Page 48 of Betting Brett

“I can’t believe this is real,” Andy murmurs, his voice a soft echo in the quiet room. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my chest, every touch a spark that sends joy down my spine.

“I never want this to end. Ever, Andy.”

“I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember, Brett,” Andy admits, the words a soft whisper that fills the silence between us. “I just never thought…”

“That we could have this?” I finish for him, the words a mix of awe and disbelief. “Me neither.” I pull Andy even closer, breathing him in.

“I love you, Andy,” I say, the words a soft whisper that fills the space between us.

“I love you too, Brett,” Andy replies. As sleep beckons, I rest my head against Andy’s, a lazy and happy smile pulling at my lips.

“I’m not going anywhere, Brett,” Andy murmurs sleepily. “I’m here for the long haul.”

It’s at that moment that I realize this was all meant to be. Our entire lives were leading up to this. And I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. He was right: we’re a team, and together, there’s nothing we can’t face.

27

Andy

Izzy’sgigglesechothroughthe room as she bounces around the living room while Brett and I prepare for our picnic. The energy in our home is light, filling up every room, every space, as if the vibes were coming straight from the air fresheners. Brett is in the kitchen, putting all the sandwiches he made into a big wicker picnic basket. He’s wearing a simple light blue tee that clings to the contours of his muscular frame, accentuating the width of his shoulders and the toned muscles of his biceps. The scent of his cologne, a mix of cedarwood and citrus, lingers in the air.

I could get drunk off his scent.

“Andy, can you grab the wine?” Brett asks, his bright eyes catching the sun and crinkling at the corners with a smile. It’s been three months since our courtroom battle, and that smile hasn’t left him. There is an ease to him that reminds me of when we were kids when nothing really mattered except being happy. I can’t imagine ever getting tired of that smile.

I choose a bottle of our favorite red, a vintage that we bought on a trip to a nearby winery. It was one of the first getaway dates we had gone on since everything went down with his mother. It was a weekend I’ll never forget, full of laughs and smiles, great food and wine, and hours and hours of drunken hot sex. It was amazing, and this bottle of red brings me right back to it.

As I turn, Izzy’s bright eyes capture mine, just like her dad’s. “Andy, look!” She’s holding a drawing, a colorful depiction of our family. She has talent, too. They aren’t just simple stick figures or outlines. She’s shaded us all in and detailed the house so that it looks just like ours

I pull her into a tight hug. “It’s beautiful, Izzy,” I say, holding the painting up and admiring it as if it were an original Van Gogh. “Check it out, Brett.”

He looks up with a surprised ‘huh?’. He’s been jumpy ever since he woke up this morning, which was interesting.

“Wow, hun, that’s incredible. We need to frame that one.”

“Yes! Let’s put it in the living room,” I say, earning a loud squeal from Izzy.

Another recent change in my life: I was no longer ‘Uncle Andy’ to Izzy, I’m simply Andy. I wasn’t sure exactly when that title was dropped, but I was sure it made my heart happy. It illustrates an acceptance that made me ecstatic. Brett watches us with a soft smile.

“Ready for the picnic, guys?” he asks.

“Let’s do this,” I say, bouncing back up to my feet.

The sun is generous today, bathing the world in a warm, golden hue as we step outside. Brett has been unusually secretive about this particular picnic, with a spark of mischief in his eyes. I didn’t ask too many questions, though. I was working on adopting a lot of Brett’s carefree attitude.

We get into Brett’s truck, and he drives us to our favorite field. The private one, the one that has more than just flowers and grass. It has so many memories I can barely even count them.

Brett’s hair is tousled, the soft strands catching the sunlight, giving him an angelic glow. The casual grace in his movements, the way his jeans hug his hips, the infectious energy of his laughter, the way he holds the steering wheel with one hand, and the silver watch glinting on his wrist all add up toperfect.

He parks in our usual spot, and we hop out. Brett makes sure to grab the basket and the blanket, playfully swatting my hand away when I reach for the basket.

“You’ve been acting mysterious about this picnic,” I tease as we walk, Izzy’s hand in mine. She’s singing one of her favorite songs. That was another talent of hers that I was excited to see develop.

Brett grins, the expression transforming his face, highlighting the rugged handsomeness that often leaves me breathless. He has a scruffy five o’clock shadow look going on that drives me wild. “A little mystery keeps things interesting,” he replies, the playful tone not giving anything away.

The field unfolds before us, an expanse of rolling green, surrounded by trees that gave the impression we were in our own natural fortress.

“This spot good?” Brett asks, stopping near two of the largest trees, the ground flat, the grass short. There was a pocket of bright yellow sunflowers nearby, tall and thick-stemmed, almost like they were trying to grow large enough to compete with the sun.

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