Page 98 of Ace of Spades

I nod, feeling a pang of something raw and messy. "Yeah. He’s... he’s been my best friend forever. Except lately he’s been... distant, I guess. Bailing on plans. Always with some new excuse."

Brody frowns, genuine sympathy creasing his forehead.

"Give him a little grace. Sometimes people pull away when they’re trying to find themselves. College does that to people."

“Did you go to college?”

He scoffs. “Hell no. Army all the way, baby!” Then he pulls back, “Not that anything’s wrong with college if that’s what you hope to do.”

I grin.

“It’s never really been an interest of mine. I’m not sure what I’d even study. Motorcycles have been my biggest love for as long as I can remember.”

“Sounds like you’re doing exactly what you should be, then.”

Brody pushes up from his chair. "C’mon. There’s something I want to show you."

He jerks his chin, motioning for me to follow. Milo feels him stir and pops up like he’s been awake the whole time.

We walk through the maze of stone paths, past citrus trees and climbing vines and an old stone fountain so covered in moss it looks like it grew there.

And then we turn a corner… and there they are.

Peonies.

Rows and rows of them, thick and wild, their heavy blooms spilling into the path, bursting with every shade of pink and white and red.

I stop dead, breath catching, petals brushing my legs as I step closer.

I swallow hard, throat tight.

"These were Mom’s favorite," I whisper.

Brody smiles, hands tucked into his pockets. "I know."

I turn to look at him, blinking. "How?"

He shifts, a little awkward for the first time since I’ve known him.

"When we met—your mom and me—on our one and only date, I brought her peonies from this very garden."

He glances around the garden, voice going rough around the edges.

"She said no one had ever brought her flowers before. And that they were her favorite."

Something in my chest cracks open, sweet and aching.

"And you kept them up.”

Brody shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I can see the truth in the way he looks at the garden.

"Maybe I was hoping, someday, she’d find her way back here.”

I blink fast, because damn it, he’s not supposed to say things like that.

And I’m not supposed to need to hear them.

But standing there, surrounded by petals and sunlight and the quiet hum of something older than both of us, I realize...

---