Pathetic.
"What did you say?" Chess peers up at me with suspicious green eyes.
"Nothing." I open a pair of French doors and lead her out to the patio.
Seated at a grouping of rattan chairs is my brother and his wife Emily. They both stand and I notice the small swell of Emily's belly. I take a hard step, the ground meeting my foot too soon, and my stride falters.
Because she's right beside me, Chess bumps into my shoulder. But then I feel her hand slip into mine, her grasp secure and firm, and I know she's seen Emily too, that she understands exactly. A lump rises in my throat and I swallow it down hard.
I squeeze her hand in return and then ease my hold as if I'm merely a guy leading his girl out to meet his family.
Glenn meets me halfway. My brother is five years older than me. Though he is two inches shorter, with blond hair instead of brown, and thicker about the waist-because he doesn't have a job that requires him to work out until he drops-we still look a lot alike.
Glenn was a running back in college, but didn't make it to pros. Doesn't mean he isn't still strong as an ox. He nearly knocks the air out of me as we hug, thumping my back hard enough that I cough.
"Good to see you, man," he says, stepping back, his gaze darting to Chess.
I make the introductions, give Emily the standard hello kiss and ask how she's doing with her pregnancy. Yes, I knew. I just hadn't seen the visual proof until now. Soon enough Chess and I are tucked together on a love-seat, as my family not subtly grills us for information.
"So," my mom says, margarita in hand. "How did you two meet?"
"I took nude photos of Finn," Chess says before biting into a tortilla chip, loaded with guacamole.
Mom chokes on her drink, as Glenn laughs, and my dad bites back a smile.
Chess pauses, mouth filled with chip, and her creamy skin goes brilliantly pink. "Shit," she mumbles around her food, as I start to laugh. "I didn't mean … "
"It was for a charity calendar photoshoot," I tell them, taking pity on Chess. "Chess is a professional photographer."
Weakly she nods as she takes a bracing sip of her drink.
"Finn must have made a good impression," Emily teases with a wink.
"Jesus, Em," Glenn blurts out, still laughing.
"What? All I'm saying is that a girl can get a little sidetracked seeing a naked guy."
"Oh, he wasn't the only one nude," Chess assures, then catches herself again, grimacing. "I mean, I saw a lot of other dicks-Shit."
My father loses it, and starts chuckling in that low, wheezing way of his.
"Fucking hell," Chess mutters, now tomato red. The cuss words seem to make her even more mortified, and she buries her face into the crook of my shoulder. "Let me die now."
My heart gives a weird sort of lurch at her unexpected turn to me for comfort and protection, and I wrap my arm around her slim torso, snuggling her close. "Maybe have a few drinks before you speak again," I tease, pressing my lips to her hair. "You know, to loosen your tongue up."
Her small fist punches my abs. "Shut up," she says into my shoulder, her breath heating my shirt.
Because she's my girl here in this moment, I grab her fist, press it to my heart, and then kiss the top of her head. I don't even notice my family is gaping at me until I lift my head.
The look on my mom's face is so relieved she's almost weepy with it, and it sends an uncomfortable prickle of guilt down my neck. That look tells me she'll no longer worry that I'm lonely, but it's too hopeful. She glances at Emily, and her happy smile grows.
She's finally getting her grandbaby.
At my side, Chess is still bemoaning her big mouth.
"Don't worry, Chess," my dad says, leaning forward to give her a gentle pat on the knee. "You'll fit in just fine here."
Chess lifts her head, brushing the inky strands of her hair away from her face. I miss the contact immediately.
"Somehow, I doubt you continuously stick your foot in it," she says to my dad with a wry smile.
"No," he agrees with a chuckle. "But Finn certainly does. And we've decided to keep him around."
"That and, whenever he loses a game, I get sympathy drinks at the bar," Glenn adds with a wink.
///
Absence has made me forget what a dickhead Glenn can be.
Chess takes a cool sip of her margarita before replying. "You must not get many free drinks, then."
It's right there, on my parents sunbaked patio, with the tart taste of margarita on my tongue and the sound of Chess's husky voice in my ears, that my heart, brain, and body comes to one simple agreement: this woman is mine.
Dad starts telling Chess about places she should visit in San Diego, and I help my mother take in the empty chip bowl. She doesn't need the help, but I have a few words for her.
As soon as we're in her sunny kitchen, she rounds on me. "All right, let's have it then." She braces herself against the counter.
"Oh, you mean the part where you invited Britt to stay here without asking me?"
"I can hardly ask, Finnegan, when you don't answer your phone."
Zing.
With a sigh, I lean against the opposite counter. "I said I was sorry. I shouldn't have avoided you. But you can be stubborn as shi … hell."
My mom snorts and turns to put the dishes in the sink. "You can say ‘shit,' Finn. I am a grownup."
"Mothers aren't grownups. They are part chaste saint and part eternal nag."
"Ha."
I steal a mango from the fruit bowl and go in search of a paring knife. "I'm fine now, okay? Happy even. So, please, let it go with Britt. Let the scab heal."
"Consider me done with meddling," my mom vows with a lift of her hand. "A wise woman knows when to say when."
I let it go that she missed that mark by a few months. Wise men know when to back away slowly.
"So … " My mom says in a voice that is distinctly meddling. "Chess is nice."
A smile pulls at my lips. "Nice isn't how I'd describe her."
"Oh? And how would you describe her? Here, use a plate."
Perfect. Fuckable. Stunning. Funny. Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
"Great," I say, putting the mango on the plate. "She's great."
Mom sighs in exasperation. "Men. None of you know how to properly describe your feelings."
She makes me grateful for every sunrise. Because I wake up knowing she's in the world.
I set the knife down and face my mother. "Just … be nice to her, okay?"
"Finnegan Dare Mannus, I am never rude to my guests, and you well know it."
"That's not what I meant. She's had a rough time. Lost her house, her workplace. Her best friend is off in a new relationship. I don't think her parents are in the picture." I run a hand over my face. "She needs a little care, okay. It's important to me."
Mom meets my eyes. God, she's welling up again. "Oh, Finn, you've gone and done it. You've fallen in-"
"Jesus. That's it. No more heart-to-hearts with you for at least five years."
"Just remember, Finnegan," she says, ignoring my protest. "Love with your heart, not your head. Think about things too much and it all turns to shit."
I grimace, hoping to hell Chess doesn't hear her. Even so, I fight a smile. "Thanks Mom, and don't say shit. It offends my delicate sensibilities."
Before she can snap me with a towel, I grab my plate of mango and head out to find Dad. And some much needed testosterone injected conversation.
* * *
Chess
* * *
Finn's old room is not a shrine to all things Finn as I'd expected it to be. There are a few tasteful black and white photos of him throughout his career, including a ridiculously cute pee wee football shot, where Finn is basically an oversized helmet and pads walking around on tiny legs.
Aside from that, the room is done entirely in ethereal blue and creamy white. The ocean, I know, is just beyond the massive windows that are open just a crack to let in the breeze. But it's dark as pitch now, given that Finn and I dithered and stalled, talking around the fire pit long after dinner had ended and his family had trickled off to their beds.
Sitting huddled together under a blanket in front of a crackling fire seemed like an equally bad idea so I had announced my intent to head to bed. Unfortunately, Finn decided to come with me. Not that I can fault him for it. We are sharing a room and it is late.
Now, I dither yet again in the little en suite bathroom, rubbing coconut oil over my elbows and brushing my teeth twice. I find Finn tucked up in bed reading on his iPad, and thankfully wearing a t-shirt and whatever he has on under the covers. The bed looks dainty beneath his big frame and broad shoulders. The space left for me to lie beside him is a tiny sliver of bed real estate that promises prolonged bodily contact.