Page 11 of Finally a Bride: Best Friend's Brother

“Jack is furious.”

When isn’t he mad about something?

“Can I ask you something?” I put down the sandwich as my appetite just isn’t there anymore.

“Sure.” She starts pulling meats out to make herself a sandwich and I wonder if McCabe could do with one of those instead.

“Why is Mr. Weston so hard on McCabe?”

She stills. “Jack’s dad was hard on him. He knows no other way.”

“Do you really think that McCabe really misbehaved in high school or…?”

She starts spreading mayonnaise on the bread. “He was rebellious, but he wasn’t disrespectful. And I heard from plenty of people who thought he was in the right when he was treated as if he was wrong.”

She cleans some dishes in the sink as she seems to be remembering back. “I saw him helping Mr. Jones across the street scoop his driveway more than a dozen times one winter. Jack just doesn’t remember those times because the times that stand out are when you feel the most emotions and anger is one of the only emotions that Jack knows.”

“He isn’t abusive, right?” I ask without thinking and then cringe.

“No, honey. He’s an internal anger with seething words. It feels similar, but no, he’s never touched any of us… which is another issue all together.”

I think back. I’ve never seen Mr. Weston hug… anyone. Not one person.

“I think I’ll make one of those for McCabe. He’s probably hungry.”

She side-eyes me with a smirk. “Ham and cheese, light mayo.”

Mothers know so much without saying too much.

“Thanks.”

“You’re a good friend.”

But can friends be more?

FOUR

McCabe

I stare up at the tree. It’s not as tall as I used to think it was. It’s wider and the boards of the old tree house have buckled a little as it’s grown up through it. Dad said I should’ve left more room.

Always right.

But I was so proud that I built it all by myself. And it’s stood the test of time… mostly.

I start up the tree on the board rungs and the bottom board breaks under my pressure, but I don’t stop. I want to be where I used to hide from my problems.

The door is smaller than I remember, but I’m bigger than most people probably remember. The Army bulked me out and I’ve kept up on my daily PT. My stomach growls as I crawl inside. The inside is a time capsule of memories.

In the corner there’s a Star Wars pillow that’s seen better days and the birds and squirrels have demolished the stuffing and pulled at the strands making it look like something from a dystopian movie. The poster of Die Hard on the ceiling is faded and has water stains, but not as many as I might have thought. The roof was built to last.

Take that, Jack.

I’m on still looking inside when I feel pressure on my… ass?

“What the…” I grump while looking down and I see a familiar set of chocolate eyes. “Hey…” I say softer.

She pushes again and I fight the urge to get hard. “I’ll join you.”

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