Page 23 of Holding On

Technicalities.

Savannah

Semantics...

Ryan

For the love. Make it stop, please.

Liam

Jack, are you still coming tonight or are you going to Music Fest?

Me

No, I’ll be at poker. I’m already in town over at Dad’s.

Savannah

Oh perfect, I’ll be right over with my girls.

Me

Oh. Great.

Finn

lol good luck, Jack. After you deal with those tyrants, know they aren’t the only fans disappointed in you gatekeeping us from her.

After an epic guilt trip from my nieces and my sister—only appeased when I promised them backstage passes to Music Fest next year—I finally got out of my dad’s house. We all grew up in the two-story farmhouse, and there’s a piece of me that will always think of this house as home.

Maybe it’s the land, or maybe it’s just the memories tied to this house.

Maybe I love this place because I can still feel her here. Next month will be the fifth anniversary of Mama’s passing. Her cancer was swift and severe, but thankfully, it meant her suffering was limited. Money can buy you a lot of things, but despite the best care possible, it wasn’t enough to save her.

I tried, God knows I tried. I would have kept fighting if she hadn’t asked us to let her be at peace. In the end, she was ready.

But none of the rest of us were.

I get into my SUV to make the short drive to my brother’s place. Our family home is on the edge of town, and our family has owned acres of land behind it for years. Between Liam and me, we’ve quietly purchased hundreds of acres in addition to what Dad already owned. Our siblings may not be aware of this fact, but eventually, they’ll figure it out. Even if we all build on the land, odds are, we would make sure not to obscure the views, especially to the west. Our mother loved sunsets. She would often remind us that it was a chance for us to pause and reflect on the good parts of your day while letting the bad parts fade away. Dad made her a custom swing, and at one time or another, all of us were called to it for heart-to-hearts with her while watching the sun set.

Ryan actually bought our grandparents’ old place, and Finn did a complete gut and renovation on the property. It may look like a 1920s farmhouse from the exterior, but it’s completely modernized and has an open flow on the inside. When Ryan purchased the property from our dad, he insisted on paying market price for the land the house sits on. Of course, Dad adjusted the contract to include an additional dozen acres that Ryan didn’t need or ask for.

Walker and Vivian broke ground on their home last month about a quarter mile southwest from Dad’s place. The custom home is being built by Finn and his company, with the hopes that they can spend Christmas in the home, which would give them a few months before the twins arrive. We will all be going to Texas next month for their wedding, and I know they think the land was the wedding gift, but I saw the custom rocking chairs Dad is building them—just so they have somewhere to sit and watch the sunset together.

Eventually, I’ll build on some of my land north of my brother, but it hasn’t felt right for me to start that project. If I’m really honest with myself, I know what—or who—is holding me back, but I’m not mentally unpacking that right now.

I’m the king of compartmentalization and that’s exactly what I do as I walk up the front steps to my brother’s place. I knock once to announce my arrival but walk on in without waiting for a formal invitation. Our doors are always open to our family.

“Hello?” I call out as I walk back to the kitchen and dining area that now takes up what used to be four separate rooms.

“Come on back, Finn is dealing, and you’re late!” Ryan calls as he carries beers in each of his hands. “Grab that, will ya?” He nods to the plate of cookies and I raise an eyebrow at the guy. Ryan usually eats a pretty clean diet, and I don’t think he knows how to bake anything, let alone extravagant cookies.

“Did you pick up a hobby I wasn’t aware of, Betty Crocker?” I tease.

“No, but you’ll eat those words when you try one of them. Those are the cookies of the month from Sprinkles, and the monster cookie is one of the best ones I’ve ever had.” Ryan holds the door leading to the covered deck space as I follow him out. I don’t have to taste the cookies to know they will be amazing. Sprinkles is owned by my best friend Max’s former girlfriend, Cara, and she really does make the best cookies I’ve ever had. I wish those two could figure their shit out though—it’s clear to everyone else in town that they are both still over the moon for each other, despite breaking up earlier this year.

I can’t help but smile as I glance at the custom full-size NBA regulation basketball court that Ryan thought I was kidding about when I had threatened to put one in if he didn’t. Three months ago, he came home after being gone for five days for a work conference and saw firsthand the reminder that I don’t believe in empty threats. I thought The Cavalry custom logo at center court was a nice touch along with the foursquare lines for our nieces.