Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(30)

Now that I was no longer flustered by Billy’s sudden appearance, my earlier alarm seemed silly. This was Jethro. I’d known Jethro my whole life. We’d been through a lot, and not once—not once—had he ever made me feel like less, like a burden, like a source of disappointment or unhappiness. Not once.

He’d been my family before I knew I had any remaining family worth knowing, visiting me in Nashville when Ben was deployed, and then—after Ben’s death, when I’d moved back to Green Valley to be close to the McClures—he’d taken care of me and let me take care of him.

Eventually, he inhaled deeply and said, “You know, it’s okay to love someone else, other than Ben. Right?”

In my ancestry there must’ve been a deer, because I froze. Jethro’s statements were high beams and I was caught. What the heck?

He inspected me for a moment more, must’ve noticed the shift in me, my alarm, because then, using the voice he reserved for occasions where the utmost care and consideration were required, he said, “As you know, I only became a ranger at the park because it was what I thought Ben wanted to do, and I wanted to be the person he saw in me. I wanted to live up to his hope for me, after he died.”

I managed a small nod.

“Well, turns out I liked it. I liked staying at home with my momma in the evenings, learning how to knit. I liked getting my GED, studying, earning my AA. I liked getting to know my brothers—well, the ones who wanted to know me—wearing the uniform of a ranger, working with Drew and the other ladies and fellas, even that Griffin. I liked it, and I was content doing it. For a while. But something was missing.”

“What?” I asked breathlessly, still alarmed. Had Sienna told him about my drunken confession session?

“I liked being a ranger all right, but I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t happy living a life as a monument to someone else, someone I loved, still miss, but who’s gone. It wasn’t fair to me, but it also wasn’t fair to Ben either.”

That got my attention, broke through the dread trance. “What—what do you mean? Not fair to Ben?”

“I didn’t realize this until my momma died, but the living change, the dead don’t. Who a person was at the time of their death is who we tend to assume they always were, and who they’d always be, if they were still here. But that’s not true, is it?”

I frowned, frantically trying to follow, but not quite understanding his point.

Thankfully, he must’ve discerned my confusion, because he said, “Take me, for instance. If I’d died while I was still with the Wraiths, well then folks would’ve just assumed that’s who I was and who I would always be. But that’s not the truth of me, of my life. I changed, I grew, I worked to make something of myself, to earn my family’s trust.”

“Yes, you did,” I agreed quietly, pride pushing aside anxiety. I was so proud of him.

“Now, take Ben. He was my best friend, I loved him something fierce. I’d screw up, do something monumentally stupid, and he’d forgive me, over and over. He’d offer a hand instead of judgment. For so long, I was grateful for him, for his categorical absolution of my shitty choices. That’s who he was when he died. But do you think, if he’d lived, he would’ve continued putting up with a friend who was an asshole?”

Surprised laughter fell from my lips as I leaned my hip against the counter and crossed my arms. “You weren’t an asshole, Jet. You were—”

“An asshole.”

I laughed again.

“I was, and you know it. And if Ben had lived, I hope he would’ve changed, called me on it, stopped enabling me and started calling me an asshole. Loving someone means wanting the best for that person, not indulging selfishness. I love my children, and that means I don’t spoil them or let them play with knives, right? Love sometimes means calling another person on their bullshit, even if doing so requires an awkward, uncomfortable conversation, like this one we’re having right now.”

Covering the lower half of my face with my hand to hide my rueful smile, I peered up at my friend, impressed with how he’d circled this conversation back around to me, to us.

“Claire, Scarlet, whatever your name is, I love you. Not like a sister, I got one of those already and she’s the best. And definitely not like a wife, I got one of those too and she’s the best ever.”

My smile grew and I dropped my hand.

“I love you like a best friend,” he said, his twinkly eyes beaming down at me. “I love you unconditionally, but you’re being an asshole.”

My mouth fell open and, unthinkingly, I smacked his arm with the back of my fingers. “Hey!”

“To yourself!” He gripped the spot I’d hit and angled away, not trying to hide his laughter. “You’re being an asshole to yourself—and don’t you deny it. Your smiles are forced, they have been for years. Not all of them, but most. You put everyone else’s needs first. You haven’t gone on a single date since Ben died, not a single one. I’m not saying you need a man, but you’ve closed yourself off to all possibilities.”

Glaring at him, I tried to read him like I’d done with Duane at the dinner table.

“Fact is, Red, you’ve been living someone else’s idea of a life.” Jethro stared back at me, guilelessly, yet giving none of his thoughts away as he added, “And I suspect I know whose.”