Something beautiful.
An odd stinging hurt his eyes. “What if I fail?”
She squeezed harder and stroked his cheek with tenderness. “It doesn’t matter. When you try, you win.”
He began to shake. When he was little, and he desperately craved someone to hug him, tell him it was okay, soothe the tears away, there was no one. But right now, in Mama Conte’s kitchen, he felt safe.
He felt loved.
She took him into her arms and held him tight.
“I NEED A PLAN.”
Nate remained quiet as he set up his shot on the golf course. The air hung thick and heavy for the October afternoon, and a slight dampness still clung to the grass from the morning drizzle. It hadn’t stopped either of them from their normal Wednesday morning golf game. Wolfe’s swing was clean, with a perfect arc and trajectory. “Nice, dude.”
“Thanks. Good to know I haven’t lost my edge. You canceled twice this past month. Losing interest in me? Or is jetting off to Italy on a whim more important than the game of champions?”
He rolled his eyes and grabbed the club. “Hanging out with Benny the hairdresser a bit much? The drama is catching.”
“Mitch.”
“Metrosexual.”
“Ouch.”
Wolfe laughed, got prepped, and made his shot. His smirk when the ball landed close to the green made Nate shake his head. “Maybe a vacation in Italy is exactly what you need to help your game. Want a handicap?”
“Asshole.” Wolfe grinned and they began walking.
“Back to your comment. What type of plan we talking about?”
Wolfe figured it was time to push himself to be more open with everyone close in his life. Not easy, but time to try. “Let me give you the short version. Gen and I started sleeping together, fell in love, she asked for more, I freaked and said no, she left, I’m trying to get her back.”
“Why’d you freak?”
“I got issues.”
Nate barked out a laugh. “No shit. Who doesn’t? Okay, so she’s pissed off and doesn’t want to see you.”
“Correct.”
“Sounds like what happened with Kennedy and me.”
“Yeah, but a big declaration with a billboard on a golf course isn’t gonna help me. I need epic.”
Nate wrinkled his nose. “The billboard was epic. I heard Kate got recliners from Slade.”
“That’s lame.”
“Yeah, I told him that. How about a poem? You can name Purity after her?”
Wolfe glowered. “Dude, these suck. I come to you with my heart open and this is what you give me?”
“I’m a guy. I don’t know what women want. Can you create a song and serenade outside her door?”
“Forget it.”
They went back to the game, but Wolfe was no closer to figuring out how to confess his love, apologize, and beg her to take another shot on his sorry ass. Somehow he felt as if his silence hurt her the deepest. How could he blame her? He’d hurt the one person in the world he treasured.
Ever since coming home from Italy, he’d begun to look at things differently. With less fear. He even started therapy again, wanting to do everything to keep working on himself. He pulled at his wristbands, the skin sweating underneath, and suddenly stopped.
Gen was a straight shooter. No frills. Fierce and brave and honest.
He would keep things simple. No billboards, poems, or Goodyear Blimp signs.
Just the truth.
“I got it.”
Nate nodded. “Good. Now, can we finish the game before you go off to claim your woman?”
“Yes. Let’s play.”
His heart lighter, Wolfe concentrated on golf, grateful for good friends.
GEN LAUGHED AS LILY and Maria climbed over her, trying to get in more hugs than the other. She grabbed them and tickled them mercilessly, the shrill giggles reminding her that life had its beautiful moments even within the pain. She slumped onto the carpet, exhausted, while Alexa shook her head.
“Let your aunt rest, girls. She’s not as young as she used to be.”
Gen stuck her tongue out. “Speak for yourself, sis. I just did a double shift or I’d kick your butt in the Just Dance Wii marathon.”
Lily jumped up and down. “Yes! I want to be your partner, Aunt Gen!”
“No, me!” Maria yelled.
Alexa pulled a sad face. “What about your mother? I can dance!”
The girls fell silent, looking guilty but not offering.
Nick laughed, snagging Alexa around the waist. “My money’s on you, babe. I just think the girls enjoy a more modern dance than Thriller.”
“What’s wrong with Michael Jackson?” she demanded. “They need to know the classics.”
The doorbell rang. Gen rolled to her feet. “Stay, I’ll get it. Probably Lance and Gina, they’re running late. We must’ve locked the door by mistake.”