Page 39 of A Vintage of Regret
“Maybe not. But me and Riley?” Grant tapped his finger against his chest. “We’ve been getting along lately. And you’ve always had a way of coming between us. I’m not going to let that happen again. You broke her heart once, Boone—you’ve got no right to meddle, now. You lost that chance when you didn’t fight for her and married someone else. Married Monica of all people.”
The words cut deep because they carried the weight of truth. Bryson had lost the right to protect her when he'd let her walk away. When he'd married Monica instead of waiting. Instead of hoping. Instead of fighting. Grant was throwing his biggest failure back in his face, and Bryson couldn't argue with any of it.
Bryson set his beer down hard enough to rattle it on the bar. “I’m not meddling. I’m just being a friend. I’m glad you’ve set your differences aside. I certainly don’t want to derail that. I want to champion it. But she’s really struggling. And this town, we both know how unforgiving it can be.”
Grant stepped in, just enough for the air between them to thicken. “She doesn’t need you playing hero. You’re not very good at it. You failed her twelve years ago, and I don’t want to lose my sister again because you’re not man enough to do the right thing.”
Before Bryson could even form a coherent thought, Mason’s voice cut through, firm and even. “All right, enough chest pounding. I don’t want to have to call my wife. She breaks up enough fights between grown-ass men. I don’t need her to do it between you two.”
Grant gave Bryson one last look—cold, flat—and stepped back. “If you see Riley before I do, please tell her to call me back. I just need to know she’s okay.”
“I will.” Bryson watched Grant leave, the door swinging shut in his wake.
Mason waved to the bartender and pointed to Bryson’s beer, holding up two fingers. “The two of you are idiots. He’s holding onto a grudge that’s not his burden to carry, and he’s pissed over the fact he actually likes you and can’t admit it.” Mason slid onto the stool beside Bryson. “And you. Jesus. You’re behaving like my toddler in pre-meltdown mode, waffling between knowing how to do the right thing, and all the brain cells misfiring right before the explosion of tears and there’s no going back.”
Bryson shook his head, though his pulse was still running hot. “Grant’s always been territorial. With Riley, with everything. And yeah… maybe I don’t always handle things with him well. But I’m not letting him decide what she needs. Not when he gets in my face like that.”
“You don’t get to decide, either.” Mason arched a brow. “You’re just as territorial as he is. It’s like watching two gorillas get ready to rip the other’s head off.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“I would,” Mason said. “I wasn’t here twelve years ago. I didn’t see what went down. But I felt all those years slam into your backside during that conversation. And you tossed all that angst right back in Grant’s face.” Mason drummed his fingers on the counter. “It was like a damn tennis match, and now I have whiplash.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Bryson said before tipping his beer and finishing it. He shoved the bottle aside and snagged the fresh beer.
Mason studied him for a moment. “You still care about her.”
Bryson didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. “Of course I care. I’ve always cared. That’s never been the problem.” He rubbed his jaw. “Right now, I kind of wish I didn’t still care so damn much,” he admitted.
“Do you still love her?” Mason asked.
Bryson let out a dry, sarcastic chuckle. “I don’t know. She was my first. Don’t we always love our first?”
“God, no,” Mason said. “My first love turned out to be a crazed psychopath. And I’m not exaggerating. She’s actually in prison for stalking me.”
Bryson nearly choked on his beer. The confession hit him like a curveball. “How did I not know this?”
Mason shrugged. “I don’t talk about it. I used to be embarrassed by it. Like I’d done something wrong. I was nineteen when Ellie and I started dating.” He shook his head. “I was such a late bloomer, and she was so fucking gorgeous. I couldn’t believe she wanted me. All the attention she showered me with? I thought I was the luckiest man in the world. A year into the relationship, I was terrified. She was so jealous. So controlling. I couldn’t even go fishing with my buddies without her freaking out. We broke up, and it got worse. She would do the craziest shit. It took four years of hell before she was arrested. I worry about when she gets out—about what she might do. Especially now that I’ve got kids.”
“You’re married to a cop. Who, by the way, once stopped two grown men from raping a teenager—when she was only a teenager herself. Sandy’s badass,” Bryson said.
Mason smiled wide. “You don’t have to tell me how great my wife is. But Ellie’s nuts. And that does scare me. But my point is, I don’t have any feelings for that woman. Not even empathy.” He lifted a finger. “Actually, I do have one emotion for her. I loathe her. And I don’t dislike people. Not even Grant.”
“You’ve always liked Grant, and don’t tell me otherwise.” Bryson laughed. “Even I can admit he’s not that bad. The problem with Grant is that he was raised by a mother who doesn’t believe he could do anything wrong. She put him on this weird pedestal, constantly kicked him off it in private, but led him to believe he was better than the rest of us. He’s not really like that, but he’s always been a mama’s boy, and he’ll do anything for that woman.”
“Look at you—half defending him.” Mason tipped his beer. “Your dad really wanted me on that revitalization committee. There were a few people who didn’t. Thought that because I wasn’t born and raised here, I didn’t belong. Grant’s only concern was how much I traveled. He voted yes.” Mason leaned closer. “And now your father has roped me into looking at the books with him and Mayor Jessip, and I feel like I’m betraying Grant. We’re not close, but we’ve played golf. We have drinks.” Mason raised his index finger to his lips. “Walter said you knew, but don’t say anything. He called me earlier. Sunday, I’ll be at his home office staring at ledgers. For some reason, your old man thinks I’m great with numbers because I can sell someone a free bottle of water for forty bucks.”
Bryson tossed his head back and laughed. Finding a friend like Mason was like finding a perfectly balanced wine after too many bitter tastings. A good man. A great father. A kind soul. And a really kick ass salesman. No one knew how much money he made, because he lived modestly. They had to because of his wife’s job. But everyone knew Mason was loaded.
Bryson cleared his throat. “Do you think someone stole money from the town?” he asked.
“I really don’t know yet. Haven’t had the opportunity to dig. However, this joint isn’t the place to discuss this, and we’ve gotten sidetracked,” Mason said. “Seeing Riley again has affected you deeply.”
“I won’t deny that.” Bryson fiddled with the label on his beer. “She was my best friend all through grade school. My girlfriend for five years. Then everything went to shit, and she took off.” The truth of it sat like a stone in his chest—he'd always known this was temporary, that she'd disappear again as soon as her father was buried. She was a bird that couldn't be caged, and he was a man whose roots ran too deep to follow. “Doesn’t matter how much I care. She’s just gonna leave again.” He lifted his beer. “And I’m going to stay right here.”
“Do you want her to stay? Would you want to rekindle that romance if she did?”
“Now that’s a loaded question.” Memories flooded Bryson’s brain. “But yeah, if she stayed, I’d want to see if there was a spark left to ignite.”
