Page 96 of Love Is Ale You Need

Trey

The outside is bustling with conversation coming from every corner of the patio. Instead of joining in, I’m a man on a mission. I place the meatcuterie board on the table filled with other appetizers under the tent. On the other side of the patio, I spot Lach as he inches himself farther away from a blonde woman who must be Rylee’s mom, but the resemblance is nonexistent. Since this is my first time meeting her, I want to make a few things clear about my family.

I stroll over to relieve Lach of his babysitting duties. When I’m standing next to the woman, I hold out my hand. “You must be Rylee’s mom. It’s so nice to meet you. I’m Trey.”

Lach jumps to his feet. “You can sit here.” He leans in so only I can hear. “Watch her. She gets handsy.” I nod and take his vacated seat.

Her perfectly manicured hand grasps mine. “Hi Trey. I’m Darla.”

“I’m glad you could make it, Darla.” I sit back, taking a laid-back approach, but also ready to fight if I need to.

She crosses one leg over the other. “You have a very nice house.”

“Thank you.”

“So, do you plan to take care of my daughter?”

“No,” I deadpan.

Her hand flies to cover her mouth as an overly dramatic gasp escapes her.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.” I sit up and rest my elbows on my knees. “But she doesn’t need me to take care of her. Rylee is the strongest, most resilient woman I know. But you know that, she’s your daughter. If anything, I need her to take care of me. In fact, I will spend every second of every day proving my worthiness to her.”

“I can appreciate that.” The toe of her red high heel brushes over my knee.

A red-hot inferno rages through me. My fists clench together, fighting the urge to not go Trey-Hulk and flip over the stone fireplace over. I square my shoulders, locking my gaze with her dull and lifeless brown eyes. No. They’re loveless. I suspect it’s telling about her own life. “With all due respect, Darla,” I say, my tone sharp, “that’s not happening.” I peer down at her foot. She shifts in her seat. “I love your daughter. If you want to stay here at my house for the rest of the party, you’ll be respectful. Not only to me but also to Rylee. Any disrespect toward her is disrespect toward me. I have no issues throwing anyone out.” I rise to my feet. “Also, I suggest you change your overall attitude toward Rylee because she’s already been through a hell of a lot and doesn’t need your condescending remarks on top of it. If you can’t do that, I’ll make sure she never has to deal with you.”

Her mouth gapes open. If I had to guess, not too many people put her in her place. But one thing I will not do is tolerate any of her bullshit, especially when it comes to Rylee.

“I hope you’ll stay and enjoy the rest of the party.” I glide around the firepit and stroll across the patio to where our friends are seated. It’s like a boulder has been pushed off my chest. Since Rylee told me about her mom, I wanted to say something to her. I only hope she does change in order to stay in Rylee, Abby, and our acorn’s lives.

“Runaway balloon!” Bennett yells, pointing across the yard. Everyone glances up as a yellow balloon dances across the blue sky.

“That wouldn’t have happened if Seth tied the balloons,” Parisa teases.

“Only if he used bow ties,” Van says.

“I’m well versed in tying knots in more than just bow ties. Scarves, ties, rope. I used Christmas tinsel once,” Seth adds.

I leap over some hedges and sprint to the front of the house. An array of yellow and gray balloons flutter in the wind. I collect all the strings and re-secure them to the mailbox with a triple knot. I stroll into the house through the front door. Rylee and Dessa are talking in the kitchen.

“I’ll have a toast to your pregnancy and your newfound love. You get sparkling grape juice,” Dessa says.

The word love halts me in my tracks. I tiptoe down the short hallway, feeling like an asshole for eavesdropping, but this could be important.

“I do. I love Trey.” Rylee’s voice is beaming with adoration.

My heart pounds in my chest. It’s almost hard to hear everything else they’re saying.

“Have you told him?”

“I haven’t said the words I love you. I feel like once I say those words, everything becomes real.”

“Yes! Real! You want real!”

Rylee laughs. “I know. I’ve kind of created a substitute though. Instead of saying ‘I love you,’ I tell him ‘You’re my favorite’. He knows what I mean.”

“Ugh! You love him. You need to just tell him.”

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