by Alice Ward
Easier said than done.
I sighed and turned toward the door. I went through it and up a rickety flight of steps. Sure enough, when I got inside, Brody was sitting on the couch, staring up at the corner of the window, focusing on nothing in particular. I walked in and followed his line of sight, wondering if he was tracking the appearance of UFOs, when I noticed a fly buzzing there. It was half-mad, bouncing against the glass, the way flies get when they’ve been at it for a while and are just about ready to give up.
“Hey,” I said to him.
He didn’t answer.
I studied him. He was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt that had sweat rimmed under the arms and down the front of his chest. His face was coated with a heavy sheen of it. Our house had a window air conditioner, but with the shades of even that one window pulled back to let in the sun, the poor appliance was just humming along for dear life, not producing any results.
“Earth to Brody,” I said, to which he still didn’t reply. “Can you pull down the shade so we can get this place to cool off a little?”
His therapist had told us to treat him no differently than we would have treated him before the accident. So, I held my breath and tossed my empty water bottle at him, and it hit him square in the head. When it bounced on the floor and rolled under the sofa, he swiveled his head and scowled at me.
I planted my hands on my hips. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know if that was you, or a statue of you.”
The scowl didn’t soften. He didn’t say a word, simply turned back to study the exciting fly exploits.
Okay, great. I hesitated there before grabbing the shade, which was really just a cardboard slat wrapped in aluminum foil, and fixing it into place. Yes, bright sun might have done him good, but it was probably defeating the purpose to have him boil in his own pudding.
That small chore complete, I turned back to the room. Our apartment was really one living area comprised of a kitchenette-slash-television room, three bedrooms that barely fit twin beds, and a bath that two people couldn’t stand in comfortably, unless one of them wanted to hang out in the shower. As much as I didn’t really want to be in Brody’s company at that moment, I didn’t have much of a choice. I strode over to the refrigerator and opened it. “Want breakfast?”
I pulled out a carton of eggs as he played the part of the Brody Statue again, this time staring at his exciting lap.
“I have eggs this time,” I announced, taking one out. “And they don’t bounce.”
Brody was smart. He knew not to test me on this because, in our childhood, I’d thrown far more dangerous things at his head than a couple of eggs. He didn’t turn to me. “If I was hungry, which I’m not, I’m capable of making my own breakfast,” he snapped.
“Are you really?” I said, mock-surprised. “Because all I’ve seen you do is mope like your freaking world is coming to an end. They amputated your arm, Brody, not your head.”
“Leave me alone,” he snarled.
Fine. “Should’ve amputated your head,” I muttered under my breath, turning up the heat on the stovetop before putting the cast-iron skillet on to warm. I’d scramble up enough eggs for the two of us, just in case.
Truth was, he hadn’t started out so down. Brody had the same fire and spirit all of us Jameses had. Maybe it was our fault. We’d brought him articles of other amputees who’d successfully returned to racing after their accidents and given him hope that he could get right back in the saddle after his other minor injuries — a broken rib, a few bruises — healed.
Then the cold, hard reality came crashing in.
Most of those racers had gotten prosthetics specially made for them by their sponsors. Custom pieces like that cost well over one hundred thousand dollars and weren’t covered by our insurance. The prosthetics that we could afford? Well, they were basically like blocks of wood. The only purpose they served was to take the place of an actual arm, but they didn’t do any of the things arms should do. Brody had gotten fitted for one, worn it home, and then proclaimed it worthless, shoved it under his bed, and never put it on again.
So it was more important than ever for me to finally stop pouring money into this dream and start getting something out of it. I had only one shot, I couldn’t keep going on like this forever. Mom and Dad hadn’t said anything of the sort, but it was in the back of my mind that I could get a waitressing job at the Tin Top and at least contribute minimum wage to getting Brody a new prosthetic.
Unless things turned around, and soon, I’d be nothing but a drain.
And maybe moving on was what I had to do. If my big brother had an arm that actually worked, maybe he’d feel like a real person again.
“Hey, bro,” I said as I added milk to the eggs and started to whisk them with a fork. “I wanted to ask you about something. Why don’t you come over here and get some food in you, and we’ll talk?”
He ignored me again, the snot. As much as I loved him, he had the typical James stubbornness.
I poured the eggs into the pan, and they started to sizzle. Just then, our home phone rang. It was about a foot away from Brody, on the end table by the couch, but did he reach over to get it?
Of course not.
“Hey. Can you…?”
He just watched it ring. Two, three, four times.
I took that as a no. Shit. I didn’t want the eggs to burn, and Brody was obviously doing his statue impersonation again, so I barreled across the room. I got to it on the sixth ring. “Hello?”
“Is this Emma James?” a female voice asked.
I looked back at the smoke rising from my eggs. I probably needed to give them a stir, but now I was tethered to our landline. Our house had been forever stuck in the 1970s — our appliances were avocado colored, and the phone was still a rotary that jangled whenever you put the receiver down. An antique, my mom called it.
“Yes, this is Emma.”
“Hello,” she said, talking way too slowly and clearly for my liking, like a radio announcer. Definitely a salesperson. Venetian blinds? A new cable package? Trip to the islands? Whatever it was, I wasn’t interested. “My name is Laura Cage, and I—”
“Look, if you’re selling something, I really have absolutely no interest, and no money, either,” I said, pulling the receiver away from my ear, getting ready to drop it back on its cradle.
“I’m not selling anything.” I placed the phone back to my ear as she finished. “You’re the Emma James who races cars, right?”
“Y-yes.” I looked over at Brody, who was now leaning his head against the shaded window. The fly had fallen to the sill and was now wandering drunkenly there, probably wondering where the sunlight had gone. “Who is this again?”
“Laura Cage of UnCaged Fitness.”
UnCaged Fitness. I’d heard of them. Heck, most of the guys on the track wore one of their products. They made those lame little bracelets that tracked the number of steps you took and basically reminded you when you were being too much of a lazy slob. I didn’t realize that they’d resorted to phone sales. Sounded like a pretty shitty marketing tactic.
Then I thought, Laura Cage. UnCaged Fitness.
Holy shit.
“I’m sorry. Who did you say you were?” I asked, holding the phone in a death grip now. “Are you the owner of UnCaged?”
“I’m Laura Cage, I’m actually the COO of UnCaged Fitness. My brother, Locke Cage, is the owner,” she said, sounding professional, making me rue the past twenty seconds when I’d almost hung up on her. “And we’ve seen the videos of your brother. We’ve been following your story very closely. We were wondering if you’d secured any sponsorships yet?”
My heart caught in my throat. Then, it hit me. Obviously, they hadn’t been following things that closely, or else they’d know he was out of commission. “I’m sorry, but Brody is not racing right now.” I looked over at him and spun the cord in the air like a jump rope. “But thank you—”
“We understand that. We’re not talking about Brody, though we were v
ery sorry to hear of his misfortune,” she said. “We’re inquiring as to whether you’ve secured any sponsorships.”
I froze. Wait. Who did they think they were talking to? “Are you sure you have the right number?” I asked, my voice small.
Duh. Of course they did. She’d said my name. She’d known about Brody.
I was, clearly, an idiot.
“Yes,” she said, a laugh in her voice. “Have you?”
I waved my hand at Brody excitedly, but it barely made a ripple. He didn’t even turn toward me.
“Why, no,” I said sweetly to make up for my brusqueness from before, trying to keep my voice calm. “We’re considering offers at this time, but nothing has been firmed up.”
I gnashed my teeth, thinking she had to have seen through that line of bullshit. But she continued on, “Would you be interested in coming out to meet with us at our headquarters in Daytona? Mr. Cage is very interested in meeting with you.”
“Meeting with… me?” I murmured dumbly, feeling like a real idiot the second the words were out. “In Daytona… Florida?”
No, Daytona, Alaska, Emma. Really bright. I closed my eyes and cursed my stupidity for like the twelfth time during this conversation.
“Well, yes. You and your management team. We’d fly you out and put you up in a hotel for a few days while we introduce you to everything UnCaged Fitness is about. Take you around the beach. Have you ever had a chance to see the speedway? We really think you’d be a great asset to our brand.”
Management team? A great asset. Me. I opened my mouth, but only an “Uhm” came out.
“How does next week sound?”
“Oh.” I supposed I should have been pretending to check my jam-packed schedule, but really, what schedule? I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Yes. Yes, that would be perfect.”
“Good,” she said, all business. “I’ll have my assistant, Denise, call you with travel details within the week. Sound good?”
I nodded, then realized she couldn’t see me. “Uh. Yes. Thank you.”
“I look forward to meeting with you.”
“Yes. Yes, me too,” I gushed, then threw the phone down on the receiver and looked at Brody. “You will never guess who that was!”
He didn’t even turn. “Your eggs are burning.”
I whirled just as the smoke alarm started to blare above us, and we were enveloped in a cloud of black smoke. But it didn’t matter. Burned eggs, asshole Sandersons, belligerent brother, sore muscles from hell… nothing could spoil my mood now.
“Do you realize what this means?” I said to him, grabbing the skillet and tossing it into the sink.
“Yeah.” When I looked back, he’d managed the tiniest hint of a smile. It was heartbreaking, how handsome he was when he smiled. Then it was gone, that blank face taking over again. “It means you’re gonna live the dream.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Locke
I loved the beach. Loved surfing, running along the shoreline, dodging the waves. But more than that, I loved the sand between my toes, the smell of the sea air, the way the sun rose over the ocean. Growing up less than a block from the shore, I guessed you could say that the beach was as much a part of me as my own heart. Business had infringed upon my beach time in the same way it’d usurped almost everything else in my life, so whenever I entertained clients or held an important meeting, I was sure to do it at Ocean Place, a beautiful resort overlooking the sea.
Laura’s assistant, Denise, had booked the outdoor meeting room, as usual, and made all the arrangements for lunch. The flight from Phoenix got in at eleven, and the Town Car with Emma and her brother was due to arrive at noon, so I figured a lunch meeting would be best. When I got there, I waved hello to the owner and proceeded to our space, which was on the top floor, open air, under a canopy.
Upstairs, I dipped my sunglasses down the bridge of my nose to inspect the arrangements under the shade. A warm breeze was blowing, and the ocean was like a mirror today. Definitely not a surfing day, which was a good thing, or else it’d be torture to concentrate on NASCAR when the perfect wave was shaping up.
The oval table had been set out with yellow and black linen, to match the UnCaged logo, and pitchers of water and iced tea were already chilling in the center. I nodded my approval to the hostess and poured myself a glass of water, downing it quickly. “Show them upstairs when they arrive.”
Laura and I sat facing the ocean, going through our emails and not speaking, flanked by the other members of the marketing and sponsorship team. Six of us in all. I’d done a hundred deals like this before, but today, I felt a quiver of excitement.
I wanted to meet Emma. I’d done more research than was healthy on her, usually late at night when I couldn’t sleep, since I’d always been plagued by insomnia. I’d seen the pictures of her. She was a live wire and tough, but I guessed she had to have that spark to race at two hundred miles an hour. Her heart for her brother was huge. Whenever she spoke in interviews, she always deflected to him, saying that this was his dream, and he was her inspiration, and she was carrying on the family dream in his name.
But something in her eyes made me think there was something else waiting to be unraveled. No, I didn’t fuck around with business partners. Truthfully, I’d never been tempted, but with Emma… I was more than tempted.
I’d gone nearly into obsession. She likely knew nothing about me, and yet I knew her whole life history. Or at least, everything the internet would provide.
I was so deep into my thought of her that I almost missed her arrival entirely. Laura stood first, and I followed as Dan Hill, our marketing director, arrived with Brody James, a handsome, wiry guy that breathed NASCAR enthusiast right down to his 48 ballcap — I guessed that was someone’s racing number, but I had no clue whose. He looked exactly like the type of prick who used to kick my ass up and down the hallways in school. My smile faltered.
It faltered even more as I took in the empty sleeve on the left side of his body. I couldn’t imagine the hell he’d been through losing his arm in a freak accident like he did. The man looked pale, nothing like the robust figure I’d researched before the accident.
Before I could think more about it, Emma trailed in. Her glossy black curls were trapped in a ponytail at the base of her neck, and her face was hidden by dark cat-eye sunglasses. She wore a tight baby t-shirt, a denim skirt that bared long legs, and damn, red cowboy boots. She walked in a way that made me think she didn’t give a shit what anyone in this world thought about her.
My cock pulsed as she drew closer.
“Hello,” I said, reaching over to shake her brother’s hand. Eyes covered by my mirrored sunglasses, I kept them trained on her. All I’d seen before were pictures of her in coveralls, but that was enough to intrigue me. She had a tight waist that created a dangerous curve on the way to her full ass. The white t-shirt hugged mouthwatering breasts, the nipples of which I could see poking through the thin fabric. They. Were. Exquisite. Just a handful, but high and round and pert. It was a shame she’d kept them covered so much, but I supposed she had to, or else the men she worked with would be on her like flies on sugar.
I shifted my eyes back to my hand and realized I was still shaking her brother’s. “Brody James, I presume? A pleasure.”
He nodded and moved aside for his little sister. I’d had plenty of men ogle my little sister before, and I immediately felt guilty, though he hadn’t seemed to notice, thank god. “And this is Emma.”
“Emma.” I smiled, reaching over and taking her hand. She gripped it even firmer than her brother had and gave it a hard shake that might have dislocated the shoulder of anyone who wasn’t reasonably fit.
“Very happy to be here, sir,” she said loudly. She had a little twang of an accent, and I was immediately charmed.
“Please. Call me Locke,” I said, motioning to the chairs across from us. Brody pulled one out for his sister, and they both sat down together.
For someone who had lost an arm less than
two months before, he was handling himself well. Emma removed her sunglasses under the canopy and whispered something to him, like a little girl with a secret, and he nodded. Then he leaned forward to let me in on it. “We’ve never seen the ocean before.”
“Oh, yeah?” I moved aside to give them a better view. “Well, we’ve got one of the best beaches in the state.”
Emma was blushing now. I thought she may have kicked her brother under the table. “We haven’t been to many East Coast races,” she explained.
“And how many races have you, personally, competed in?” I asked.
“Three,” her brother answered for her. “In the Xfinity Series.”
I looked at Laura. I’d known the answer to this. I’d expressed concern that she was too new, too green, but my sister had assured me that she was on her way up, and I should snatch her, right now.
Meanwhile, Emma had reached over and snagged a roll from a napkin-covered basket. Without any hesitation, she stuffed half of it in her mouth. “I’m starving,” she said as she chewed.
I held up a hand to tell her it was fine, then ventured another question. “Where’d you get your start with racing?”
“We’ve been at it since we were kids,” Brody said. “Go-kart racing and stuff.”
The waiter came by to take our orders as Emma was finishing her roll. “I’ll have a double cheeseburger with extra fries.”
I stared at her. Where would she put all those carbs? And the fat? Besides, this was the best seafood restaurant and she wanted cow? I looked at the waiter and said, “Cod, grilled, no butter, and the spring vegetables.”
When I glanced up from my menu, she was staring at me, and I felt her dark eyes boring straight into my soul, unraveling me. I wanted to ask her what she was thinking. But what I wanted more was to see some of the fire I’d seen on those videos. That was what really intrigued me… that feisty spirit that screamed “winner.” I wondered what I had to do to pull it out of her.
