by Zoe Dawson
I hated limitations, but maybe I needed to change my assumptions. Maybe I needed to reassess how much I could handle, what was my breaking point.
Was I being too hard on Aubree? On myself?
It hurt to know that medicine may be a top priority in her life, maybe a more important priority than our relationship. The amount of time, effort and money that had to go into it was enormous. Although maybe becoming a doctor had to take priority right now. I just needed to feel she was also invested in our relationship. Losing her love wasn’t an option. Damn near sent me into a tailspin to think that it was even possible.
“Booker!”
“What?”
“Geez, you are preoccupied. I asked if you wanted to come down to Outlaws tonight and sing with us.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.”
My brothers exchanged looks, and I was pretty surprised they weren’t pumping me for information. Nosy bastards. But I guess they were nosy because I was keeping Boone up nights, and obviously Brax had been affected, too. We were trips, after all.
When we walked into Brax’s house, River Pearl was in the kitchen. She smiled and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Hello, stranger. How’s Aubree?”
Even her name made my gut clench.
“Busy,” I said, trying to keep my churning emotions out of the word, but it came out short and a bit harsh.
River’s brows rose and her eyes narrowed. “I think I need to get in touch with her. She’s been out of the loop for weeks. Did you know she still hasn’t gotten a gown?”
Her words were like a bomb dropping on me, exploding and turning me into raw hamburger. My gut lurched and I went completely still. “What do you mean she hasn’t gotten a gown? That’s the first thing brides-to-be do, isn’t it?”
I was like most guys when it came to weddings. I did my bit. Got the church locked down, bought the wedding rings, thought about the honeymoon, even though I hadn’t committed to any plans yet. The fact that Aubree hadn’t attended to this one important detail sent me into a tailspin of doubt. Was she having doubts?
“Sugar,” Brax said, “why don’t you do that?” He took her arm and drew her away from me, but the damage was already done. Brax talked to her in low tones, and I just stood there like I was paralyzed.
“Girls,” Boone said, punching me in the arm. “Always so dramatic, right?”
“When did Verity buy her dress?”
Boone shuffled his feet and looked out the window over the sink. “Uh, she started making it the minute she had a chance, after the Billy Joe attack and our figuring everything out thing. It doesn’t mean anything. Maybe Aubree isn’t the typical…uh…girl.”
I felt sick and leaned back against the doorframe. “No, she’s completely typical. Getting married is a big deal, Boone. Why hasn’t she gotten her dress?”
“There could be a lot of reasons why.”
I could hear it in his voice. Maybe there were reasons, but why hadn’t she mentioned it? My nerves jumped, giving me a warning tremor as the situation seemed to slip a little further out of my control.
River gave me a look and kissed Brax. “I’m heading out to the gallery. I’ll be back later.” She slipped past me and the front door closed softly.
Boone said cheerily, “Hey, let’s play—”
“I’m not in the mood for video games,” I said, struggling to hold on to my composure. My phone burned a hole in my pocket, but stubbornly I held off. I had vowed I wouldn’t talk to her until I had worked some stuff out, and I was sticking to that until I was ready.
“You want to eat?”
“Not hungry.”
“Let’s spar, then.”
My head came up and my eyes narrowed. “Spar? Is that why you brought me here? Drunk fighting?”
“Come on, Book. You’re tense. You could loosen up.”
“And spill my guts?”
“If guts get spilled, well, you know shit happens. Who are we to judge?” Brax said. “I’ve spilled my guts enough to you guys, and we’re bros. We stick together no matter what.”
I looked at Boone. “What the hell happened to him?”
“Five feet eleven inches of kick-ass bombshell.”
“Did she cut off your balls?”
Brax smirked. “No, but she does seem to be real interested in that area. What can I say?”
“And, he’s baaaaack,” I smirked, too, even through my misery.
“What do you have for us to go a few rounds?”
Boone smiled and Brax chuckled. “Your favorite. Sugar State Fruit Punch Moonshine.”
“Gummy Bears, my ass,” I snorted.
“It’s red, like Gummy Bears,” Brax said, walking over and pulling a jar out of the fridge. He grabbed three shot glasses and headed toward the room where he kept his boxing equipment.
I huffed a laugh, sighed, and followed. I wasn’t as physical as my two brothers. I’d rather talk things out—unless, of course, Aubree was being threatened. Then all bets were off.
As I walked into the room, Brax set the glasses and the ’shine down on the mat. I pulled off my T-shirt. He grabbed up a couple of rolls of tape and chucked one at Boone and one at me. We caught them and I started to unroll it and wrap it around my fingers, my hand, and over my knuckles.
“You go first, Book. Take on Brax. I’ll start drinking.”
The rules of our drunk fighting game were simple. Whenever someone got hit, Boone would have to drink. Then we would rotate out. Brax was good, so hitting him was a challenge, but as he knew, I might not be as bulked out as my brothers, but I could be a dirty fighter.
And I was feeling in the mood for some tension release.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Boone bellowed. “This is drunk fighting, and the only rules are no hitting below the belt unless it’s with your words. That’s totally allowed.” Brax thumbed his nose and grinned. “On my left we have Booker, who’s a scrapper and a tricky devil, weighing in at one-seventy-nine. On my right we have Brax, who’s fast and wily and weighs in at one-eighty-eight. And this moonshine that packs a punch, and is damn good, weighs in at thirty-two ounces.”
“And, you weigh in at two hundred and five, and all of it is in your muscled head,” Brax growled. I laughed and he looked at me, tilting his chin. “A hundred on the can,” he said.
“What can?” I played along.
“The one where I’m the can and you’re the ass, huckleberry. I’m bringing the whup.”
“If we’re talking about asses, here…well, I don’t trade hee-haws with a jackass,” I snarled. “I’ll see you and raise you a hundred.”
Boone burst out laughing and said, “Do you want your frilly apron, Brax? That’ll show him who’s boss.”
Brax turned and gave an evil cackle, pointing his finger at Boone. “You’re next, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll show you pink…and some black and blue.”
“Looking forward to it,” Boone said, narrowing his eyes, but it was ruined by their lurking twinkle.
We danced around each other, warming up. Brax’s blue eyes were full of mischief and determination. It was like looking into my own face; even our body types were so similar it was eerie. Made us almost evenly matched. Boone had more muscle, so more power, but that was it.
“Start!”
Brax took my left on his shoulder, but I was expecting his weaving move, he was so slick, that when he dodged, I was ready with my right and socked him right on the jaw. That rocked him back. He tongued his lip, lapping up the blood and smiled.
“Nice, Book. Good cheap shot.”
Boone downed a shot glass.
I grinned. “Kiss my can.”
Brax hadn’t changed a helluva lot. He still was an angry sumbitch. He swung a powerful right at me, which I blocked, but then his left landed in my midriff. I retaliated with a left to the body and a right to the side of the head. Brax immediately followed with an uppercut. He was so damn fast, and the two blows hardly fazed him.
His fist connected with my chin
and rattled my teeth, the blow jarring and exploding up through muscle and bone.
Getting hit with taped knuckles was pretty different from getting hit with gloves, less stunning, but it still hurt. We were pulling our punches, obviously, but still. Brax could hit and hit hard when he wanted to.
I stumbled back and landed on my butt on the mat. “Drink time,” Boone bellowed. Brax offered me help up. I clasped his hand and he pulled. We were grinning like idiots.
We bumped fists, and I slapped Boone’s open hand as he passed me. “Go get ‘im, tiger.”
Boone swaggered out there, and Brax and he circled around each other. Brax was definitely faster than Boone, but Boone was a tank. He took gut punches like he was waving off mosquitoes.
“Izzat all you have? Geez, Brax, Verity can hit harder than that.”
Brax growled and charged him, and they hit the mat in a tumble of arms and legs. I was busy downing shots each time one of them landed a face or head blow.
Laughing like a fool, I could tell Boone was feeling the effects of the moonshine, but I would never discount my brother. Boone had so much heart.
They got up at the same time, neither the worse for wear. Boone took a left on his shoulder and hooked a left to Brax’s body, and Brax grunted when it connected. Boone followed with a straight to the mouth and a left hook to the side of the head. They clinched, and Boone clubbed Brax with a right to the ribs.
The moonshine shots went down easy, the fruit punch taste lingering on my tongue.
“Break it up,” I said, my gut feeling warm and the alcohol loosening the tension in my shoulders.
They broke apart and Brax retreated. “Not bad, Boonie.”
Boone grinned hugely, and I stood up as Brax plopped down and stretched out to reach for a towel. Wiping off the sweat, he gave Boone a knowing look.
“So, Book, you want to tell us what the hell is going on with you and Aubree?”
“I’m not nearly drunk enough to talk about girls, let alone about Aubree.”
Boone gave Brax a nice try look.
“We care about Breebree. There’s trouble in paradise and we want to know—”
I gave him a thunderous look. “Are we going to spar or jabber like squealing schoolgirls?”
I was feeling a bit wobbly, and since I was the lightest of the three of us, I was feeling the effects of the 100-proof hooch.
Boone looked up at me, still breathing hard. “You going to fight or be a candy ass?”
I said, “Can’t believe I’ve got to deal with two Dr. Phils.”
Boone giggled at that and pushed up from the floor with the kind of power that came with all that muscle. He started with a left swing to my head, and during the ensuing wild mix-up he landed four right and left hooks right on my ribs. I grunted and tried to backheel him, but failed, and he lowered his head and butted me in the belly, kicked me on the shin, and would have banged me up some more, but the alcohol was surging, and I was riding an adrenaline high. I stopped him in his tracks by swinging an overhand right to the back of his neck, which took the fight out of him for a minute.
We clinched, and I learned that my brother was part octopus. We grappled some more, then Brax, after downing several shots, got up and broke us up.
Boone went for the moonshine, and I faced Brax.
“You’re not going to make me beat the information out of you? Are you?”
“You guys think you’re both so s-smart.” The alcohol was starting to go to my head with the exertion. I took a breath, swore, then swore again.
“Come on,” he said, after a couple more long moments. “There’s a Boy Scout badge in it for you,” Brax promised, not quite managing a grin. He was goading me. Probably thought it was for my own good, and he might be right. But he also couldn’t be all that amused. He knew how much it hurt to be on the outs when passionately in love.
“Screw—”
“Me. Yeah. I got it,” he said under his breath, giving Boone a long-suffering sigh.
Then it got real. Brax, even under the influence, was dangerous. He swung a right to my body, and while I didn’t think I landed a solid punch to his ribs, he staggered and dropped his hands slightly.
I straightened out of my defensive crouch and cocked my right, and realized I had been suckered.
The minute I lifted my chin, he beat me to the punch with a right that smashed my head back until I saw some serious stars. Dazed and only partly conscious of what was going on, I rebounded right into him, ramming my jaw flush into his left hook. Ka-bam! At the same instant I hooked a trip-hammer right under his heart, and we hit the floor together.
I could hear yelling and cursing, but wasn’t sure it was me or him, and I felt like my head was bouncing around in a thick fog. All I knew was I had to get back on my feet as fast as I could. Brax wouldn’t cut me any quarter. I was reeling when I rose, my legs barely holding me. Brax was ready, and I saw the light of the battle in his eyes, and saw my winning move. I rushed in wide open, staking everything on one right swing.
I stepped inside his fight-finishing swing, and went for the one-two punch, sinking my fist into his gut, and quickly, with the same hand hammered up under his jaw. He staggered, his arms fell, and I swung my left with my full body weight behind it. Brax hit the floor and Boone surged to his feet.
“Geezus, Booker!”
Breathing hard, I looked down at Brax, who was looking up at me, his eye swelling even as I watched.
“What the hell is going on in here!?” River Pearl’s voice cut across all of us like ice against the skin.
Brax’s head lifted and his eyes widened. “Oh, sheee-it,” it came out slurred and urgent.
I felt like I was disassembling…breaking up into tiny pieces… couldn’t hold myself together. Needed Aubree. Needed to talk to her, but the room whirled and dipped.
“We’re not mad at each other,” Boone slurred. “It’s just drunk fighting. We’re trying to get Booker to…” he hiccupped, “…talk.”
“Oh my God. You’re drunk? God save me from brothers.”
Boone giggled and said, “Hey, that’s what Breebree says.”
She slapped her palm against her face and groaned. “One is enough to deal with, but three…” She groaned again. “Well you’re done.”
Brax was on his feet. “No we’re not,” Boone said. “Not until one of us pukes or passes out.
Brax punched him in the gut and Boone heaved.
I closed my eyes, dropped to my knees, then collapsed face-first onto the mat.
I dimly heard Brax say, “Now we’re done,” before my brain shut down.
Chapter Three
Aubree
I checked my phone after class and my heart sank. Still no calls from Booker, going on two days now.
I was hurrying to my car when a horn blasted right in my ear. I stopped dead, my head whipping around to see an angry driver yelling out his window, waving his fist. “Watch where you’re going! I almost hit you! I have a daughter your age, for God’s sake.”
He waited, his face pinched, probably from fear, his hand tapping on the wheel.
“I’m sorry.”
“Next time be more careful.”
“I will.”
With a curt nod, he drove off.
My heart pounding, I sat in my car for a minute, squeezing my eyes shut, and taking a deep breath. I had no time for wallowing, because I was almost late for my hours at Dr. Palmer’s office. Even though Dr. Palmer was always very understanding, I found it very upsetting to be late.
Fortunately I found a parking spot close to her practice, and ran the last few feet, and arrived only five minutes ahead of my assigned hours.
As I stored my things, I fretted about what was going on with Booker. Since the stupid man hadn’t told me what was wrong, I had no way to know what he was upset about, how he was feeling.
I was painfully aware now of how badly I had dropped the ball with regard to my personal life. My life with him. But when I started having
so much trouble mastering o-chem, I lost track of just about everything.
I grabbed a lab coat and went to work. Thankfully her practice was always busy, and the afternoon went by very fast. At closing time, my phone beeped and I pulled it out of my pocket.
What is going on? We’re worried about you. Call me, or else.
Despite my disappointment that it wasn’t Booker, and even though I was incredibly stressed out, I chuckled. “River Pearl,” I said softly. She was such a good friend, and I knew putting her off wasn’t going to work.
But even now I couldn’t bring myself to talk to one of my best friends.
I covered my face and leaned against the wall, swamped by a tidal wave of shame over all the ways I was screwing up. I was failing at everything. I burst into tears, and when I felt hands on my shoulders steering me, I just let the person move me along.
I was led to a seat and gently pushed down into it. Heard a door close.
When I looked up, Dr. Palmer was leaning against her desk. She always looked so put together, with her hair pulled up, her flawless makeup, her stylish clothes.
She just stood there studying me with a small frown. “Would it help to talk about it?”
I swallowed and looked out the window, stalling. People were walking by like everything was normal, and here I was going under for the third time.
It had been almost three days since Booker left, almost three days of nearly unbearable silence, two nights when I missed his warm, comforting presence in our bed. Now I was losing it in front of a woman who could make or break me in medicine.
“I’m just—”
“Tired? I’m not buying it,” Dr. Palmer pressed. “I’ve seen a change in you this spring. And you’re miserable, even though you’re doing your best not to show it.”
Dr. Palmer leaned forward intently. She gave me a warm, compassionate look and said quietly, “I know what’s it’s like to be in your shoes. I remember the exhaustion, the juggling, the doubts, and the fear of failure. For me it was all about my dad and living up to his expectations. So don’t try to snow me. I’ve been there.”
Quickly wiping my eyes with the side of my hand, I tried to answer her, but I was so full of fear and misery I couldn’t speak.
