Page 12 of Really Truly Yours

But honestly, my older brother is just the guy I want to talk to. Isn’t Donny’s timing, finding me while we’re finally getting reacquainted, quite the coincidence?

Tripp’s face sets in intense agent-mode. “Something’s wrong.”

My eyes flit between the pair. I lower myself into the recliner at the near end of the sofa. It’s an oversized chair I seem to have appropriated since my arrival. It’s made of crafted, cream leather and has a new smell. It also has lumbar support, is heated and cooled, and is equipped with speakers wired into the room’s professional sound system.

And this recliner sits perfectly straight.

I swallow the boulder in my throat. “I met my father today.”

“Oh, Tom’s in town?”

“No.” I look down. Up. “I met Donald Grayson today.”

It takes a second to register—yeah, me, too, bro—and then it does. Tripp’s features harden. He mutes the jumbo TV above the mantle.

“Remember that number I mentioned a few days ago, the one that wouldn’t stop calling?”

The jerk of his head is more spasm than nod.

“Well, I caved and answered, and it was this woman. She wanted to meet. Wouldn’t tell me why except to say that it was an important family matter. I’d have blown it off except I was worried that maybe she was someone I’d—”

Whoops. When I glance over, I see Avery’s already picked up the thread. Man, if I could only turn back the clock and be more the man I always intended to be.

“Yeah, um, anyway. I met her in town. She lives over in Mineral Springs. Her name is Sydnee. She’s Donny’s neighbor, and, long story short, I ended up meeting him today.”

With the game muted, the only sound is silence. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one thrown for a loop.

Tripp tosses the remote onto the coffee table, the clatter jarring. “Man, I don’t know what to say. Congratulations or condolences.” His jaw is granite.

I shake my head. “I know, right?”

Tripp has never had so much as a name to put to his biological father, and that’s been an issue. If I ever become half the man my brother is, I’ll be happy, but the issue of paternity is the one spot where the angry kid lingers. I pray some day he’ll be able to find peace on that score. And hopefully, one day, my prayers will mean more than they did for a while there.

“What did you talk about? What did he say?”

I snort. “He called me Tuff. He called me son. I let him know neither was acceptable.” I feel my wrath restirring. “He doesn’t have the right, you know?”

Tripp’s scowl would be foreboding in a different setting. “I know. If I ever meet the no good—” He struggles for words. Avery takes his hand and rubs her thumb across it. Almost instantly, his shoulders ease.

Man, I’m ready for an Avery in my life. I’ve had my, ahem, fun, and now I want someone who’ll share the load. “He asked about you.”

Tripp seems caught off-guard. He huffs. “Might have been nice if he’d cared back when. The times he did come around, I was so jealous that you had a dad. I remember asking him to play catch with me a time or two, but he hardly knew I existed. Except when he was angry about something.”

Right. I’d forgotten. According to Tripp’s tales, Donny resented his presence, yelled at him a lot, and shoved him around occasionally. Our mother didn’t stand up for him.

He rubs his jaw. “Anything else?”

“Not really. I got angry and walked out long about then.” Honestly, quite unlike me.

“Good for you.”

“Tripp.”

Avery, with her tender heart, chimes in. I know she’s rooting for forgiveness and reconciliation. She worries, seeing her husband stewing in anger and resentment.

I grew up, blessedly, in a home that preached forgiveness and letting go. Until today, I thought I’d done both. Donny Grayson is challenging that imperative. I had no idea anger lurked in the shadows. I’m a pretty chill guy most of the time.

I notice my brother retract his hand from beneath his wife’s. Man, I don’t want to bring trouble of any kind to their door. They’re still in the newlywed phase, or at least should be.

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