’t slowed him down much. Actually, would you mind keeping an eye out for him and flagging him down when he gets here?”

“Uh—sure.”

“Thanks,” Jed said, standing up and clapping Clay on the shoulder. “I need to chat with the chef about the catering for a wine event in a few weeks. You’ll recognize Axl when you see him.”

“No problem.”

Jed hurried away, and Clay directed his attention to the front of the restaurant.

The instant he turned, the door burst open to reveal an old man in aviator sunglasses and a black leather jacket.

Spotting Clay, Grandpa Albert gave a start of surprise, then swaggered over to the table and eyeballed him.

“Well, well, well,” he said, dropping into the seat beside Clay and running a hand through his wispy white hair. “If it isn’t the guy who face-planted in my granddaughter’s wedding cake.”

“Hello, sir.”

“And got arrested for pissing in the ashtray at Finnigan’s.”

Clay squirmed in his seat. “Good to see you again, sir.”

“And plowed down a row of Reese’s thirty-year-old Zin vines on a riding mower.”

“You’re really looking good, sir.”

Albert pulled off the aviator sunglasses—bifocals, Clay realized—and looked at him. “I always liked you.”

Clay hadn’t seen that coming. He swallowed, wondering when the lump had formed in his throat. “Thank you. I always liked you, too.”

“Of course you did. Everyone does. So where the hell you been? I thought you and Eric and Reese were the Three Musketeers for life, and then you up and left.”

Clay cleared his throat. “I had some things to straighten out.”

“Damn right you did. Where’d you go for rehab, Bellmont Health System?”

“Good guess.”

“It’s the best. A couple guys I ride with had to go last year. Started building model airplanes with their grandkids and got hooked on sniffing glue. You know how it is.”

Clay wasn’t sure he did, but he nodded anyway and took a sip of his coffee.

Albert leaned close and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level. “If the rehab doesn’t take, I might have a business proposition for you. I’m not at liberty to say too much just yet, but it has to do with a special little harvesting operation and?—”

“Actually, sir,” Clay interrupted, “I’m pretty committed to sobriety. And I’m going to be working at the vineyard building your new event pavilion and tasting room.”

“Is that so?” Albert sat back and studied him. “Well, Eric’ll be glad to have you back.”

“Eric,” Clay repeated. “Not Reese.” He didn’t phrase it as a question but still left room for Albert to object.

There was no objection. Instead, Albert just studied him with a look so intense, Clay had to fight not to drop his gaze. “Reese always got screwed when it came to you,” Albert said at last. “And not in the good way.”

He gave Clay a pointed look, and Clay felt his neck grow hot.

Albert was right, of course. Reese had bailed him out of jail more times than he could count.

She’d not only endured his lame excuses but the ones Eric had made on his behalf.

Then there was that awful night at Finnigan’s.

The bar fight that had killed any chance he’d ever had of?—

“I know,” Clay said, interrupting his own dangerous train of thought. “I’m sorry about that. About all of it. I plan to apologize as soon as I head out there tomorrow. I’m a different person now.”

The old man looked at him. “You’d better prove it. Girl’s got ambition. She’s making something big out of that vineyard with a new pavilion and the wine club and media attention and shit. Doesn’t need you making a mess of things again.”

“Yes, sir.”

Albert slugged him in the shoulder. “What’s with the sir bullshit? You think you’re talking to an old man or something?”

“No, s—no, that’s not it at all.”

“The name’s Axl now, dammit.”

“Axl,” Clay repeated, trying it out. “Okay.”

Axl picked up Clay’s mug, downing the rest of his coffee without comment. “So you’re not a drunk anymore,” he said, thunking the mug down on the table.

Clay cleared his throat again. “I prefer the term ‘recovering alcoholic.’”

“And you’re going to be working at a winery.”

“Yes, s— yes . That’s right.”

“With your best buddy making wine.”

“Yep.”

“And my granddaughter giving you orders.”

“Right.”

Axl studied him for a moment, then shook his head. “Don’t fuck it up.”