Only Justin’s twin Jason has ventured to bring a few girls home because he wears his heart on his sleeve, which we want to smack him for all the trouble it gives him and us. But even he stopped doing that sometime back during college.
We’re careful.
We have to be.
The women of Atlanta — especially the moms who have daughters — have their sights set on us.
Old money. Politician dad.
Well-respected, philanthropic mother.
All six brothers, successful in their fields, well built and confident.
Some call us cocky.
I call us comfortable in our skins and aware of our worth.
Hell, if I could convince more people to let go of insecurity and just be who they are, I would, but people like to hold onto their demons and that’s none of my business. Hopefully they’ll catch on sooner rather than later.
Me?
It’s a short life.
I just want to work on my land and live alone.
I’m not a game-player.
Not like Justin to my left here. He loves that shit. Probably why he wants to be senator one day. No bigger game than the U.S. government.
As he turns up the music and screeches left onto Peachtree Ave, my mind is miles away, playing this morning’s events in a loop.
It hit me like a thunderbolt when I saw that spark in her eyes. I think sometimes you recognize souls more than faces.
I was looking at a grown-up Rachel Sawyer, my best friend who moved away when we were only ten.
Then that douche bag kissed her, long and slow.
And everything went red.
Rachel
Across town at the exact same time.
“With your bonuses you make over two-hundred-thousand a year,” I whisper, unable to believe I’m fighting for this.
I cross the room to stare out the window at Arden Road’s beautiful homes with no fences between them, their green lawns vibrant in the afternoon sun. He’s silent behind me.
“I make half that on my travel books, Ryan, and with Huffington Post hiring me on for editorials, that’s not going anywhere but up. That’s over three hundred thousand a year between us. How much do you think it takes?” I look over my shoulder at my boyfriend, desperately wishing for a way out of this discomfort. “People have children with far less.”
“Not in Manhattan,” he shoots back with finality.
Confused and feeling terribly insecure, I scan his face. “You’re saying years from now? You don’t want marriage until after you’ve made partner at the firm? You know this for sure?”
With his back against the proverbial wall, he takes a moment to think about it. We’re both hovering in the type of awkwardness where your future hangs in the balance.
Ryan holds my eyes. “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”
“Wow,” I whisper, turning back to the better view. In a daze I watch a soft grey squirrel strolling across the street with no danger of being hit by a car since few come this way. “Well, I don’t want to wait that long.”
I hear him come over to envelope me in a warm hug from behind. “Baby, what’s the rush?”
There’s no rush…
Except I don’t want to waste years of my life with someone who doesn’t want me.
Who, off this example might continue to postpone creating a future together until I can no longer have children.
Men don’t have a clock ticking in their bodies.
I do.
While I’m only thirty-two, how many years can I be in a holding pattern with a ‘maybe someday when I make partner’ boyfriend?
“There’s no rush,” I whisper from miles away. “Except, why wait?”
He abruptly lets go and paces. I turn to watch, feeling we have lost us somewhere along the way and I don’t know when it happened. How did we get here? I know we’ve been distant lately, but…
“You’re putting me in a box, Rach.” Jabbing his finger at me, he almost shouts, “And just so you know, you’re being like every other woman on the planet!”
Gaping at him I cry out, “Don’t play the ‘women are crazy’ card with me. It is such a cop-out!”
“It’s not a cop out.”
“I’m not crazy and you know it.” My voice goes gentle. “Do you remember that weekend in Martha’s Vineyard when we were lying in bed for two days, room service everywhere and you laid it all out for me what we were going to do with our lives together. The kids. The pretty home in upstate New York. I was right there with you on all of that. And you were so happy as you described it all. I’m not being crazy here. I’m talking about things we both wanted.”
“We’d only been dating a couple weeks.”
“And now it’s been two and a half years.”
“We were in the honeymoon period.”
“Oh my God.”
His lips form a thin, stubborn line. “I don’t like being pressured.”
Groaning, I throw my arms up, completely losing my mind and removing all the stops. “You think I want to pressure you?!! If I wanted to pressure you I’d ask why we haven’t had sex in over a month except for that party the other night at my publishers’! I’d say, hey Ryan, I’m spending more time with the barista at my coffee shop — whose name I don’t even know — than I am with you!” Shaking my head in disbelief, I quiet my shaking voice. “We are talking! About very serious things that need to be discussed. This is just communication which we need to have in order to be happy!”
“I think we should take a break.”
My jaw drops. I step back, and I can feel my heart race as I’m waiting for him to take it back.
By the look on his face, he’s not going to do that.
I’m about to argue. So close to the tip of my tongue is desperation, but it occurs to me from somewhere deep in my heart that I am not fucking desperate in any way, shape or form.
While I am not perfect, I have a lot to offer and I am lovable, dammit.
I don’t need to prove that.
It’s just a fact.
Every woman deserves to be loved, and I don’t need to plead with Ryan or any man. Ever.
So I grit my teeth and firmly say, “Fine.”
Not expecting that, he stares at me. “Fine?”
“Yup. Fine. We’re on a break. Take all the time you need. Yay us.”
Unsure of what to do with my stance he glares at me like he’s expecting me to beg or something. Or maybe he just didn’t have a plan ready. Who the heck knows? I can see him searching for what to do now and of course he chooses the most drastic action. He goes for his suitcase and unbelievably announces, “Now’s as good a time to start as any!”
My heart caves in. “Now?”
His lips go thin.
In the heat of this fight, my parents slipped my consciousness altogether, until this moment when I picture telling them he’s left.
“Are you serious? You’re leaving tonight? You can’t wait one more day?” Off his silence, I mutter in horror, “What am I going to tell my mom and dad?”
“I don’t care.”
I blink at him, helpless and embarrassed. How can I stop this train from hitting the mountain?
Sometimes people just up the stakes to win when they’re feeling defensive, so I decide to give in a little to help him put the sword down and stop slicing me with it. “Wow, you’re really angry with me. I’m sorry, Ryan. I didn’t want to get you this upset.” He slowly zips his suitcase shut like I’m getting through to him, so I try harder. “Come on, baby. Please stop. If you want the break, fine. Just stay the night. We’ll leave together and have some time to cool down and they’ll never know!”
He stares at the bag for a minute, thinking on it. Shaking his head once, he mutters, “No, Rachel. I’ll take Lyft to the airport. You stay here and think about what you want.”
“What I want?!”
“Yes.” His voice is as cold as a New York winter, which is fucking cold, let me tell you. “You know wha
t I want, for things to be as they have been until we’re both ready for more. Decide if that works for you.”
I can’t even speak. I just stand here like an idiot while he pulls out his phone to book the ride.
On his way out he locks icy eyes on me. “Stop trying to box me in.”
My jaw drops. He storms out checking the fucking Lyft app on his phone.
As I watch him go I can’t help but wonder if there’s someone else.
Jaxson
All during dinner I ruminated over what I wanted to do about Rachel. I could have gone back up to my ranch by now but I’ve hung around Atlanta, which makes me uneasy. I usually know exactly what to do. Never been this on edge before, especially not about a woman.
Mom and Dad were happy to have me over and we talked easily about what they’ve been up to here, how the basement was flooded and all the chaos that ensued. I told them one of my chickens died last week, which made Mom sigh and lose her smile. Had to change the subject to Jake saying Drew needed a nap after the honeymoon.
Dad laughed under his breath and Mom rolled her eyes. “I don’t need to know that stuff!”
The subject of my short-lived jail sentence was only mentioned once, and by my father with his sternest voice. “I trust this won’t happen again soon?”
I nodded, but had to stifle a smile, because who the hell knows, really?
After he went to his office in another wing of the house where I knew he’d quietly write his nightly list of tomorrow’s goals and people he needs to contact, I stay downstairs and help Mom clean up.
Just when I think I’m going to drop the whole thing and head out for the hour-long drive I hear myself ask, “You remember the Sawyers?”
Pouring herself a third glass of Pinot Grigio Mom frowns, “The Sawyers?”
I lean against a spotless kitchen counter to coax her memory. “They lived two doors down from us when I was at Trinity. You had them over for dinner sometimes.”
Her pretty face flickers with recognition. “You mean John and Ellen? I haven’t seen them in years, Jaxson. Ellen and I were only acquaintances. She fought me at every turn at the Atlanta Woman’s Club.” Placing the cork back inside the bottle, she stares off. “God, I’ll never forget. You were too young to be aware of it, but those times we had them over for dinner were stiff affairs. Done only to keep the peace.” Rolling her eyes to herself, she mutters, “Not that it helped. That woman had it in for me.” Mom’s volume rises as she returns to the present and looks at me. "I was relieved when out of the blue their family moved to New York. John got a job or something – I can’t remember exactly. We lost touch, thank God. Why?”
“Can you check with the club to see if she’s back?”
Intuitive brown eyes carefully inspect me before she turns to put the wine bottle back in the fridge. As she walks to it, she says over her shoulder, “I could. But you have to tell me why.”
Staring out at the backyard I grew up playing in, I see little Rachel running screaming around the dolphin fountain, with nine-year-old me and seven-year-old Jett, inside it splashing her like crazy.
Smiling to myself as the image fades and the fountain resumes it’s aged appearance of today, I mutter, “I’m curious.”
On a knowing laugh, Mom crosses the kitchen back to me. “Would this have anything to do with their daughter? The one you got into trouble all the time?”
I can tell she doesn’t remember. “Rachel,” I remind her.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Mom smiles with a twinkle in her eyes. “Let me guess. That’s why you were in jail today.”
Can’t help but grimace at her knowing I was behind bars. “Uh…”
Mom cocks her head. “Your father tells me everything, Jaxson.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
They’ve got the strongest relationship I’ve ever witnessed in my life. Gives us brothers a very high standard to meet, and we all know it.
Mom asks me, “Are you going to answer the question?” with a look like she knows I won’t.
“Can you check?”
She shrugs, “Sure.”
“Now?”
She laughs and waves a hand at me as she head for the landline rotary-dial phone, a relic of her mother’s, which she refuses to part with since she thinks it’s kitschy.
Soon I’m patiently watching her chat up a lady-friend who’s also the secretary of the club, about little things until she finally gets to the point.
“I know this is going to sound strange, Constance, but have you heard anything about Ellen and John Sawyer?” Her expression changes as she glances my way. “They moved back to Atlanta? How interesting. Well, I’ll have to reach out and say hello.” After another pause, Mom’s laugh reveals her friend remembers the rivalry she and Mrs. Sawyer had. “Yes, well, maybe she’s softened in her old age. Arden Road, you say? What’s the house number, do you have it in your records?” She writes it down on a slip of notepaper that always rests on the phone-table. “That’s a nice neighborhood. Not as nice as ours though.” Another laugh. “Goodbye, Constance, don’t work too hard. It is Saturday after all.”
Mom tears the top sheet off and walks back for her wine glass. “Look at that. The humidity has already caused condensation and I’d only just set the thing down!” Eyeing me like we’re part of a secret plan, she whispers, “If I give you their address, will you be in jail again later tonight?”
Amused, I smirk, “You know me better than that, Mom.”
“I know that of all of your brothers you are the least likely to punch someone who hasn’t hit you first, Jaxson. That’s what I know.” She cocks her hip out to lean against the counter with me. “So what I’m wondering is…what are you up to?”
“You really think I’m going to tell you?” I smirk.
Her smile grows. “No. I don’t.”
“That’s my girl.”
“I wish I had some. You boys are a mystery to me, most days.”
“You raised us to be like that.”
Her brown eyes twinkle with mischief. “Indeed I did. No pussies in our family.”
Laughing, I kiss her cheek and tell her, “I’ll be back later.”
Jaxson
Tapping my Jeep’s steering wheel I stare at the large two-story American Foursquare house set deep inside a well-landscaped lawn.
I’ve watched a feminine-shaped, gracefully moving silhouette pass one of the second-story windows enough times to indicate she’s alone, and she’s pacing.
What’s going on up there?
Is it Rachel?
It could be her mother. Can’t be sure because gauzy curtains are in my way.
The lights shut off downstairs a half-hour ago.
I’ve been biding my time.
I’m a patient man most days.
Working a ranch will do that to a man, but I was also born with a natural calm in my bones, so this itchy impatience is an anomaly.
What I want to know is, where is the douche bag?
I haven’t seen a man’s silhouette pass that window once. If it were Ellen Sawyer’s room, then John would be there, too, I reckon.
Is it possible that Rachel and her boyfriend aren’t allowed to stay in the same room while they’re visiting?
Fuck, I don’t even know if she’s staying here or if she moved back to Atlanta, too.
She could be in a whole different neighborhood.
John Sawyer could be sleeping in the chair downstairs and that’s Ellen pissed that he’s been drinking.
I’m making up possibilities.
I have no idea if he even drinks.
Am I really going to chance this?
Fuck it.
Stepping out of my Jeep my boots hit the cement hard, and I head toward the house.
Only four cars have driven by since I got here.
It’s a quiet street, but I scan it for anyone who might see me, feeling the old adrenaline charge into my blood like I’m a kid trying to get Rachel to sneak out to go to the pa
rk with me like I did about a hundred times.
“Jaxson, there are snakes here!” she whispered, ten years old and cute as hell since her silver braces got put in. She was always hiding them, trying not to smile. It made making her show ‘em a game.
“So you better stay close to me,” I whispered, pushing the low-hanging live oak branches out of the way so we could get through.
I never liked to stay on the cut grass portion of the park near our home. The forest that framed it was a better adventure. Mostly because there really were snakes.
But I wouldn’t tell her we were there because I hoped to catch one.
She would never have come with me.
“Oh, like you can save me from a snake,” she threw at my back as we trudged along.
I proudly announced, “I could kill fifty pythons!”
Her bright blue eyes rolled. “Yeah, right.” But she came with me anyway.
For a good distance we wordlessly crunched through dead leaves and living ivy vines, avoiding Spanish moss and the skin-digging chiggers that hid inside them.
She lucked out that night.
I didn’t.
Not one snake slithered by.
I felt totally jipped.
The thing was I wanted to impress her by catching one but since that wasn’t going to happen I decided to climb the winding, centuries old branches of an oak tree instead.
“Come on!” I waved her up.
Muttering loads of objections Rachel followed, grabbing knots in the wood to pull herself up with. I walked along the thickest, horizontal branch as though it were a balance beam. She was right behind me but way less confident, so she slipped. I grabbed her arm just in time to steady her. “Whoa now!” Her legs shook and we both lowered our bodies to straddle the branch, facing each other, legs swinging below.
“I wasn’t really going to fall,” Rachel lied.
“You were.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Yeah, you were.”
“I wasn’t!!!” Her eyes flashed and I dropped it.
Cocky Cowboy: A Second Chance Romance (Cocker Brothers of Atlanta Book 3) Page 3
