I raise my eyebrows. How can he still be angry with me? He won, for God’s sake. Two games in a row.

“I want a rematch,” he says to me.

My jaw drops. “Why? You won. Why would you want a—”

“A forfeit doesn’t count. It’s not a win.”

“Official rules say otherwise, bro,” Brendan says.

“Fuck the official rules,” Dale says. “We’re playing again.”

“Maybe I won’t play,” I say adamantly. Though I have no reason not to play.

Brock steps up then. “I’m playing. I said I’d take the winner. Remember?”

“You can take the next winner,” Dale says, his voice more even-toned than his demeanor suggests.

“He can take this winner,” I say, handing Brock my stick. “And that’s you.”

I turn, trying my best to remain composed, and head back to a bar stool. I sit next to Talon, who smiles.

“What happened to you?” I ask.

“Accident in the orchards today.”

Looks like a punch to the face to me, but I won’t press it. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing that hasn’t happened before,” he says. Then, “Don’t let Dale get to you. He doesn’t like to take the easy way out of anything.”

“But he won fair and square. I screwed up the shot.”

“It was a hard shot.”

“I’ve made shots like that before. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Of course you didn’t. That’s not what he’s thinking.”

“I’m not the kind of woman who does that kind of thing.”

“No one thinks that.” He signals Maryanne, the bartender. “You want something?” he asks me.

I shake my head. “I had two glasses of wine with dinner. I’m fine, thanks.”

He nods and orders a Peach Street bourbon. He takes a sip and then turns back to me. “Did you and Jade have a nice time last night? I hear Lisa’s place is something special.”

My cheeks grow red-hot. My dinner with Jade. How much does Jade tell her husband?

Does he know how I feel about his son?

I look down at the wooden floor, hoping a giant hole will open up so I can hurl myself in.

No such luck.

Finally, I reply, “It was nice. The food was great.”

“I like Italian. Darla doesn’t make it very much. My sister makes great Italian, though.”

“She’s a chef, right?”

“Yeah. Marjorie. Married to Bryce.” He gestures to the silver-haired man sitting a few chairs down.

“Right. Henry’s dad.”

“Yes. You’re doing great. In no time you’ll be able to pick all of us out of a crowd.”

“Does Marjorie work at a restaurant?” I ask.

Talon shakes his head. “It was always her dream, but with four kids, she decided to concentrate on her family and let the rest of us sample her amazing cooking.”

“It’s a shame she never got to live out her dream.”

“Who says she hasn’t?”

“Well, you just said…”

“Once she married Bryce and adopted Henry, she got pregnant about a day later with David. Two years later, she got pregnant again with the twins.”

“That’s a lot of kids close in age.”

“It is, but my sis is a great mom.”

I nod. In the corner of my eye, I see Dale, his mouth in a thin line.

He’s staring straight at me.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dale

My dad will never betray me. I know that as well as I know the feel of my pool stick between my fingers, as well as I know the Syrah vineyards that are my true home.

Still, as he sits chatting with Ashley, I wonder.

Will he tell her how I feel about her?

Why do I even ponder this? My father’s word is as good as gold.

And it dawns on me, as if lightning is striking my brain…

Part of me wants him to tell her.

Part of me wants her to know.

Because maybe, if she knows, she’ll return my feelings.

But I’ve been around the block enough times to know that women don’t respond to the way I’ve been treating Ashley. Women like to be cherished.

And though I do cherish her, I’ll never show it.

Sure, I can fuck the daylights out of her. I have, and I hope to again. But I’ll never tell her how I truly feel. Not only do I fear she won’t return my feelings.

I also fear that she will.

Already my emotions have bubbled to the surface, and it takes all my strength to contain them. If she shares them? I’ll erupt.

That won’t be pretty.

Sure, the good part of it will be wondrous. I’ll be in ecstasy.

Until the bad part comes out.

And it will come out.

It’s the duality of nature. Of life.

My dad understands. And now I know why. So maybe the answer lies with him.

Or maybe it lies with my mother.

My beautiful mother, whose only crime was that she wasn’t the mother I loved and missed.

The mother who left Donny and me home alone after school while she worked.

That’s how…

The masked men. The vile-smelling van where we rode, blindfolded, for days upon days upon days. Somehow we got to the island off the coast of Jamaica. I don’t remember how. On a plane? In a boat?

I still don’t know.

We were most likely drugged.

When we arrived, starving, dehydrated, and covered in our own piss and shit, I remember thinking nothing could be so horrible.

I was wrong.

“Get in there, you little fuckers.”

The man was masked, of course, and he threw Donny and me into a large shower with several other children.

“Take off those shit-stained clothes and clean yourselves.”

I looked around for a bar of soap, to no avail.

Donny was crying, tears running down his cheeks—-the round cheeks of a little boy. Mine had only just begun to slim down as puberty headed my way. I wasn’t there yet, though. Only a few hairs had sprouted in my pubic area, and they were soon shaved off by one of the minions.

I grabbed my brother and held him close to me. “Don’t cry,” I said. “Never let them see you cry.”