Page 3 of One Night Rebellion
"Yeah, we were." The memories hit me unexpectedly—late nights playing pickup ball, sneaking out to parties, planning our futures like we had it all figured out. Funny how life has a way of humbling you.
Mom finally appears at the bottom of the stairs, looking flustered but put-together in that way only she can manage. Her hair's still slightly damp, and there's a flush to her cheeks that makes Dad's grin widen even more.
"Sorry, sorry," she says, grabbing her purse and Sierra's backpack in one fluid motion. "Ready, sweetheart?"
Sierra jumps up so fast she nearly knocks over her orange juice. "Finally! I told you they're picking the choir today."
"And I'm sure you'll do wonderfully," Mom says, though I catch the slight wince when Sierra practices on the way to the door.
"See you boys later," she calls over her shoulder, and then they're gone, leaving the house suddenly quiet except for the hum of the fridge.
Dad refills his coffee and settles back into his chair. "So, you nervous about seeing Malcolm?"
I consider the question. "A little, I guess. It's been a long time."
"Time has a way of making things clearer," Dad says. "The good friendships, they have a way of picking up right where you left off."
I hope he's right.
—--
Malcolm's office sits on Main Street in a restored Victorian that's been converted into professional suites. The sign out front readsBellehaven Realty - Malcolm Hartford, Licensed Agentin gold lettering that catches the morning sun. I sit in the Mustang for a moment, gathering myself before heading in.
The receptionist, a woman in her fifties with kind eyes, directs me to Malcolm's office. I knock on the doorframe, and when he looks up, eight years dissolve in an instant.
"JT fucking Willett," he says, standing with a huge grin. "Look at you-- Bellehaven’s son coming home."
"Malcolm," I say, and we embrace like the brothers we used to be. He's filled out some, looks older obviously. It’s apparent that his life has changed since the last time I saw him. Gone isthat haunted look in his eyes. Hopefully Luke has been as good for him as he appears to have been for Addie.
"Sit, sit," he says, gesturing to a chair across from his desk. "I can't believe you're actually back. And looking to buy, not just visit?"
"Yeah, man. I'm done with Nashville. Ready to come home."
We spend the next hour catching up. I tell him about the investment firm, the long hours, the money that never quite felt worth it. Tell him how this new place in Lexington seems more family-oriented, which I’m looking for at this point in my life. He tells me about getting his real estate license, about building his business from the ground up.
"So, dating anyone?" he asks eventually, leaning back in his chair.
I shrug. "I've dated around, but nothing serious. The Nashville scene... it's all surface level, you know? Everyone's chasing something, trying to make it big, or looking to just take a picture for fucking Instagram. Hard to find anyone real."
"I get that." His face softens. "I'm lucky I found Rachel. Actually, you should meet her. Rach," he yells toward the door.
A moment later, a woman appears—petite, with auburn hair and a warm smile. She extends her hand to me.
"You must be JT. Malcolm's told me so much about you."
"All lies," I say, shaking her hand, and she laughs.
"Oh, I like him already," she tells Malcolm, who beams with pride.
"Rachel handles our marketing and client relations," Malcolm explains. "And she keeps me from making terrible decisions."
"Someone has to," she says fondly, then glances at her watch. "I hate to interrupt, but we should probably head out if we're going to see those properties before lunch."
Malcolm stands, grabbing his keys. "Right. JT, you ready to find your dream home?"
We're heading toward the door when it swings open, and my breath catches in my throat.
Addie Hartford stands in the doorway, and Jesus Christ, seeing her in the light of day is so much more breathtaking than it was last night. When did Malcolm's little sister become... that?
