Page 81 of Eight Second Hearts

His eyes crinkle. “Sí, periodista,” he says, leaning down for a kiss. “We all are.”

I glance back at the house. “How do you stomach it? Knowing what he’s done?”

His shoulders tense. “I don’t,” he admits. “If not for Tripp, I’d have already killed the bastard. But that’s his dad. That’s his right to choose the path.” His eyes narrow. “I do sleep a little better now that he’s a prisoner to his own mind, as terrible as my mom would tell me that is. But I’m only human, and that man,es tan malvado como parece.”

I glare at the house, too. “I agree. I have a half a mind to go up there and brand his ass.”

Ram’s arms wrap around me. “He was fifteen when that happened. A punishment for going out with friends instead of practicing. Beau was three seconds from shooting him for it before Tripp stopped him.” He sighs. “I still think Beau should’ve pulled the trigger anyways. Pretty sure even Tripp regrets stoppin’ him. But trauma, these sorts of bad memories,they don’t cancel out the boy who was desperate for his father’s love.” He squeezes tighter. “Even if he is a racist piece of shit.”

We clear the road all the way to the highway before turning back the way we came. It's quicker work to make it back, and I’m grateful to pass the large mansion and find our way back to the Victorian house that’s become a sort of home.

Ram drops me off with the promise of coming right back after he puts the tractor up and I step inside the warm confines of the house to the smell of something amazing cooking.

“What is that?” I ask, sniffing the air. “It smells like heaven.”

“That’d be Tripp’s famous chili,” Beau declares as he picks me up, twirls me around, and plants a big ole sloppy kiss on my lips. “He makes the best chili in Steele.”

“He does?” I ask, furrowing my brows at him where he has his back to me in the kitchen. “I thought the Cowboy Caviar was a fluke.”

Beau laughs. “Tripp is the best cook out of all of us, a real artist with food. Just wait until you get a load of his peach cobbler. You’ll ask him to marry you after you try it. I know I did.”

Laughter bubbles out of my lips at his words and I trail into the kitchen. “That true, cowboy? Am I going to fall in love at first bite?”

Tripp looks at me over his shoulder and grins. He’s been more open since our time in the barn yesterday, more at peace. Despite his insistent tapping every now and then when the urge for a drink grips him, he’s been nothing but affectionate. Right now though, as he stirs a large pot, there’s not a single sign of his withdrawal, of his need for a drink.

“You’ll have to let me know,” he teases, but then his eyes flick to Beau. “Did you go get it from Mama?”

“I did,” Beau nods. “You wanna do the honors or would you prefer me do it?”

“You do it,” Tripp says, stepping back. “I don’t trust myself.”

“Do what?” I ask, frowning.

Tripp sighs. “My recipe calls for a bit of Naomi’s moonshine in it. Or bourbon if we ain’t got that. We dumped out everything in the house, but Beau went to get a little bit from Ram’s mom for the chili after you and Ram cleared the road.” He nods to Beau who pours out the contents of a small jar. He watches the liquid disappear into the chili before Beau stirs it in so it’s not sitting at the surface. Only once it’s mixed in properly do his shoulders ease and he takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure if. . . well, I didn’t want to do it, but the chili needs it. It’s important for the flavors.”

I step over to him and take his hand, smiling up at him. “I’m proud of you,” I tell him.

He smiles back down at me, his eyes bright with emotion. “Thank you.”

“I’m proud of you, too, Trippy,” Beau exclaims, coming over to wrap us both in his arms. “You’re punching this alcoholism in the balls!”

The front door opens and Ram steps in. “What are we proud of?”

“Trippy,” Beau exclaims. “For finally burying his face in indie’s pussy instead of a bottle!”

I flush and scrap my hair back. “Okay. Alright. When is this chili gonna be done?” I ask to distract him from his words. Or else, I might not ever get to taste his cooking.

“A few hours,” Tripp answers, his eyes watching me carefully. “The cobbler won’t be far behind.”

I nod. “I can’t wait to taste it and see if I wanna marry you for it.”

He grins and drags me close, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “Who says you gotta wait for a taste before you agree to marry me?”

“What?” I say, staring at him.

“What?” he parrots back at me before letting me go and pushing me toward the living. “Go find us something to do after dinner. Until then, I believe you have an article or two to write.”

I narrow my eyes. “I do. Just a fashion column.”

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