Falter: The Nash Brothers, Book Four

by Aarons, Carrie

  “Well, at least he had a good comeback, that’s one I’d never heard. Besides, you asserted your value. A woman should never underestimate it in business.”

  My friend reaches across the table. “And you never have. You’re one of the savviest women I know. But honestly, I like that you’re teaching at the middle school. It might be the best job I could have thought of for you.”

  I’d gone to the school yesterday, for the second time, and given a lesson on creating GIFs that the class was especially thrilled about. By the end, we’d made some hilarious video memes of their favorite cartoons or TV shows.

  “It’s not a job … you get paid to do those. And don’t lie, you never thought I’d be a good teacher. I’m not a kid person.”

  Presley rolls her eyes. “I hate when people say that. You’re not not a kid person, you just haven’t been around them much as an adult.”

  “I was around them enough as a kid,” I tell her, an edge to my voice.

  Her eyes soften a bit. “That was a different situation, and you know it. You’re a cool woman, like one of the neatest people I’ve ever met. You’re quirky and sarcastic, and you can talk to anyone in a way others can’t. It’s not a mystery why kids would be drawn to you … you’re like, who I would have wanted to be when I grew up if you were my teacher.”

  Our waitress sets down our food, and I immediately take a giant bite of my burger. The cheese blends into the meat, and the tang of the ketchup hits my tongue in vinegary goodness. Looking across the table, Presley is just as invested in her BLT. We’re making sounds of ecstasy over our food, probably loud enough to attract the looks of other diners, and we both start to laugh at the same moment, mouths full of food.

  “Being there just makes me think of how awkward I was in my middle school days. I had a hopeless crush on this guy named Tim. We were a couple for all of three seconds before he dumped me because he said I was too distracting with his youth football schedule.”

  “Stop it! Men never change, do they? Except now, instead of youth football, it’s poker night with the boys. In middle school, I had not yet mastered how to tame my hair. I looked like a giant fuzzy monster, like Elmo if he’d been sent through the spin cycle.”

  A giggle escapes me because I’ve seen those pictures of her. It wasn’t a pretty era for my friend.

  “Would you go back? To the high school glory days?” I ask, wondering about her answer.

  She tilts her head to the side, chewing a hunk of bacon as she considers my question. “Hmm, sometimes I’d like to. Life was so much simpler then. Homework had a deadline, Friday night parties were a guarantee. Your laundry was done for you and everything in the world was tainted with this hopeful possibility or something. Like anything was just in reach at the tip of your finger. How about you?”

  It doesn’t take me even a second to answer, “Not if you paid me a hundred million dollars.”

  Getting out of high school meant aging out of the system. It meant no one could keep tabs on my life anymore.

  The past twelve years had been my glory days, and I’d lived them to their fullest.

  13

  Fletcher

  “Fletch? FLETCH?”

  Someone calls my name over the pound of the country song banging through the speakers in my shop.

  The chainsaw in my hand whirs and jumps as I slice chip after chip from the massive block of wood in front of me. I’m not sure yet what it’s going to be, but my brain has been grasping at ideas all week and I’ve finally had time to come out here and do something about it.

  I turn the belt off, waiting until the tool is all the way off before I set it on the ground. Prying my goggles from my face, I look to the entrance of the barn to see Keaton.

  He walks in, admiring some of the half-finished work I’ve got going on, and sets a bag that looks suspiciously like the one the from the donut stand on Main Street on my workbench.

  “Brought some reinforcements.” He nods at the pastry bag, and I open it to peer inside.

  My favorite chocolate cruller and a Boston cream sit side by side. “Thanks.”

  I haven’t spoken to any of my brothers since poker night, which was about two weeks ago. It’s the longest I’ve gone without talking to them since I got sober. Back when I was drinking, I would disappear for a month here or there, sleeping on friend’s couches or scumming around with lowlifes. I’ve tried to cut out the isolating behavior since I came home from rehab, but I’m still pissed about what went down at Forrest’s house.

  “What are you working on?” My older brother sticks his hands in his khaki short pockets, and I know he’s trying to lean into the conversation with softball questions.

  “Not sure yet.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  I’m being glib on purpose because he wants this to be easy. Everything comes easy to Keaton, who has been the golden child of our family since my life started. I didn’t even have a shot, Keaton is six years older than I am, and he’d already firmly cemented his role as the next in line to the Nash throne by the time Forrest and I came into the picture. Dad groomed him to be a mini Jack Nash, and so far, he was doing a bang-up job.

  So, no, I wasn’t going to make this easy.

  “Come on, Fletch, don’t be like this. I brought you a peace offering donut.”

  A frustrated breath escapes me. “You guys don’t trust that I can live a full, sober, successful life. That’s what it comes down to, Keat.”

  He shakes his head. “That’s not it at all. We just … we worry about you. I am so proud of how far you’ve come, but … you didn’t see yourself all those nights, Fletcher. Passed out on disgusting, sticky floors. I had to put you over my shoulder … hell, countless times. Forrest got punched in the face, twice, for coming to your rescue over run-up bar tabs. Bowen’s job at the fire department was in jeopardy when you lit those curtains on fire at that house party and almost burned down the entire neighborhood. We all love you, we’re rooting for you, but we’ve seen some scary shit. You’re our baby brother, we just want the best for you.”

  My anger rises two shades up my neck. “I’m not a baby, Keaton. I’m a grown man who can’t live in a padded cell his whole life because I fucked up years ago. You all need to trust me way more than you do. I understand that I scared the crap out of you, and I’ve apologized profusely for it. But you also have to give me some credit. I’ve been sober for five years. I’m ready for a place of my own.”

  He considers me for a second and then nods. “I’m proud of you. And because you’re not wavering in your determination, I’m even more proud of you. I know that you’re a man, but ever since Dad … died, I feel responsible for how your life turns out. How all of our lives turn out. That’s all. I’m sorry, I really am. Now, eat your goddamn donut.”

  This is how guys operate, and I know it’s the most sincere apology I’ll receive from my brother, so I do as he says and reach inside the bag.

  “Are we good?” Keaton says as I munch my donut, not having acknowledged his apology.

  “Yeah, we’re good. Although I might require one more of these before I fully accept.” I’m being a brat and I know it, but it’s nice to watch him squirm for a minute.

  “Jerk. Anyways, there was another reason I came out, other than to stroke your bruised ego.” He gives me a pointed look.

  “And what’s that?” I polish off the snack.

  “The town council has been considering replacing the clock in the tower at the municipal building. It hasn’t worked properly for years and just looks outdated up there. They want to put out a contract for it, and I mentioned to Gordy that they should reserve it for you.”

  Gordy’s a childhood friend who now owned a landscaping company in town and occupied a seat on the town council. My heart starts to thrum as I listen to Keaton’s proposal, and I wonder how fate dealt such a perfect hand.

  “Who told you I was working on a clock?” I muse, knowing Forrest had been flapping his big mouth again.

  “Who
do you think?” Keaton rolls his eyes sarcastically. “But seriously, you should do the job.”

  I drum my fingers on the workbench, ideas already fluttering around my head about how to build a brand new and improved clock tower. “Well, I don’t want the job given to me … I’ve done too many things in my life the wrong way. I’ll bid properly, just like everyone else going for the contract. But … anyone else will have a hard time beating my price. Because the money, any kind of it, will be better than what I’m working for now. And that’s free.”

  My brother smiles. “That’s precisely what I was thinking. Low ball them, make some extra cash, and then let your work speak for itself. Once people see this project, your name will start buzzing in certain circles. I think this could be huge for you.”

  I might not have seen it when he walked into my barn, but Keaton truly was proud of me. He wouldn’t have put me up for the job with Gordy, or come here to convince me to apply, if he didn’t want the best for me.

  “All right, well, I have to get back. Seems that Hattie’s dog, Chance, swallowed a roll of pennies whole. How that dog is still alive is beyond me …”

  His sandy blond hair, so different from the rest of our dark locks, shakes humorously as he goes to leave.

  My voice stops him. “Hey, Keat?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  He nods, and there is an understanding between us that I’m thanking him for much more than a donut, or suggesting I do some work for the town.

  I’m thanking him for believing in me, even when I don’t think he is.

  14

  Ryan

  Dark black satin hugs my body, and I know I will look out of place.

  In the room full of sundresses and summer rompers, I’ll stick out like a sore thumb. But I haven’t had a night out in almost a month, and when you hail from the Big Apple, swanky lounges and cool SoHo bars are practically a multiple-days-a-week occurrence.

  “Holy shit, you should be on the sparkly pink Victoria’s Secret runway.” Penelope wolf whistles as I walk into Presley’s bedroom.

  She and my bestie are getting ready for the town hall dance, lining the rims of their eyes with black kohl pencil and fluffing up their hair. In typical Fawn Hill fashion, the dance starts at five p.m. and goes until eight, so that some of the kids over the age of seven can attend with their parents. It’s so out of my wheelhouse that I actually laughed at the flyer Presley showed me a week ago. This town and its adorable traditions.

  I do a twirl, showing off for them. “I am going to stand out like a sore thumb, but I don’t care.”

  Honestly, I’ve never cared much what people thought about my appearance. I wear what I want, when I want, style my hair against the trend and am never far from my prized possession leather jacket. Compared to Penelope, in her floating yellow maxi dress, and Presley, in an olive green romper, I look like I’m ready for a gothic slumber party. But I feel hot as fuck, and that’s all I care about.

  “Oh, stop. Everyone in the place will be so fucking jealous of you, they won’t have time to sneer.” Penelope waves me off.

  “There is going to be booze at this thing, right?” I cross my fingers, holding them up for the ladies to see.

  Presley shakes her head. “No, unfortunately. Since it’s at town hall, there is technically no alcohol consumption allowed on premises. However, it doesn’t mean we aren’t pre-gaming in the parking lot or sneaking water bottles full of alcohol in our purses.”

  “Very high school prom. I love it,” I say, nodding with approval.

  Penelope shrugs, pulling her boobs up a little higher in her bra. “We’re leaving the kids at my mother’s, so we have to get a little wild and crazy on our night off. Plus, we all haven’t been out together in ages.”

  “Let’s get started early.” The twinkle in Presley’s eye tells me she’s ready for a night out, too.

  She goes to her dresser, where I see a bottle of grapefruit vodka and three shot glasses sitting.

  “Grapefruit vodka? Yuck, Pres. They really have turned you into Little Miss Huckleberry out here.” My body shudders just thinking about the sour liquor I’m about to swallow.

  Her eyebrows knit together. “Don’t call me that. It’s good, you haven’t even tried it.”

  I may have struck a nerve, so I nod and walk toward her, accepting my shot glass. Penelope joins us, her beautiful blond locks piled into a girl-next-door ponytail that looks both chic and adorable. The woman is a knockout and has a better body than me after three kids.

  “To Ryan. We’re so glad you’re hanging out in the sticks for a while,” Penelope toasts sarcastically, and I give her a wry smile before knocking my shot back.

  To my surprise, the taste isn’t half as terrible as I thought it would be.

  “See? It’s good.” Presley sticks her tongue out at me.

  “All right, we better get outside. The boys and Lily will be here soon.”

  Lily was planning on getting ready with us, but then called last minute to say she’d do her makeup and hair at home since Molly was cluster-feeding at the moment. Penelope and Presley had nodded into the phone sagely, all understanding. I had no idea what the fuck a cluster-feed was, so I just went along with it.

  The idea of walking to city hall from here, behind all the Nash men and their wives, was kind of intimidating. I was the odd girl out on their date night, and in my spiky heels, I felt even more so.

  I hang back to go down the stairs last, with my two friends nearly bouncing out the door, waiting for their husbands to arrive. The boys all headed to Bowen’s for pre-dance beers and bullshit, and I was kind of happy not to have them here when we were getting dressed.

  It felt like the good old days when Presley and I would sit in our shoebox city apartment and do each other’s hair or borrow a top from each other. The routine of girl gossip and makeup application makes me feel a bit more like myself … something I haven’t felt since probably before I went to Greece.

  I’m just nearing the front door when I hear whooping outside.

  “Damn, my wife is hot!”

  That’ll be Forrest, and by the time I push past the screen door, he and Penelope are full-on making out in the street.

  “Gross, get a room.” Bowen growls though he’s holding Lily’s hand like they might make a break for it. Being new parents can’t leave much time alone in the bedroom.

  “Hi, babe.” Presley pushes up on her toes to kiss Keaton.

  If I didn’t feel thoroughly left out before, I sure as hell did now.

  “Jeez, Ryan, you look great,” Lily gushes as she comes over to kiss my cheek, holding my hands out to admire my getup.

  She’s in a lilac top and skirt set with little white polka dots all over it. She looks every bit the charming, pretty, conservative woman that she is. Lily is that girl in grade school that everyone wants to be. If this were Hollywood, she’d be the Reese Witherspoon of the bunch.

  “She’s right, you look wonderful.” Keaton winks at me, and I know that my best friend’s husband is only paying me a compliment because no one else is here to.

  That’s when I spot him, stepping out from behind where Forrest and Penelope are still practically foreplaying in public.

  His eyes, the color of bright blue sea glass weathered by the ocean and time, connect with mine and almost smile. A shock works its way from my throat to my belly, and then all the way down to my toes. It’s not a shock really, I shouldn’t call it that. What I should say is it’s a … gentle slide of surprise every time I see this man.

  I’m not sure that even makes sense, but each time I hold Fletcher in my gaze, I discover something new. Like I missed a piece of him last time I looked at him. What jumpstarts my system most, though, is that it’s as if he’s experiencing the same thing.

  “Hey.” He holds up a hand, and I see the calluses dotting each crevice of his palm.

  “Hi.” One shoulder rises as I say it, almost in a shy greeting.

  “L
et’s get this show on the road. I have punch to spike,” Forrest quips, and the group begins moving.

  Fletcher and I fall to the back, in a natural step, as the couple’s all walk arm in arm in front of us. The pairing off is something I expected, but I didn’t have the balls to ask if Fletcher was coming, so I was semi-sure I’d be walking alone. The fact that he did come only heightens my nerves about the evening.

  “Do you go to this every year?” I ask, trying to make polite conversation.

  He shakes his head, dark locks of hair spilling onto his forehead. He’s wearing a stark-white short-sleeved button-up, and it contrasts so vividly against his bronzed skin. Fletcher’s complexion makes it look like he’s been out working on the land, or something equally as small-towny. I realize, for the first time in the many weeks I’ve been here, that I don’t really know what he does for a living.

  “Not usually, no. But my brothers wouldn’t get off my ass about it, and they said it would be rude for you to not have a … date.” The way he says it makes me think he’s chewed the word around and around in his mouth. “Not that … I mean, I came mostly because I’m bidding to win the new clock tower project and want to make a good impression on the town council. But don’t tell them that.”

  The last couple of sentences whooshes out past his lips as if he’s trying to erase the word date from between us. I follow his cue, pretending to zip my lips.

  “I promise not to tell a soul. Not that I know a soul here to tell.” I laugh nervously. “So, the new clock tower, huh? I didn’t know you … constructed things?”

  I’m not exactly sure what to call it, or what he does to build something like that.

  Fletcher grins. “Well, make things. I guess, you could call it that. Construction genus, I am not.”

  “I’m sorry, that sounded dumb. Please, forget how awkward I am with words and tell me what you do.” There, that sounded a little more like I passed second grade grammar.