Ryan would cut off a nut before admitting that every time he landed in LA, the opening lines to Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the USA” popped into his head. He’d accidently been humming once, years back, and the guys had said nothing until they got on the team bus and started singing it when he got on. He smiled at the memory. No team bus today. He’d booked a last-minute flight when Daniel had phoned to say he had some paperwork to send over regarding the foundation. He needed a break from pretending he was all right. Moving through the gates at LAX, he waited at the baggage claim. His brother was meeting him.
At least it was warm here and he could look out his window without checking for signs of life at Frankie’s. He could get in a car without wondering if the boys were being dropped off that day. He was far away enough that her scent shouldn’t haunt him and his heart shouldn’t squeeze painfully. Maybe there was nowhere far enough for that. He’d been married for a year, gone through a bitter divorce, and never felt the sense of loss he did when he thought of Frankie. He felt like his insides were being pulverized with a hammer. Nothing fit. Nothing felt right.
His large duffel bag came down the conveyer and he picked it up, shouldered it, and headed toward the exit. Outside, the sun greeted him like a long-lost friend. His skin prickled as though waking up and remembering the heat. He tipped his head up, closed his eyes, and breathed in the exhaust and sunscreen, LA’s signature scents. He walked toward the passenger pick-up, his eyes scanning for his brother’s car. Finding it immediately, he tossed his bag in the back and climbed into the cab.
“Welcome home, Watts,” Max said, his aviators slipping down his nose to show his amusement.
“Blow me,” Ryan replied.
Max laughed loud and hard as he pulled into traffic. “I’m not Watts anyway. I’d be Keith. Too many women to choose from.”
Ryan shook his head and put on his own shades, grateful no one else was in the truck with them. Bad enough to have a brother know your deep and dirty secrets, Ryan didn’t need anyone else knowing that as a teen, he’d loved the movie Some Kind of Wonderful, hard. Every time Ryan had broken up with a woman, Max took to calling him Watts, the character that pined away for the person they loved. Granted, Watts was a girl, but Max said it fit. The first time he’d said it was after Penny Manciotti dumped him in tenth grade. Ryan had punched Max in the face.
“Too many but only one that’s grabbed you by the balls and heart at the same time,” Max commented, turning up the radio. Vintage Zeppelin filled the space between them and Ryan felt exhaustion crushing him. Everything was crushing him. He laid his head back on the headrest, listening to the music and his brother humming along. When they pulled up to Max and Shay’s three-bedroom bungalow in Brentwood, Ryan smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks. Shay was painting the trim on the porch a vibrant yellow. It suited the dark green house and the woman.
“She ever let you pretend to be the man?” Ryan laughed when his brother flipped him off.
Shay turned, her wicked curls flying over her shoulder from the motion. She gave a shout of joy, rushed to him, and threw her arms around him. Max was a lucky son of a bitch. Shay was a sexy, curvy Italian woman who did everything with purpose. He’d never seen his brother so happy. More than anyone other than his mother and Frankie, he wanted that for Max.
“Ciao. I missed you,” she said, kissing both of his cheeks. The scent of her shampoo mingled with the smell of the paint when he hugged her. He’d been looking at the back of her and then at her face and so it wasn’t until his body was pressed to hers that he felt her stomach. He stepped back, his hands on her shoulders, and looked down to the slight, but noticeable bump under her shirt. He looked over at Max, who’d grabbed his duffel and was walking toward them with a Cheshire smile.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Ryan hugged Shay again, gently, elation pushing the last of his fatigue away. Max dropped the bag when Ryan moved in for a bear hug.
“I was just about to phone you when you phoned and said you were coming out. We wanted to wait until she was three months to tell anyone,” Max said, grinning as he spoke. His happiness radiated in every word.
“This is awesome. I cannot believe you are going to be someone’s dad. I mean, Shay, you’ll be a fantastic mom, but this guy? You sure you want him around? I’m better with kids,” Ryan said, making Shay laugh and give him another hug.
“I think I’ll keep him,” she answered, kissing Max, her eyes locking with his, making Ryan’s stomach leap with how much he missed Frankie.
Shay went inside to pour some water and Ryan picked up his bag and clapped his brother on the back. As they walked in behind Shay, he kept his voice low. “I thought you weren’t sure about kids,” Ryan said, looking at Max to gauge his answer. Max shrugged.
“It’s amazing how what you want can change when you meet the right one.”
Ryan nodded and repeated Max’s words. “The one that grabs you by the heart and the balls.”
“You got it, little brother.”
As they went into the kitchen, Ryan thought to himself: I did. I had it. But I let her go.