Page 17 of Holding The Reins

“Maybe that’s what you need. Your own kind of Jo. You’re thirty-two, maybe it’s time you find someone to start a life with? Someone to fill your time, some babies to tire you out. Maybe then you’ll sleep better.” Wyatt winces in pain as he stretches his arm across the table to lay another run down.

“You alright?” I brace myself to stand and help him but he waves me off.

“Fine, just damn nerves catch fire every so often.”

I nod. I hate cancer. Hate isn’t even a word strong enough for the way I feel about it. It’s taken the strongest man I know and reduced him to skin and bones. I admire him so goddamn much. Wyatt never complains, he takes everything in stride and even now, when he’s in his last days, he’s still worried about me.

“That life just isn’t for me,” I say.

“Horseshit, that life is for everyone when you find the right person, you kids are the best thing that ever happened to me.”

My chest tightens and I lay a run out on the table. A good one.

“Fucker, you just holding that back like you were waiting on a special occasion to lay it?”

“Yeah, the occasion of beating your old ass again, three tiles left.” I point at my tray and smirk.

Wyatt grimaces. He hates to lose but he’d hate it even more if I went easy on him. A beat of silence passes between us.

“I can’t even look after myself, I could never look after someone else or kids. It’s just not in the cards for me. I’m happy with the career I’ve had so far, and when it’s over I’ll be back here. Come April, we’ll fish, work on my boat, and you can help me find a homestead. That’s all I need. Just a little land, some room to breathe. Some peace.”

Wyatt’s eyes glimmer still as he smiles. “I don’t have that kind of time.”

The bridge of my nose stings. I know he’s right but I can’t face it. Not again.

“Let’s see how this experimental treatment goes after Thanksgiving, I’ve heard great things.”

“Boy, I’m gonna cut the shit sandwich for a minute,” he blurts and I chuckle.

“Y’always do.”

Wyatt startles me by grabbing my forearm.

“Just be here for them, all of them. You’re stronger than you think, Nash. You know what this is like—to lose someone. A parent. They don’t. Use your pain and help them through when I’m gone. Especially the girls. My girls are gonna need you.”

“You’re talking nonsense but I’ll humor you, old fella.”

“Good.” He nods “Now put some effort in for the rest of the game, it’s no fun if you don’t challenge me here…” he says, laying out a six-tile run.

“Two tiles left.” He grins.

I sober myself up from the memories that still flood my thoughts daily, and grab the brown Betty Cobbler from our local bakery off the front seat, and toss my keys in my truck console.

Monday night dinners at the Ashby’s are legendary. Like, I’ve been here every Monday since I was fifteen years old, aside from my years in the NHL and even then, I would always call on Mondays. No one invites you, no time is confirmed, we all just show up because Jo always said that even if your Monday is shitty, you’ve always got a good old-fashioned family dinner to look forward to.

I come through the front door to the sounds of Johnny and June rolling out from the kitchen and Mabel’s laughter. It’s like coming home. Mama Jo has been a true mother to me since I lost everything and for that, I could never repay her, as much as I constantly try. She didn’t even question her role, she and Wyatt both just stepped right in and took over. Now, she’s the only one left. There isn’t a single thing on this planet I wouldn’t do for her, especially now that Wyatt is gone.

“Hey, baby.” Jo beams at me from the kitchen island, her hands working to roll out homemade biscuits.

Cole and Mabel are the first ones here. Mabel is pretty much the coolest kid in the world. She’s right beside Jo in her matching red apron, helping her roll and spread flour.

“Mama Jo,” I say as I kiss her on the top of her head.

“Able Mabel,” I greet Mabel, high-fiving her. She laughs as I realize my hand is now covered in flour.

“Thanks for that, little bud.” I say wiping my hand on a dish towel.

Cole tosses a piece of biscuit dough at me.

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