Page 105 of Brighton

“I called Diaz. He knows we have them and will get back with us in a couple of weeks.”

The county agriculture commissioner, Manuel Diaz, has known Pop for ages. They were hellions as kids together, roaming the hills and valleys on their dirt bikes. I’m sure there’s more to that story, but I’ve never asked.

“Thanks, Brax. They’ll have a clean bill of health when he’s ready to auction them.”

“Are you concerned at all with bringing them into the stables now?”

“Nah, but let’s let them stretch their legs as they heal. Lager missing the obvious means he probably missed more than that. He wasn’t well... at least, when he wasn’t on his meds.”

“What was Pop on about today with him preying on Mom?”

I close my eyes and slide deeper into the seat of the truck as we hit asphalt and the ride becomes smooth. “No clue. No freaking clue.”

We make it to the ranch easily and place the horses in the bigger paddock behind the barn. I can avoid ours heading in here for a week or so. It’s clean, has fresh water and hay, and will allow them to move.

And I won’t have to corral them from the acreage Pop donated to the new conservancy border. How in the world did Eli come up with that?

* * *

“To Jon.”Pop lifts his cup—the sincerity in his voice is fraught with emotion—and holds Jon’s gaze. “Words will never be enough.” He looks at the boy who ran around and played on this land with Exton for years before life sent them in different directions. He lifts his cup higher still, and we all toast.

“Thank you.” Exton’s voice is earnest and steadfast, as he claps Jon on the shoulder. “What’s next for you?”

Jon shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t know.”

“Another run for office?”

“Nah.” Jon studies the floor.

“My new business is taking off. If you’re bored, I can find things that will keep you busy while you decide.”

A small smile plays on Jon’s face. “That sounds like a great idea.”

“I have to tell you what I’m working on.” Exton wanders off, and Jon follows.

TWENTY-SIX

AS IF THERE ARE TWO BRIGHTON RANGERS

BRIGHTON

Looking around Pop’s house, I’m struck with a moment of melancholy. Our families mingle in and out. People mill about chatting with each other, hugging, eating and drinking, and telling stories. Laughter and joy are palpable.

Watching Exton and Willa’s love for each other—knowing he married the perfect woman for him and that she loves him so completely—is the perfect way to celebrate this Thursday night. Nothing quite speaks to the unconventional romance of my brother and his wife as a Thursday night wedding.

He looks happier than I’ve ever seen him.

And Willa, who is stunning naturally, looks more beautiful than I could imagine. The glow coming from her practically lights up the room.

This home is full of people, but mom’s absence still looms large.

We’ve made it almost a year. The calendar shows eleven months, but we haven’t crossed that date yet. Something about knowing the wound should be scarred over and healed seems so, so wrong.

Pop’s living room and dining room furniture have been cleared out. Rented white chairs line the walls. What’s always been the family room for watching Layton play football and lounging around, is larger, a little starker, but full of celebration.

‘Beautiful, Crazy’ comes over the speakers, and a hand runs down my arm from above my elbow until it reaches my wrist, leaving goosebumps in its wake. When Elias takes my hand, he uses it to twirl my body in a complete circle and back into his arms.

His right arm locks around my waist, pulling me flush to him. His head dips and, into my ear, just for me to hear, he sings along with Luke Combs.

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