Page 46 of Almost Home
“Okay.”
We walked another few minutes with only the sounds around us and occasional quiet, surface-level conversation between us for company.
The spring weather—so pleasant.
Where I’d meet my friends tonight—Guac.
How far he’d run—eight miles.
By the time we’d made it back to the neighborhood, that liquid sensation had solidified again, and I’d admitted to myself I’d need to stretch thoroughly and probably even ice my knee. I’d said as much, and he’d seemed relieved by my plan. Then he gave me one of those down-to-my-toes looks I felt race through every part of me before jogging off toward wherever he lived.
I had a girls’ night to get to, and by the time I arrived, I was bursting at the seams to tell them everything that’d happened in the last few days.
And tomorrow. Maybe I should’ve resisted, that sense of something coming to a close nearby wherever I went, but I couldn’t say no to him—didn’t want to.Tomorrowwe’d go out. We’d do all the things that one word had promised when he’d said it moments ago.
CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO
Wilder
Warrick’s smirky little grin in response to my suggestion we eat at Guac made me want to shove him. So I did.
“Hey! I didn’t say anything,” he said, faking mortal offense at my action.
“Not with words.”
“No, not with words, but you’re practically shouting. So tell us, young one, what is it you have to say to Wilder?”
Wyatt’s even keel had refereed between us more than once when we were younger, but having him engage now made an unexpected burst of happiness fire off inside me.
“I just happen to know Sadie met her friends at Guac a half hour ago. And I know Sarah is one of those friends.”
He wiggled his brows. I shoved him again.
“Stop that,” Wyatt said, likely to both of us. “We’re going to Guac, so there’s nothing to snipe at each other about.”
Warrick chuckled and hid a smile. My giant younger brother called Wyatt out. “Yeah, but we’re only going to Guac so you can stare at your woman and then blame it on us.”
Wyatt’s eyes narrowed to a threatening glare. “Maybe.”
Warrick laughed full out, a free, joyful sound that made my heart squeeze. Seemed like a lot of things made my insides twist and squeeze and drop and slow and speed up. I’d been more aware of my heart and its meanderings in the last few weeks than I had in twenty years.
I’d lived by my gut, largely ignoring my heart. Apparently, that was changing, right along with everything else.
Without too much more nonsense from either brother, we soon settled into three seats at the bar since Guac was packed out with a forty-minute wait for a table. The girls, so said Warrick, had made a reservation, so they’d likely had no trouble. We didn’t mind holing up at the end of the bar.
“To a reunion twenty years in the making.” Warrick held up his tiny glass filled with golden top shelf tequila.
Wyatt and I raised ours to meet it.
“To brotherhood,” Wyatt added.
I rounded it out with, “To the Saints.”
We each slugged back the burning, tangy liquid, and I questioned my sanity. We were all solidly in our thirties, Wyatt nearly forty, and none of us had any business doing shots. But I wasn’t about to be the one who opted out after having done so for most of our adult lives in one way or another.
“So what’s going on with you and Sarah?”
Warrick sipped a glass of even nicer añejo tequila. Wyatt switched to water immediately, likely because he had to drive home. I took a burning sip of the same as Warrick, yet again glad I could walk home from the center of town.
