Rough Edge

by Landish, Lauren

  “Fine.” She pouts, her arms crossing over her chest and her left boot tapping the floorboard. “How is market prep going?”

  I give it a fifty-fifty chance of whether we’re adding a pig to our menagerie of animals. Poor Luke, such a sucker for my sister. I only hope she appreciates how lucky she has it while she does.

  “We’re making good strides. Mark’s decided on how many he’s gonna sell, which ones he wants to keep, and he’ll probably look for a few more to add to the herd. Prices are looking good now, which means he’ll be selling high but buying high too. He’s got a couple of quality bulls, so the herd should be good for next mating season. Prospects are solid overall.”

  Shay nods along with my assessment but ends on a head tilt with her eyes laser-locked on me. “You say ‘he’ like he’s the only one out there working the herd day in and day out.”

  I shrug. “They are his—his cattle, his decisions. I’m okay with that.” I don’t tell her that I want our family farm back so much I can taste it and that I still curse Dad every chance I get for causing us to lose it. I’d been able to save us from his stunts for years, but he’d gotten the last laugh when he died and I’d had to sell it to settle his debts. I’m just thankful it was to the Bennetts. If not for them, we’d have likely split up to work ranches and farms wherever we could get hired on. Maybe Bobby would’ve gone on to Nashville, because that’s where he belongs, and Shay was already dating Luke so she would’ve been okay, but Brutal and me would’ve been fucked if the Bennetts hadn’t saved us.

  But I don’t tell her that. She doesn’t need my regrets on her shoulders, not when she’s happy. And she is—with Luke, with our new family, with her business, and even with her pig. The miniature one she’s already got, and hopefully not a full-grown sow.

  I’m happy too, but there’s a constant gnawing in my gut that something’s wrong. It’s the land, the Tannen farm. I might still live in my childhood home, on the same land I grew up on, but it doesn’t feel the same. Thankful and grateful as I might be for the Bennetts, the sunrises and sunsets over land that I lost are still a daily reminder of my shortcomings.

  “They’re yours too, Bro. It’s a good thing to be invested in the herd—it makes you a hard worker, a responsible cowboy, and mostly, a good man.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” I scratch at my lip as I try to believe her sweet compliments, and maybe I even do . . . a little. Still, the sound is more one of ‘let it go’ than agreement because even if I’m good, I’m not good enough, obviously.

  “Speaking of . . .” Shay pauses, and though I think she intends this to feel like a segue, I can sense the errrk of a change in direction, but Shay always does and says what she wants. We all just try to keep up. “We’ve missed you at dinner here lately. Is it safe to say another one bites the dust?” She doesn’t so much as blink as she scans my face for any small tell, but I can see the excited smile she’s holding back. I force myself to stay still, my hands light on the wheel and eyes on the road.

  “Not sure I know what you’re talking about.” I absolutely know she’s referring to my forgoing family dinners in the evenings in favor of seeing Erica damn near every night for the last two weeks.

  At this point, I’m battling exhaustion, working myself to the bone with the cattle and driving back and forth to Morristown. We went to the races again, just to watch, and have spent just as much time curled up in one another talking as we do fucking. I can tell something’s changed between us, the connection getting deeper and filled with more than orgasms, but Erica has made it a point to repeat her early mission statement of casual-only, and though I’m nervous the lady doth protest too much, I’m following her lead.

  “Brody, don’t lie to me with your lying mouth. Tell me the good stuff.” The order is emphasized with another stomp of her foot against my floorboard.

  “Quit kicking my truck or you’ll be walking home.” The growled threat would shrivel most people to goo, and the fire in my eyes would singe their soul. Shayanne suffers no such weakness and merely scowls at me in return. I’m not even really mad about the truck. It’s a truck, after all, not some prissy import, but getting on to her about the truck is safer than admitting she’s getting too close to something I don’t want to talk about. She’s like a bloodhound and won’t let that go for anything until she gets what she wants.

  “Fine. Then I’ll tell you what we all think and you can grunt along and tell me if we’re right or wrong.” She smiles that sassy grin that says she already knows how this is going to play out.

  “What the fuck? Y’all talking about me behind my back? That’s some fucked-up ‘family’ shit there.” I spit out the word ‘family’ as if it’s a curse, which makes Shay’s eyes narrow. I realize a breath too late that I just gave her the first bullet to kill me with.

  “We are family, Brody. The four of us Tannens and the Bennetts. Blended Brady Bunch family with a spoonful of redneck and a cup of country thrown in.”

  Grunt. Agreement or disagreement, I’m not sure, but I really don’t want to go into analyzing our family dynamics. Now or ever.

  “Moving on. Are you going to Rix’s at night when you’re not at home?”

  Silence. I’m not playing this game, am most definitely not talking about my sex life with my baby sister.

  “So that’s a yes.” I cut my eyes in her direction, knowing I didn’t give away anything that would confirm or deny her question. “We figured, just making sure you hadn’t started going to a fight club or something.”

  I give her a rumble of disapproval this time. It’s not much, but I basically just agreed to her game.

  “I like Rix, not that it matters.” It does and she knows it.

  “You barely know her.” And now I’ve gone and done it. She knows she’s got my ear, knows that despite my protestations, I care about what she thinks of Erica.

  Shayanne and I have always been close, just like Bobby and Brutal. We’re a family of four, but the connections between us all are squiggly lines of twisted knots. And as the oldest, I took care of Shay, even when she was literally taking care of all of us, cooking and cleaning while we all worked in the fields.

  “Pshaw, I know more than you think I do. I know that Rix caught your interest enough that you talked about her with Sophie before even going out with her. I know that she didn’t freak out when confronted with all of us unexpectedly, and that speaks volumes about her courage. We’re an intimidating bunch.” That’s an understatement and a half. Tannens are known for being one step shy of hooligans, though it’s more because memories are long in this town than because we’ve gotten up to anything rowdy in recent years.

  She’s not wrong, and now I’m curious what else she thinks she knows, so I let her go on without interrupting her with an argument we both know would be a lie.

  “I know that you smiled the entire time at Hank’s when you were giving each other shit and when you were teaching her to dance. I know she was smiling the whole time too. I know you two look like Tom and Jerry, this big grump of a cat and this tiny mouse, but damned if she’s not leading you around by your tail.” Her smile is smug. “And by tail, I mean your dick. Whatever magic her vajay-jay is rocking has got you running off to get another dose every chance you get.”

  “Shayanne!” I growl, but my warning tone is met with a palm.

  “Don’t want to know. I just mean that she makes you happy. You’re smiling even though you have purple circles under your eyes that are worse than back when we had more month than money.”

  I didn’t figure anyone but me had noticed the smudges of color beneath my eyes, and I wipe at them even though they won’t disappear.

  “So . . . another one bites the dust?” Shay hedges, asking a question again instead of telling me things.

  “Nah, this isn’t some big love story, but I’m enjoying it while it lasts.” My thumbnail scrapes along my lip, and though I won’t say it to Shayanne, I know that the last few times I’ve been with Erica, it has felt different. Les
s casual, more intense, and . . . real. Our conversations are deeper, our sex is more intimate, and feelings are developing whether I want them to or not. But I can handle it. I know how this goes.

  But fuck, am I gonna miss her when she’s done with me. I’ll miss the way her cheeks flush when she’s turned on, highlighting the sprinkles of freckles. I’ll miss her passion for cars and her intellect, because the woman knows everything about engines and has the drive and ambition to do so much with her brilliance. I’ll miss the sharp wit she uses to flay me wide open, verbally sparring with me like no one ever has. I’ll miss the soft and sleepy rasp of her voice when she first wakes up, says good morning, and then snuggles into my side for ‘five more minutes’. I’ll miss the sight of her not giving a single solitary fuck as she walks around naked. I’ll miss . . . her. I’ll miss . . . us.

  Fuck.

  “While it lasts? Just don’t screw it up and then it can last forever.” Her voice goes soft and breathy at the end, like a little girl talking about a princess finding her prince.

  But that’s not my story, not anyone’s, really. Disney just never showed the truth after the happily ever after-fade to black ending, the part where Cinderella bitches that Prince Charming left his socks on the floor, or where Beauty missed dinner again because her nose was buried in a book. Or most importantly, where Snow White dies and leaves behind her prince and a whole rag-tag group of pseudo-children who fucking need her.

  “It’s not that simple, Shay.” Even I hear the bitterness and cynicism.

  She taps her nose knowingly. “Except it is.”

  She sounds so certain, so sure. I wish I could still have that naïve belief in forever, but I’ll take it as a job well done that I managed to get Shay to adulthood as a woman who still believes in fairy tales. Maybe I at least did that right.

  “Let’s get this jam delivered. I’ve got shit to do.”

  As far as conversation enders go, it’s weak, but Shayanne allows it. Though she gives me a glance that says she’s still thinking about this topic. I turn the radio up to circumvent her.

  “Good song,” I tell her as I sing along to Josh Turner’s Your Man.

  “Did you know Chris Stapleton wrote this song?” Shay asks, feet tapping along as she dances in her seat.

  “No shit?” She shakes her head. “Huh, had no idea.”

  We sing along, and for now, I can live in the moment where everything is fine enough.

  * * *

  The delivery to the resort is handled quickly because the kitchen workers hustle to help unload the truck. I leave Shayanne with Katelyn to hitch a ride home and take off like a demon to see Erica.

  I know I’m treading into dangerous territory here, but I meant what I told Shay. I’m going to enjoy this while I can. Because Erica is someone special.

  At the garage, music is playing again. Greta van Fleet, I think? They’re the new guys that sound old school, and that I know that much speaks volumes to my musical education at Erica’s side.

  I find her standing on her stool, head buried in a truck again. I wave silently to Manuel and Reed then put a finger to my lips. Manuel grins back, curious. Reed glares, still mad at my existence. I sneak right up behind Erica, bending down low to stay out of range of those fists, and pinch her on the butt.

  She whirls, already cussing. “What the fuck, asshole!” She sees my smirk and her fury stalls. “Oh, hey.” It’s like the anger never existed, evaporating on a nonexistent wind, then her lips spread into a slow smile as her eyes meet mine.

  “Hey yourself,” I answer, crowding into her. She leans back against the truck and licks her lips, inviting my kiss. We’ve got an audience, one I know Erica is still trying to be sensitive to, so I make the kiss a polite greeting, not a face-devouring precursor to something more. But still, I’m helping to yank at that Band-Aid on Reed’s sensitive little heart a bit too, so I weave my hands into her hair and whisper in her ear, “I missed you.”

  I swear to fuck, I’m not lying, but this woman actually laughs a sound that is almost a giggle. It’s got to be the most foreign sound to ever pass her lips. I would be less shocked if she started speaking a foreign language. But that sweet sound, throaty and deep, will be one I remember for the rest of my days, however many I get.

  “I missed you too.” She ends her answering whisper in my ear with a sharp bite to my earlobe. And there’s my Erica, grinning as she pulls away. “I thought you were gonna come by later?” Her eyes glance at the truck behind her.

  “I know, but I got done early and couldn’t wait to see you. Do what you need to. I can entertain myself.” She looks dubious but spins around and gets back to work. “See, I’m already entertained.” My eyes are locked on her ass, which is basically invisible in the baggy coveralls, but the middle finger she throws over her shoulder is can’t-miss.

  We spend a couple of hours in companionable chatter while I sit at the shop desk. She works on that truck, Manuel is working on one of those dancing gerbil cube cars, and Reed alternates between glaring at me and puppy dog eyeing Erica. Oh, he works on another couple of cars too, but his eyeballs are getting more of a workout than anything, ping-ponging between Erica and me.

  Erica’s head pops out from under the hood, and she goes to the door, leaning in to start the truck. It’s loud and growly, which seems to be what she’s looking for because she closes the hood and moves the truck out to the lot. When she comes back in, she leans over me to get an invoice. After a quick message to the truck’s owner, she gives me her full attention. “Lunch break?”

  “Fuck, yes.” I don’t mean it to sound like I’m taking Erica upstairs for a lunchtime quickie, but I also don’t not-mean for it to sound like that.

  Riiiip. Sorry, not sorry, Reed.

  The immature shithead in me wants to give him a little wave as we go through the door into the breakroom, but I’m mature enough to keep my hands in my pockets and only throw a cocky smirk his way. As the door behind me closes, I hear his hissed, “Motherfucker.”

  “What did you do?” Erica asks over her shoulder, not even bothering to pretend I didn’t earn that curse.

  “Just smiling at watching your ass, that’s all.” Her harrumph says she doesn’t believe that at all, but it’s the set of her shoulders that I notice the most because they’re drawing up tight. I pull at her hand. “Hey, really . . . I’m not trying to make this harder on him for shits and giggles, but I still think it’s gonna be worse before it’s better. Maybe for both of you?”

  She sighs, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms. Only weeks ago, I was tasting her here for the first time. It seems like ages ago. I could draw that map of her freckles blindfolded, can tell you where the gold flecks in her eyes appear when she sits in her favorite chair by the window at sunrise, and know her heart is pure goodness, which means it hurts her to hurt Reed. “You’re right, and I’ve been trying to talk you up so he knows I’ve moved on and that he should too. He’s just not getting it. Or he doesn’t want to get it, I guess.”

  I step up to the stair she’s on, caging her in. “He will. In the meantime, he doesn’t matter. Let’s eat some lunch, Lil Bit.”

  She nods and lets me lead her the rest of the way upstairs to her apartment. I wish we had time for that nooner I was teasing Reed with, but really, we need to eat so she can get back to work. It matters that she sets a good example and doesn’t take two-hour lunches she would never allow her employees to take.

  We make sandwiches, dancing around each other in the tiny kitchen space like pros. They’re nothing fancy but good and filling, and we sit down at the two-seater table to eat.

  “Did you get that part for Todd’s Challenger?” I ask her around a mouthful of food. Most girls would probably be disgusted. But Erica’s doing the same thing.

  She shakes her head. “No, he texted me and said never mind. I don’t know what he’s doing instead—probably saw something on a forum of armchair mechanics.” Her eyes roll, and she huffs around the sandwich sh
e’s chewing.

  “Is that like an armchair quarterback? Guys who think they know their stuff but are just yelling from their recliners with their sixth beer in their Cheeto-crusted fingers?”

  Erica points at me. “Just like that.”

  “You are so much better than that. I don’t know a damn thing about cars or engines, but even a dumbass like me can see that when you go to the track, they’re all looking to you for guidance and to make their cars be the best they can be. You’re good, Erica.”

  “Thank you.”

  Later, looking back, I’ll hear the hesitancy, but right now, it blows right over me and all I hear is an answer on automatic when I want her to see herself the way I do. Magical, powerful, fierce.

  “No, really. I know you’re protecting your dad by staying quiet on the whole racing thing, and believe me, I get that secrets are sometimes in everyone’s best interests. But you have a real gift. It’s a shame you can’t share it with him when he’s the one who inspires you. He’s probably the one person who could most understand the miracles of engineering you’re working.”

  I smile, hoping she hears just how amazing I believe she is. I’ve never met anyone like her before, so skilled at something that seems pretty straightforward, but for her, it’s pure artistry.

  I’ve watched her tinker with parts downstairs and in a corner of the apartment where there are chunks of metal I can’t even identify strewn about the floor. But not only can Erica ID them, she redesigns them, reworks them, creates something from nothing. It’s amazing to behold, and I know enough about parenting from raising my sister to know that Erica’s dad would be proud as fuck to see what his little girl can do with her hands and her mind. Only the sheer force of physics holds her back.

  Erica drops her sandwich to her plate, wiping her hands on her coveralls. “I told you why I can’t tell him.”