Page 127 of Major Love

Riley frowns as he tugs open the drivers’ door and asks, “Who the hell is Jason?”

I point my finger at the roof above me and laugh, “The owner of this house.”

And Riley hesitates for a moment before he nods and slips down into the car.

“Fine,” he says, rolling down his window so that I can hear him. “I’ll text you where I’m staying and we can arrange.”

“And I’ll be deleting your stalking app,” I call out to him, shaking my head with amusement as he gives me another wink.

And then, less than twenty seconds later, I’m standing alone in Jason’s drive, watching the snow drift like glitter from the tops of the pines.

“Fuck,” I whisper quietly, as I breathe in the clean winter-morning air, wondering exactly how I’m going to explain all of this to him.

Chapter 30

Jason

“That looks good.”

I tip the wooden table back onto its legs, and I give my brother an agreeing nod as I test that all of the bolts are tight and secure.

Mitch has a large custom order that he’s currently working on, including two enormous wooden tables that are even bigger than the ones for Casey’s bar. So after I finished up on site with Madden and Knox this afternoon, I brought my truck over to Mitch’s place and joined him for a couple of hours in the workshop.

We’ve been pretty much working in silence with the exception of the snow thumping down from the evergreens outside, and the sounds of our tools hitting the workbench when we swap them for another one.

And the deep sighs that Mitch has been exhaling because even though we’re not usually talkers, he knows that something’s up with me and it’s making him antsy as fuck.

I give the table one last jerk and meet my brother’s eyes, watching him silently.

All that’s left now is for the tables to get carefully layered with polish, but I can tell that he’s calling it a day from the way that he wipes his hands on the shop cloth, both of us walking toward the entrance of the garage.

“So,” he says gruffly. “You wanna talk about it now?”

“Honestly?” I reply, as we duck under the door. “Not really.”

And then we both watch as a large black Ford pulls up onto the curb, while Mitch flicks through his keys so that he can lock up the workshop.

Mitch watches it over his shoulder, something like relief washing over his expression as he pockets the o-ring. Then he lifts the garage door back up, because it looks like it’s about to be in use again.

“What time d’you call this?” Mitch calls out teasingly, his deep voice lilting with humour as he tries to hold back a small smile.

His son Tate shuts the driver’s side of his truck, fighting back a grin of his own as he trudges up the driveway. He laughs quietly as his dad claps him on the shoulder, ducking his head as his strong cheekbones begin to burn crimson.

He’s only twenty-two but he’s already almost as big as his dad, having been the team quarterback when he was in high school, and he’s been getting bigger and bigger ever since.

“Yeah, I know,” Tate mumbles, shoving off his dad and turning toward me, clasping my fist in a quick embrace before jerking his thumb at the blacktop behind him. “This morning they hadn’t cleared the roads over at River’s place so…”

Mitch nods in understanding. “She texted me, it’s okay. And you didn’t have to pull up today, you know,” he adds, his gruff voice trying to be gentle.

But deep down I know that he loves it, having such a good bond with his son that even when shitty weather creates an obstacle, Tate still comes by to get his work done with him.

River, Tate’s fiancée, texted Mitch earlier on, letting him know that the roads around her campus were still blocked with snow. So Tate had to wait until they were salted before finally making his way back to Phoenix Falls.

And from the smirk that Tate’s trying to bite back, it doesn’t seem like he was too devastated by the hold-up.

Doesn’t take a genius to guess what him and his girl were getting up to.

“What’s left to do?” Tate asks casually, before pulling off his hoodie and shoving back his dark hair.

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