12. Tommy

Chapter twelve

Tommy

P ulling into my mom's driveway, I'm flanked by a jeep and a sedan that look like they've been through war, or at the very least several snowstorms without a wash. I park behind the car, stepping out into a cold so vicious it feels fucking personal. Oh, look at that, my balls have shriveled into raisins. Yeah, ninety percent of the reason I moved to Costa Rica is to never feel that sensation in my crotch again. Fucking bitch-ass snow. Gaa!

As I step out, I'm greeted by the familiar sound of barking from inside the house. Through the window, I catch my mom's face lighting up at the sight of me, her screech of joy audible even through the closed door. Shaking off the snow from my boots on the porch, I step inside. I'm barely through the door when I'm mobbed by a giant black husky. His idea of the perfect welcome home gift is a barrage of licks to every inch of skin he can reach. In my current bundled-up state, it's mostly my hands. But before long, the furball is jumping onto me and getting a taste of my face. "Missed you too, beast," I say, shoving him back. "But let's keep that nasty tongue for your own ass, mmkay?" He whines, and I pat his head.

"Ma?" I call out, trying to steady myself. She rounds the corner, phone in hand. "Sorry, baby, Dylan just called as you pulled up." She shows me the screen, and there's my brother Dylan's face.

"What's up, ugly?" Dylan says with all the warmth reserved for an estranged cousin.

"Not too much. Just visiting my favorite mom," I shoot back, planting a kiss on my mom's cheek. Because what is family for if not some friendly but relentless sibling rivalry? Dylan and I text often, but face-to-face—or in this case, screen-to-face—conversations have been rare since he moved to Tahoe to work as a ski instructor.

The house feels the same as it always has, though it has gone through a recent renovation. One wall has been completely removed, opening up the living room and kitchen. It's been beautifully redecorated with pops of color everywhere. There are a few new plants since the last time I was here too, and it adds a certain freshness to the entire place.

My mom's catering business has offices all over California, but she runs it from Tahoe. I know she's done a fantastic job with it, and judging by the new Jeep in her driveway and the renovations to the house, I know it must be thriving.

"Dylan was just saying he'll come by for dinner tomorrow," my mom says, gushing a bit. There's no time my mom is happier than when her boys are home. A fresh wave of guilt hits me when I realize it's been years since I've made a trip to see her.

"Yep, and I'm bringing some of that wine you love, ma" Dylan says. Okay, now he's just showing off.

"The one from the resort? That will be perfect with the meatloaf," mom says. She's stepping away from me now, content to speak with her new favorite son since he's promised her expensive alcohol.

"And beer!" I yell after her.

But Dylan's laughter booms out. He's always had that kind of explosive laugh. I love hearing it.

"You want me to buy you beer?" he asks, a mischievous lit to his voice. Mom turns the phone so I can see his face again.

"I mean, as long as it's not that fancy crap you get for Jarred." My other brother, Jarred, is still in the Army. Flitting from deployment to deployment and checking in while he can. But it's been ages since I've actually seen him and suddenly, I wish all three of us were here. Living in Costa Rica makes visits few and far between. Now that I'm home, all the feelings have rushed back. Sneaking out with my brothers to go to parties, Dylan buying me beer and making me swear not to ever tell our mom. It's been too long since we've been together. Maybe I'm too busy to realize it while I'm away, but I've missed my family.

"Right, surf bums only drink cheap beer and tequila, am I right? Or is that only successful surfers?" Dylan says, and I have to admit, that stings a little since my wins haven't been all that frequent.

I think my mom sees the slight frown at his words, and she flips the phone back around. "Enough, you two. We'll see you tomorrow, Dylan. Love you, baby." My mom's endearing term for each of her sons has always been a constant, despite our mild protests and eye-rolling. Dylan bids her goodbye, and she sets the phone on the breakfast bar beside me.

Shaking off the insult, which I know he didn't really mean, I rest my arms on the cool, white quartz countertops while mom busies herself in the kitchen. "Hungry, baby? I've got some salami and brie," she offers, already setting plates on the counter before I can even respond.

As we enjoy the snack together, she studies me with curious eyes. I realize she keeps looking at my forehead. "Alright, who blabbed?" I ask.

She smiles while popping another slice of meat into her mouth. "Who do you think?"

Dylan, of course, the asshole. Revealing the stitched wound under my beanie, I play it down, "Just a little scratch." Mom winces, concern coloring her face. "Ouch. Does it hurt much?"

I shake my head, trying to downplay the injury. "No, just annoying. Had to drop out of the tournament in Florida because of it."

She pats my arm. "You'll catch the next one." Her optimism, a trait I've come to admire deeply, especially since her divorce a decade ago. It's like she blossomed afterward, turning her catering business into a flourishing empire, yet remaining so grounded. The trust fund she established for me has been my lifeline, allowing me a life of leisure and passion for surfing, though I seldom speak of it to anyone. It's not exactly common for a surfer to be sitting on half a million dollars, and if others knew, they might outcast me on principle alone.

Out of nowhere, she asks, "Tell me something new. Your eyes are brighter. There's a girl, isn't there?"

I can't suppress the eye roll, even as a smirk plays on my lips. But she leans in, not deterred by my feigned annoyance. "Am I wrong? Maybe not a girl?"

Her teasing has me laughing. "Ma, for the last time, I'm not gay." Her theory, that out of her three sons, at least one would be gay, has always amused me, and while I appreciate her open-heartedness, it's just not my story.

"Maybe you realized late? It's not unheard of."

I shoot back playfully, "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"No, baby. But you're not fooling me. It's obvious you're smitten with someone." Caught off guard, I glance down, feeling a blush creep up my neck.

"Ah ha! See, I knew it. Who is she?" Mom's still staring at me as I absentmindedly fiddle with a cracker on the plate.

"Her name is Tilly, but it's complicated. She's... stubborn. I've known her for a long time, and we're just now kind of exploring dating." I can see that she's about to burst, so I give her a warning look. "Possibly, ma. Nothing's for sure when it comes to Tilly."

Mom's nodding along. "Nothing wrong with a woman playing hard to get. You just go and flutter those long lashes at her. Those eyes of yours are irresistible. Your dad had the same effect on me with those baby blues... and a few other tricks I probably shouldn't share with my son."

I nearly choke on my snack. "Ma!"

She's holding up her hands, fully aware of her oversharing. "I know, I know, highly inappropriate. So, when do you see this Tilly next?"

"Tonight. She's here in Tahoe." I omit the part about her being unaware of my presence and how she might hurt me once she finds out. As if being summoned, my phone dings in my pocket. I pull it out, and when I see what it is, I have to swallow hard. A picture of Tilly in some sort of gorgeous and yeah, somewhat slutty, dress. Holy fuck! Is my tongue hanging out? Am I drooling?

A sudden squeal from my mother has me lifting my gaze. "That's her, isn't it?"

Words. I need to use words. But all the blood seems to have left my brain. "Funeral!" I manage to yell. Her brow lowers as her head tilts. "She's at a funeral?"

I nod and clear my throat. "I'm, uh, just supporting from a distance. That's all."

But she isn't the least bit deterred. "Oh, Tommy, you should bring her by! Let her hang out and relax after all the awfulness."

But I'm immediately shaking my head in dismissal. "No way, Ma. It's not like that... we're not really an item yet. I can't introduce her to my mother."

She dismisses my protest with a wave of her hand. "Hey, you might increase your chances if she meets me. I'm pretty awesome."

I laugh. She's not wrong though. Growing up, all my girlfriends loved my mother. "Okay, yes, you are." I'm rolling my eyes, knowing she was fishing for that little compliment. "But I definitely don't need you as my wingman, Ma. Actually, I should probably head out and find her." Rising from my seat, I lean over to kiss her cheek, giving my palms a final brush to free them from crumbs. I'm still chewing as I head toward the front door.

"Alright, baby. I did make up one of the guest rooms for you, and there's fresh towels in the shower. Just give me a call if you need a lift. Your car might struggle with the snow here," she says, picking up her crossword puzzle book.

"Sounds good, ma. Don't wait up." I'm already at the front door when a howl slices through the silence, prompting me to spin around. Murphy, my mom's dog, is sitting on the wood floor, looking like I've stolen his favorite chew toy. He's obviously not pleased I'm leaving so soon. "Sorry, Murph. I'll be back tonight, okay?" I pat his head, and his cold nose prods my palm for more. This beautiful dog is so spoiled, but I love it. Everything about being home is, for lack of a better word, wonderful. It's as if no time at all has passed. Comfort and love are all my mom knows, and after hearing about Tilly's family, I know exactly how lucky I am.

With a final scratch under the dog's chin, I step out into the cold, my thoughts already on Tilly and seeing her in that completely fuckable dress. Hopefully, me showing up unannounced doesn't trounce my chances of showing her how beautiful she is. I have a feeling it won't be well received, but hell, when has that ever stopped me before?

Ten minutes later, I'm wandering into the resort lobby. Soft music is playing overhead as guests walk about in groups and pairs. Some have the unmistakable signs of snow burn on their faces. When would tourists learn? Sunscreen, especially when skiing. I tend to overdo it with sun protection. I've seen far too many old surfers that have the telltale scars of overexposure from years of being out in the sun. They look like fried ball sacks, and I will NOT let myself get like that. Ever.

Rather than asking which room is hers, I decide to hang out in the lobby to keep an eye out. Showing up at her door could result in a punch to the face, but running into her could ease some of the surprise. I pull out my phone and start watching videos. Every so often, I look up and scan my surroundings for her.

Before I know it, a half hour passes. I'm a patient guy, but this is getting ridiculous. Ready to give up and just call her, I stand up. But as I walk toward the front desk, I see her.

Dressed in a floor-length sparkling purple dress, her hair looks like it's been cut. Where it used to flow over her shoulders and halfway down her back, now it rests in a bob just above the shoulders. The sight is a little jarring. Tilly has always been incredibly proud of her gorgeous long locks. But I have to admit, she looks fantastic. Even her boobs seem bigger in the dress. But why change out of the green dress? Purple is cool, but damn in the green, she looked like a goddamn sea goddess.

I'm overwhelmed with the urge to grab onto her. I suddenly feel like she won't be mad at me for following her up here. My mom, as dorky as it sounds, gave me the little push I needed. Tilly's little jealous display at the surf shop, the way her mouth had twitched into a grin when I pulled her close, the heat radiating from her body as we had our arms wrapped around each other, it felt right.

And that picture? Yeah, she knew what she was doing. Little tempting mermaid.

Maybe I'm a conceited fool, but I know she wants me as much as I want her. How her eyes had filled with fire at the sight of other women flirting with me was undeniable. It was as if she was marking her territory. Her face had said it clearly; Back off, bitches, this one is taken.

This is exactly what we need. One of us has to be the first to push things further. I'm done playing coy. If I can get her in my arms again, I know it will melt away her anger. We've spent years dancing around our attraction, and it's finally time to give in to it completely.

With that in mind, I creep over, a mischievous grin on my face, until I'm right behind her. She is talking to a hotel staff member about some dinner arrangements, so I wait for my opportunity.

When the staff member leaves, I know it's my chance. With a gentle touch, I slip an arm around her waist just like she had when the girls were flirting with me at the surf shop. "Miss me?" I ask, my voice low.

But as Tilly whips around, something is very wrong. The way she is staring at me is all wrong. As if I'm a complete stranger.

"Who the hell are you?" she demands, her eyes like two daggers stabbing into me.

"Uh, Tommy?"

"Well, Tommy, I don't appreciate being groped. I'm half tempted to have security escort you out!" she snaps back. Her voice... it's off. Darker, less cheerful than Tilly's. And her speech, just a shade crisper.

"Sorry, I thought you were someone else," I say, feeling my cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

She sighs, rubbing her temples. "Matilda?"

Confused, I tilt my head. Didn't Greg say something about her having a different name? Yes, Matilda Cardenas, that's right. "You mean Tilly?"

"Yeah, she's still getting ready. Why didn't she put you on the list? Typical Tilly," she grumbles, mirroring Tilly's mannerisms so closely it's uncanny. "Look, you can't go in dressed like that. Got a tux?"

I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that this Tilly lookalike is standing in front of me. "No, I don't," I admit.

With a resigned sigh, she motions for me to follow her to the elevator. "Grayson should have something in your size."

As we ride up, she scrutinizes me. "What happened to your face?"

I nearly let out a chuckle. "Surfing accident."

She shakes her head. "Should've known she is dating a surfer.

I open my mouth to set the record straight—that Tilly and I aren't... well, whatever she thinks we are—but she cuts me off. "It doesn't matter. You can't wear jeans to the ballroom."

We exit the elevator and approach a door. She knocks, and a bearded man with a toddler on his hip peers out, giving me a once-over. Holy shit, he's huge. Shoulders twice as wide as mine and standing at least six foot tall. I stand up straighter, but hell, it's pointless. The man is a giant.

"Grayson, meet Tilly's boyfriend. Surfer boy. He needs a tux," she says, giving me a glare.

Again, I try to interject. "Not her boyfriend. My name is Tommy." But they both laugh it off.

"If she brought you here, trust me, you're in," Grayson says, dismissing my protests. Before I can explain that coming up the mountain is a surprise, and maybe not a welcome one, Grayson and Not-Tilly are already searching through the wardrobe near the flatscreen TV. The little boy, with his rosy cheeks and runny nose, is focused solely on the puppies singing on it, and the whole moment feels completely surreal. This is the family Tilly is afraid of?

Grayson's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. "White or black?" But he isn't really asking me. No, he's speaking directly to Tilly's clone.

"Black," she decides for me, thrusting the suit into my hands. "He'd stick out like a sore thumb in white."

I'm still processing the whirlwind of events as she raises an eyebrow expectantly. It hits me a split second later. They want me dressed. "Oh, now?"

"Not the sharpest tool in the shed, huh?" Grayson says with a smirk. "Bathroom's behind you."

Retreating to the bathroom, I slump onto the toilet seat, pulling out my phone. Dialing Tilly's number, I brace myself. This surprise visit has spiraled into a mess, tangled in her family's web, far from the romantic gesture I had envisioned. My eyes close, and I silently wait for her to pick up the phone. This is not going to go well.