Between Us (The Renegade Saints #3) (21 page)

“Old? Old! Who said anything about old,” Mason cackles as he comes into the kitchen. “Woman, I’ll have you know you look more beautiful now than you did the day I married you.”

Sylvia blushes as she leaves Cole’s side and walks into Mason’s waiting arms.

“Even after all these years, you still give me butterflies,” she tells him.

“Hope so,” he answers. “I’ve worked hard to keep this body in shape just for you. Gotta keep up with what you’ve got going on, gorgeous.”

“Mason,” she squeaks. “The children are here!”

Cole and I both laugh at being referred to as children. My laugh turns into a contented sigh when Cole wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close.

“I think the children know we’ve been
together
,” Mason jokes before dropping a soft kiss on her lips.

Smacking at his arm, Sylvia laughs and steps away. “Let me feed my boy you dirty old coot.”

Mason gives her a sad face and she laughs as she swats at his hands when he tries to pull her back to him.

“Be patient,” she tells him. “We can neck later.”

“Promise?”

She smiles at him like he’s a dream. “I do. Always.”

“All right,” he agrees. “My boy and I are going to go out back and start the grill. By this I mean I’ll grill and he’ll watch as I try to teach him how to do it himself. Hasn’t taken hold in the last twenty-nine years, but an old man can hope,” he laughs.

Turning my way, he continues, “We’re making hotdogs and cheeseburgers, hon. Will that be good for you, or would you like me to throw on something else?”

“Nope, that sounds delicious,” I assure him.

Cole drops a kiss on my mouth before following Mason outside. Watching the way Sylvia and Mason are with each other makes me want what they have. The kind of love that still feels right after almost fifty years of marriage is something to strive for. From what I’ve heard about them, they’ve been through a lot—but every challenge brought them closer together.

Sylvia bustles around the kitchen, pulling things out of the refrigerator and the oven and setting them down on the counter.

“Can I help?”

“Sure, sweetheart. These are my serving bowls,” she says as she gestures to a beautiful stack of antique looking bowls with roses on them. “I’ve got my potato and macaroni salads in those silver mixing bowls from the fridge. If you could transfer them into the good bowls, that would be great.”

We work together for the next several minutes, putting the sides together and taking them over to the kitchen table.

“How’re you enjoying working with the band,” she asks as she puts the silverware out.

“It’s amazing,” I gush. “They’ve been so wonderful about answering almost every question—”

Turning back to me, she raises a brow. “What haven’t they answered? They told me there was nothing that would be off limits, so I’m surprised.”

“The only thing they’ve declined to answer so far are some of the questions about Tyson,” I explain. “Other than that, they’ve been like open books.”

Her smile disappears as she nods. “Of course,” she says quietly. “I should’ve known. You’ll find out in due time,” she assures me. “I know part of the reason he agreed to do this was to get his story out, in the hopes it will make a difference. Just—”

She pauses, looking away and clearing her throat before looking back at me. “Be gentle with him,” she murmurs. “Sometimes life leaves wounds that can never truly heal over. You might go on, but the pain is always there as a reminder.”

Her statement causes a chill to go through me. What, exactly, happened with Tyson? I’ve done all the research I possibly can and I’ve found nothing, so I know all I can do at this point is wait.

“I’ll be gentle,” I assure her.

Her answer is a quick peck on my cheek, which makes me feel good. If I could choose a grandmother, I’d ask for a Sylvia. I hold in a giggle when she pulls out her iPhone and starts taking photos of the food we’ve set out. When she sees my expression, she smirks.

“My Twitter friends love when I post pictures,” she explains.

I’ve been exploring Sylvia’s Twitter and have already decided to use some of her tweets in the documentary. The little stories she gets out in her tweets about her boys are just too sweet not to highlight.

“I know,” I chuckle, “I’m one of your followers now. I love the picture you put up of Cole and his dad on skis playing their guitars.”

“I’m very blessed to have such a lovely family,” she says proudly. “So many people look up to my boys—I like to make sure people know they’re human. When I saw your documentary about Pepe, I knew you were just the person for the job you’re doing. You won’t make it a joke.”

My eyes widen as I look at her. “You watched that?”

She nods her head and smiles. “There are very few things the boys don’t ask for my opinion on. I watched it with Flynn, Cole and Tyson a few weeks ago.”

“So they’re grandma’s boys,” I grin.

She laughs. “Yes, I believe they are. But don’t worry—I try not to meddle too much. I just want them all to be happy. Having them stop this touring nonsense is going to be so good for them. I can hardly wait for it to be over,” she admits as she takes a seat at the table.

Dropping down into a chair across from her I ask, “The touring—has it always bothered you?”

“It has,” she admits candidly. “I loved them all enough to let go and be supportive, but it hurt. Especially having Flynn and Cole out there for months on end. My whole world revolves around my family—and I wouldn’t have it any other way. When my boys aren’t here, the hole their absence leaves can be overwhelming. I wanted them to live their dream—but, selfishly I guess, I wished their dream didn’t involve being gone for almost a year at a time.”

I keep smiling, even though I can’t help comparing her attitude to my parents. They’ve never really understood the hole absence leaves. Like Sylvia, I understand their dream—I just hate the distance.

“It’s why Flynn got me this,” Sylvia continues as she gestures to her iPhone. “I’m older than a horses ass and many of my friends think my love of technology is crazy, but it keeps me close to them. Skype and Facetime have just been lifesavers,” she explains.

“You’re one of the reasons why they’re so normal,” I muse. “I wondered how and why it never seemed to go to their heads. I mean—come on. They’re huge. But you wouldn’t know it by their behavior. As I’ve met each family member, it’s become more and more clear why that is. You wouldn’t tolerate them being…”

I trail off, trying to think of a descriptive other than assholes.

“Little shits,” she supplies dryly as she gives me a knowing smile. “No, I wouldn’t. Trust me, they’ve gotten a little big for their britches at times—but I’m not such a soft touch I won’t go up one side of them and down the other to get them back in line. They’ve been raised with values and I damn well remind them of it whenever I have to.”

“Whatever you’ve done, it’s worked,” I answer sincerely.

We’re interrupted by the arrival of Cole and Mason bringing in the hotdogs and hamburgers from the grill. My stomach growls as soon as the delicious smells waft toward me. Once the tray of food is down, we all dive in. After taking a few bites of a hotdog, I look across the table at Mason and give him a thumbs up.

“This is delicious,” I rave.

“You’re welcome. I worked hard to bring you this meal,” Cole boasts.

“Yeah, it’s really hard to carry a tray of cooked food into the house,” Mason snorts.

“This boy,” he laughs, “could burn air. I used to think he was just pretending not to know how, so Sylvia and his mom would keep cooking for him. Turns out I was wrong. Some people just aren’t meant for the kitchen.”

“Hey, I make great toast,” Cole insists.

Mason shakes his head. “No, you don’t.” Turning my way, Mason grins. “Devon, if you don’t enjoy burnt toast, never let him make you any.”

“I like it crispy,” Cole interjects.

“Yes,” Mason agrees. “Burnt to a crisp. Literally. God gave you a triple helping of musical talent but no kitchen skills whatsoever.”

We all laugh at that assertion. From what I can tell, it’s accurate. I’m a little afraid of Cole’s kitchen skills now, to be honest. They must be pretty bad.

As I’m digging into a cheeseburger, there’s a knock at the kitchen door. Seconds later it opens and Cole’s parents, Janice and Steve walk in.

“We saw your Twitter post,” Steve laughs. “Are we too late to join in?”

“You know we always make enough for an army,” Sylvia jokes. “Come sit.”

Cole is quick to rise to go and hug first his dad and then his mom. Janice rubs at his beard with her hand and makes a clucking sound with her tongue.

“Have you been using the new beard oil I got you? Because this doesn’t feel any softer than it did the other day.”

“Ma—”

“I’ll take that as a no,” she laughs. “I’d just really like to kiss my sons cheek without getting chapped lips,” she scolds jokingly.

Cole hangs his head dramatically and raises his hands. “I’ll start using it.”

Janice drops another kiss on his cheek before turning my way.

“Hi, sweetheart! I was going to call you later—Steve and I would like to take you and Cole to dinner later this week to our favorite Thai food restaurant. Can you fit us in?”

I look to Cole and smile when he nods at me without hesitating. Clearly my spending time with his family isn’t an issue.

Turning back to Janice I give her a thumbs up. “I can’t wait,” I answer enthusiastically.

I love how engaging Cole’s family is. I’m already halfway in love with them, which should maybe be a little worrisome, but I don’t care. It’s just so refreshing to see the way the family teases and jokes. Everyone is happy and loving, and you can feel how much affection there is between them. I have to admit I’m a bit envious of it.

The rest of lunch passes by with a lot of laughs. When we’re all stuffed, the men clean the table and take all the food and dishes to the counter. As soon as they’ve got everything where she wants it, Sylvia shoos them from the kitchen.

“But Gram,” Cole pleads, “brownies!”

“I swear you have a separate stomach just for brownies,” she chuckles.

“I do and it’s
starving
,” he declares dramatically.

Lifting the lid off a container, she allows him to take four—after he first tries to take the entire thing.

“I made four pans of brownies and you get to take at least two home,” she scolds as she smacks his hand playfully. “You’ll have to make do with four until it’s time for everyone to eat dessert.”

He makes an adorable puppy dog face at her, one I am betting he’s been making at her his entire life. I can tell because it doesn’t phase her one bit.

“Out you little scamp,” she laughs. “Go talk to your father and pop.”

Bending down, he drops a kiss on her cheek.

“Love you,” he says.

He looks my way and gives me a wink before turning and leaving the kitchen, four huge brownies in hand. I love the way he looks at me— it says there’s something between us. When I turn around, I find Sylvia and Janice staring at me with matching smiles. I feel the blush bloom on my cheeks as I head for the counter to help with cleanup.

“My son is very taken with you,” Janice announces. “This makes me very, very happy.”

I smile shyly as I turn on the water to rinse the dishes.

“I like the two of you together,” she continues. “No offense to Ian, he’s a nice enough man, but my son has about as much need for two partners as I have for a house full of car parts.”

I’m shocked by how outspoken she is. Turning off the water, I look at her as I choose my words. Finally, I decide to just be honest.

“Cole is still hoping Ian will become amenable to this at some point,” I admit.

Janice and Sylvia let out simultaneous chuckles.

“No, he isn’t,” Janice says dryly. “At least, not really.”

“He’s about as likely to share you as he is to going cold turkey off my brownies,” Sylvia quips.

“He’s really… firm about the whole not being tied down to one person thing,” I tell them.

Sylvia waves that off with a
psh
sound. “Something’s always had him spooked about it—but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t really want it deep down,” she insists.

“If he were really interested in Ian, we’d see him here now,” Janice asserts.

“Ian’s only recently said he’s even open to the idea,” I explain.

“Regardless,” Sylvia says, “Cole wouldn’t have brought you here alone if he weren’t serious about you and you alone.”

“She’s right,” Janice agrees. “I can count on no fingers the amount of people my son has brought home to interact with his family. You’re the first. That means everything.”

I bite at my lower lip as I consider them both.

“I hope you’re right,” I admit.