Relief coursed through Trip’s body, making him almost lightheaded, but he did his best to hide that fact from Mason. Was it time he stopped suspecting the worst of his brother? They’d certainly both lost a lot this year, and perhaps, on that common ground, they could build a truce.
“Oh. Well, I think that’s a good decision. I’m sure you’ll be a lot happier near your kids than you are all the way out here. I’m glad Dad buckled.”
“I think he finally realized his grand plan for our reconciliation couldn’t be forced,” Mason said. “Although maybe all the events of these past months have made a small difference. Who knows, perhaps someday things between us can be . . . better.”
“Dad would like that.” It was the best Trip could offer, since he’d be lying if he pretended to want more just yet.
Mason looked over his shoulder toward Kelsey’s office and then to Trip. “Lurking around her office isn’t going to solve your problem, you know.”
“I’m not lurking.”
Mason cocked an eyebrow. “For a guy who projects so much confidence, you sure aren’t bold when it counts.”
“You’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. How ’bout you stay out of it so we can keep this little truce going longer than two minutes?” Trip crossed his arms.
Mason raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. Just don’t go crying in your whiskey six months from now, when some other guy claims the future you had in the palm of your hand.”
“I never cry, Mason. You ought to remember that about me from our childhood.” Trip couldn’t stop himself from tossing immature insults in order to deflect the conversation, even though it made him feel like an ass.
“Fine.” Mason shook his head, just like Grey had done earlier. “Guess next time I see you, it’ll be in Denver.” He stuck out his hand. “Take care.”
Trip shook hands, unable to make sense of any of the fucked-up emotions coursing through his body. Mason turned to go. It wasn’t until he’d taken four or five steps away that Trip finally replied, “You too.”
He stood on the sidewalk, watching his brother walk away. Like some bad scene in a movie, he found himself standing alone, mulling over the choice that took him away from the life he’d led just three months ago to the one three weeks ago and finally to the hell he lived in at the moment. Would anything ever feel normal again?
Before he continued toward Grizzly’s, Kelsey came out of her office and locked the door. She hadn’t noticed him, so he stepped into the shadows and hid behind the columns of a storefront portico. His heart galloped inside his chest, thundering with the force of a dozen hooves. He held his breath, afraid she might actually hear his heart beating so loudly.
He watched her drop her keys in her purse and cross the street south of where he stood, apparently walking home—in the dark—again. He shook his head when he noticed her snow boots had ridiculous heels, which he realized she could probably run a marathon in at this point.
Part of him wished he could just approach her for another piggyback ride, like the one he’d offered back in July. But she’d made it clear she wanted time to move on. If he wanted to see her home safely, he’d need to do it from a distance.
Once she got two blocks ahead, he followed behind, careful to keep out of her sight. He hated how careless she was with her safety but, short of stalking her, there wasn’t much he could do about it, either.
He stopped at the end of her block, watching her until she disappeared into her condominium building. Her windows lit up a minute later. Through the honeycomb shades, he saw her shadow moving around.
He took three steps toward her house before stopping himself. Rubbing the center of his chest as if it could erase the deep ache inside, he stood on the sidewalk, staring up at her windows like a fool.
Each breath fogged his vision. His muscles strained toward her building, but his feet refused to budge. His mouth grew dry, making it tough to swallow the lump in his throat.
Disgusted by his behavior, he forced himself to turn away and jog to Grizzly’s, certain that waltzing through that door would be like coming home. Music, the click of cue balls breaking apart, women dressed to impress . . . all the things he’d always enjoyed.
When he yanked the door open, he’d all but convinced himself he’d stayed away too long.
He strode through the partying crowd to the bar. “Red Rocket.”
In less than five minutes, two women approached him. Pretty, friendly, available, willing women. One—Gail—he knew intimately. It had never bothered him to be in a room with one or more women he’d slept with before, but for some reason, seeing Gail made him twitchy.