Page 52

Two Years Later

Nate

Max runs the brush over Friday’s dark coat, expression serious as though it’s an incredibly important task and he’s trying to do it right.

Opposite him, Luke brushes down Friday’s left side, chattering away and occasionally getting Max to laugh.

Friday’s ears swivel, and she snorts as though she’s in on the joke as well.

“They’re still there?” Marcos asks, coming to stand next to where I’m leaned against the open barn door.

“Yeah. Going on”—I check my phone—“forty-five minutes. Friday is in horse heaven right now.”

Indeed, she’s standing with one back leg relaxed and her eyes closed. Every now and then, she puffs out her stomach and exhales contentedly.

“That horse has never been so clean.”

Max, apparently sensing the reappearance of his best friend, looks over and smiles. He pats Friday’s shoulder, smoothing down her now-shiny coat.

“How’s she look?” he asks.

“Perfect,” Marcos tells him, joining him at her side and scratching her neck. “Turns out I didn’t have to be worried about you being bummed that you couldn’t ride. Apparently, grooming is your thing.”

Max snorts. “When I told Coach I was coming, he said ‘Kuemper, I’ll have your ass if you fall off a fucking horse and break something.’”

“I am not sharing your ass,” Luke puts in mildly from the other side of the horse. I laugh, less from the joke and more because of the expression on Marcos’ face once it was delivered. Stepping up behind him, close enough that my chest brushes his shoulder blades, I pass a hand down Friday’s face.

“You guys ready to see the house?”

“Absolutely,” Max agrees.

“I’ll bring Friday back to the pasture,” Luke adds cheerfully. His voice is barely audible over the clop of her hooves on the concrete as he leads Friday away, speaking to her as they go. “I’ll sneak you some carrots later, yeah? All the carrots you want, because you’re the best girl around.”

We all pile into my truck, Marcos riding shotgun, and Max and Luke side by side in the back.

Luke tells us about wedding plans, with Max occasionally chiming in with a “yes, we are” or a “no, he made that up.” Marcos listens silently, corners of his mouth turned up in a smile as he looks out the windshield.

“I was thinking I might invite Coach Mackenzie,” Max says. Marcos and I both glance up at the rearview to look at him. “But that might be weird, I guess? I haven’t talked to him in a bit.”

“I think you should invite him,” Marcos says quietly. “You were really close with him when you played for the team.”

“Yeah,” Max agrees.

“I’d love to see him again,” I muse, thinking of Coach Mackenzie’s stern face and the way he always reminded me a bit of my uncle. “I miss playing for the team.”

“I was just saying that to Maxy,” Luke agrees on a groan. “I didn’t think I’d miss baseball so much, but sometimes watching other people play nowadays is torture.”

“Same,” I reply. “It’s nice having you to root for though, Max. If anyone dares to try and talk hockey with me, I love working it into the conversation that I know you.”

“Oh, well,” Max says, embarrassed.

“He doesn’t do it only when people are talking about hockey,” Marcos corrects, giving me the side-eye. “It’s practically the second thing he says to anyone we meet.”

“Honestly, it’s part of my introduction,” Luke agrees, as Max shakes his head at us and blushes. “I like to make sure people know I’m engaged to an NHL star and that I’m a pretty big fucking deal.”

“Oh god,” Marcos mutters.

I guide the truck off the gravel road and onto the grass, decreasing my speed. Luke and Max lean forward simultaneously, as though they’re connected by a string.

“I can’t get over how beautiful it is here,” Max says. “Or how big it is.”

Pulling to a slow stop, I park where our imaginary driveway will end and everyone hops out.

When I meet Marcos at the front of the vehicle, he smiles at me.

He and I pored over housing plans for weeks—cross-legged on the floor, papers and magazines and samples spread out around us.

Standing and observing as the slab was poured was surreal, and I’ll never forget the look on Marcos’ face as he watched.

I would build him a hundred houses, just to see it every time.

“They just framed it last week,” he tells Max and Luke, watching as they approach the house.

“Tour?” Luke requests, shooting a smile back at Marcos.

We take them through the build, explaining the design as best we can when there is little more than concrete and wood to help us. We’re a pretty good distance away from the main farm, which will provide a nice separation of work and home.

“And what’s that?” Luke asks, pointing through one of the “walls” toward another concrete slab.

“Barn for the horses,” Marcos answers, touching my lower back gently and curling his fingers into my waistband.

“Oh, right. Duh. Does that mean you’re running some of the business from here, or…?” Luke trails off before laughing. “I truly have no fucking idea how a ranch runs.”

“No, we’ll keep a couple horses here, but that’s it. Most will be at the main farm.”

“God, this is so cool,” Max says excitedly, smoothing a hand down the wood frame of a wall. “I can’t believe how quiet it is back here, and how secluded we feel. It’s crazy that places like this still exist.”

“When you retire, we can build our own house in the woods,” Luke tells him. “Just you, me, and our seven kids.”

“Seven,” I repeat on a laugh, raising my eyebrows at Marcos. “I guess we might need to add a few guest bedrooms.”

“We can put a few kids in a tent in the backyard,” Luke jokes .

“Maybe the barn,” Max adds.

“You guys are going to be incredible dads,” Marcos says, delivering the comment so dryly it makes Luke snort with laughter.

We mosey around the build and surrounding property, until the sun begins to set in an incredible splash of orange across the sky.

The ride back to my uncle’s is quiet, Marcos silently looking out the passenger window at the darkening landscape; Max and Luke sitting pressed together in the back.

When we get to Jesper’s, I idle in front of the house and turn around just in time to see Max stifle a yawn with his hand.

“Call us if you need anything tonight,” I tell them.

“What time are chores in the morning?” Luke asks, hand cupping the back of Max’s neck, thumb stroking a circle behind his ear.

“You can sleep in. You’re on vacation,” Marcos says.

“But on the off chance we’re awake, what time might things start happening?” Luke presses.

“Usually by five.”

Luke smiles at me and Marcos, before directing it to Max and giving him a little tug toward the door. “Let’s go to sleep, Maxy.”

I wait until they’re inside, before putting the truck in drive and slowly continuing on our way to the loft.

The space is barely big enough for me and Marcos, let alone four people, so they’re staying in one of the guest rooms in the main house.

I glance up at the rearview before the house is out of sight, making sure they didn’t come back onto the porch to wave us down.

“Think they’ll be okay?” I ask Marcos. “I suppose it’s probably a little awkward, staying with someone else’s family that you just met. Maybe we should have offered them the loft, and me and you could have bunked at Jes’ for the week.”

Marcos puts his hand on my leg. “Max would never have agreed to that. And they’ll be fine—Luke’s never met a person he couldn’t befriend. By the end of the week, he and your uncle will be spending the evenings together, watching baseball games.”

“You’re probably right,” I agree, chuckling and pulling up in front of the barn.

We say a quick goodnight to the horses, and I smile as Marcos stops to grab a sugar cube for Tuna. He sees me watching and scowls.

“He deserves a treat.”

“I didn’t say anything!” I hold up my hands in surrender.

Upstairs, we get ready for bed by the light of a single lamp.

As always, I enjoy watching Marcos undress.

He’s lost almost all of the extra weight he’d had in college when he was playing ball and working out consistently.

His shoulders aren’t quite so muscled and his flat stomach is framed by pointy hip bones.

Any muscle he does have is working muscle—earned on the ranch, not a gym.

It looks good on him. Everything looks good on him.

He glances up from where he’s tying the waist of his pajama pants and sees me watching, before pulling a long-sleeved shirt over his head and tugging it down.

Marcos fully covered at bedtime has become our universal sign for no touching tonight .

Crawling into bed, I prop up on an elbow to watch as he goes through his nightly routine of folding, putting away, wiping down the counter that’s already clean, and finally flicking off the light.

I hold up the blanket and wait for him to settle. We leave the window mostly uncovered, so the room is lit by enough moonlight for me to still make out the lines of his face. Carefully, I wrap my fingers around his forearm, above the shirt.

“Your uncle’s barn needs a new roof,” he tells me, voice soft. “And the water heater in the housing for the stable hands is going to have to be replaced. He’s having someone look at it tomorrow.”

Marcos, who has fully taken over the finances of the ranch, has integrated himself so seamlessly into the business that my uncle hasn’t stopped singing his praises. He calls him the banker, and doesn’t buy anything more expensive than a hoof pick without clearing it through Marcos first.

“I’ve got a few potential buyers lined up for the stock horses,” I tell him, thinking of the three geldings I’ve been dividing my time with.

“Full price?” Marcos asks hopefully, making me laugh.

“Let’s hope. Axel’s got it in his head that we need to stud racehorses.” Marcos groans. “He knows that’s where the money is at.”

“And how much is it going to cost to buy the racehorse we’re going to stud?”

“You truly do not want to know.”

He snorts. I rub idle circles against his inner arm with my thumb, thinking. The others haven’t texted, which I hope means they’re okay.

“Max and Luke will be waiting outside the barn at 4:45 tomorrow morning to help with chores,” Marcos whispers.

“Sure will,” I agree. “Better get some sleep. Love you.”

“Descansa, amor,” he says on a sigh, shifting a touch closer. Even when we’re fighting, he says the same thing every night. I wait, knowing there’s more. “Te veo al amanecer.”