by Darcy Burke
Shane picked up his latte, and Kyle led him out the front doors into the bright summer day. “What brings you back home?”
Kyle looked at him askance, squinting against the sunlight. Sensitivity had never been Shane’s forte. “My brother committed suicide.”
Shane waved his arm like he was going to smack himself in the head, but didn’t. “Oh shit! Sorry, dude. I forgot about that. I did hear about it, though. Really sorry that happened.”
“Thanks.” Kyle tried to think of something else to say, but he didn’t want to continue a friendship—or whatever their relationship had been, because really, “friends” didn’t threaten to break your fingers so you couldn’t cook—with him. “Listen, Shane, I’m not gambling anymore, so if you’re here to solicit . . .”
Shane slapped him on the back. “God no. Dude, really, I just wanted to check up on you. Say hi. Catch up. How was Florida?”
Good for a while. Kyle had gone cold turkey and hadn’t gambled once in three and a half years. Until Alex had died. Then in a matter of weeks, Kyle had burned through the savings he’d accumulated in Florida and found himself in over his head again, forcing him to sell his car to pay his bookie and dash out of town as fast as he could.
“It was fine. Beautiful beaches, laid-back lifestyle.”
Shane’s mouth split into a wide grin. “Gorgeous babes, I’m sure.”
Kyle let his lips curve into a smile. “Yeah, lots of those.” And not one had kept his attention long enough for him to want to form a relationship, but then Kyle wondered if anyone could. He’d had a girlfriend one year in high school and an on-and-off girlfriend who’d really been more of a fuck buddy in his early twenties, but long-term girlfriends had never been his thing. And marriage? Forget it. Not interested. He’d been shocked when he’d heard Derek was engaged. They’d made a pact in high school to stay single at least through their twenties so they could be young and free and enjoy life. Would they have done that if their friendship hadn’t crashed and burned?
Kyle forced himself to pay attention to Shane, though he longed to escort him directly to his car. “What’ve you been up to?”
“Oh, you know, same old, same old.” Still booking, if you’re interested.
Kyle heard the invitation loud and clear but ignored it. “Still training at the gym?”
“Yep. I’m thinking of opening my own place in the next year or two. Business has been good.” He looked askance at Kyle. “Real good.”
Kyle stopped on the path and turned toward Shane. “Look, I don’t want to be a dick here, but you’re sort of from a part of my life I’d rather forget.”
Shane sipped his latte. “Sure, sure, I get it. And I’m not here to pressure you or whatever. You were young then. But look at you now . . .” He gestured toward the high-end office building with the Archer logo stamped on the outside. “You’re part of the family now. I bet you’re rolling in dough with your trust fund. I won’t let you get in over your head again.”
Kyle gripped his coffee cup. Dad had taken control of his trust fund and ensured Kyle didn’t inherit it when he turned twenty-five, like every other one of his siblings had. And he’d likely never get it. “I’m actually not rolling in anything except family upheaval. I’m here on a temporary gig while my brother’s doing an internship. Then I’m going back to cooking.” At The Alex, where he’d oversee a world-class restaurant. It was the first time in his adult life he’d felt energized by something other than a game of chance.
Shane snorted. “Eh, I don’t see it. You’re a great chef and all, but you were bored.”
At his last job in Portland. The upscale Northeast Portland eatery he’d helped put on the map—and that had fired him when his gambling addiction had overtaken his life. “I wasn’t bored. I was unfocused.” He’d been floundering, feeling like a failure because he’d dropped out of college, and even though he’d graduated at the top of his culinary school class, he’d had to work crap kitchen jobs because of the lousy economy. “Shane, it’s great to see you,” not really, “but I hope you don’t take this wrong when I say I think I’d rather call it quits here.”
Shane looked up at the hills where the monastery was situated. “That’s a bummer, but I get it. You still have my number?”
He did, but he resolved to delete it from his contacts as soon as he got back to his office. Would that matter? Though it was programmed into his phone, Kyle had memorized his number so that he could call him from anywhere, and the digits were still emblazoned in his mind.
“Take care of yourself, Shane.”
Shane nodded. “You too, bro. Really.” He slipped a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and slid them on. With a wave, he walked to his car and got inside. A woman sat in the passenger seat and leaned over to kiss him.
Kyle turned and stalked back to the building. He jogged back up the stairs and passed Natalie without saying a word. When he got to his office, he stopped short. Both Dad and Derek were standing there waiting for him. Anger, scalding and brisk, assaulted him as he moved past them. “We don’t have a meeting scheduled. I’m busy.”
Derek closed the door. “What was Shane Dawkins doing here?”
Shit, they’d seen him after all. Kyle went behind the desk, using it as a sort of shield.
Dad’s brow was creased. “I wanted to talk to you about something, and Natalie said you’d stepped out with someone—Shane.”
Damn it.
Kyle shrugged. “So? He just stopped in to say hi on his way to the beach.”
Dad stepped toward the desk. “If you’re gambling again, I need to know. I can’t let you work here if—”
“I’m not.” Kyle set his coffee down on his desk and ran his hand through his hair. “Jesus, Dad, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Okay, I had to ask,” Dad said, but Kyle couldn’t tell if he believed him or not.
“You actually didn’t. You could try trusting me instead.”
“In time.”
“How much time?” Kyle snapped.
Derek moved forward, his dark blue eyes cool. “As long as it takes. You don’t get to waltz in here and act like everything is okay. Did you even deal with your addiction? How do we really know you’re not gambling? The last four years of your life are a complete mystery.”
Kyle stared him down. “I don’t owe you anything.”
Derek’s lip curled. “I don’t owe you anything either—even though you think I do. I’m never going to apologize for bringing in Rob to save your ass. Family looks out for its own, and there’s no shame in asking for help.”
Kyle hated Derek’s superior attitude. “I get that your parents died and for you, this family—my family—is all you ever wanted, but you never fail to understand that my perspective, and hell, that of all my siblings’, isn’t the same as yours. Stop trying to make us all feel like loser assholes because we don’t cling to the mother ship.”
Dad set his hand on Derek’s shoulder and gave him an encouraging look before turning his sharp gaze on Kyle. “You’re right that your perspectives are different, but that doesn’t make Derek’s any less valid. It might be nice if you tried to step outside yourself for five minutes and realize you aren’t the center of the universe.”
“Oh, that’s just great. All I need is another ‘why can’t you be more like Derek’ speech. Too bad Liam isn’t here so you could compare me to him, too.” Liam was Alex’s identical twin—in looks only. Whereas Alex had been small and ill, Liam had come out of the womb fighting. He was the oldest, the smartest, the most successful, and also the biggest jerk—or so he’d become in the last five years as he’d grown his Denver real estate empire. “Is it any wonder why I left, Dad? How the hell am I supposed to compete with these brothers of mine? I will never be what they are. I’m a college dropout. A chef whose entire future is based on a project that fell into his lap because his brother killed himself.”
Dad and Derek both stared at him, and the weight of their judgment was more than Kyle could bear. He p
ulled his keys from his top drawer and stalked past them.
“Where are you going?” Dad asked.
Kyle opened the door but turned to throw them a glare. “Out. Maybe the racetrack or the Indian casino. Why don’t you guys bet each other on which one?”
Without a backward glance or telling Natalie where he was going, he left. In the parking lot, he realized he’d left his coffee upstairs, but there was no way he was going back. Not today.
Climbing into the car, he pulled his phone from his back pocket and texted Natalie.
Heading to The Alex for the rest of the day.
He put on his sunglasses, then started the engine and drove through the lot, stopping at the driveway as Natalie’s response chimed.
I don’t know what happened, but I’m here if you ever need to talk. Sorry.
Kyle set the phone down between the seats and pulled out of the lot. As he drove up toward the monastery, his phone rang. Swearing, he glanced at the display, not intending to talk to Dad or Derek, though he never expected the latter to call him. He was shocked to see that it was Maggie Trent.
Turning on the Bluetooth, he answered the call. “Hey!”
“Kyle?” Her voice—and yeah, it was sultry all right—washed over him, soothing his ire.
“Yeah. I’m . . . surprised you called.”
“Me, too.” She laughed, but the sound was jangly, like she was nervous. “Um, I would be happy to meet you and look at Alex’s laptop. Okay, maybe not happy, but I’m willing to help.”
He liked happy, but he’d take willing. “That’s great. When?” How about right now? As it turns out, my day got blown to hell.
“Tonight? I’ll meet you somewhere. Not Ribbon Ridge, though.”
She’d closed her practice here and was avoiding the town. Why? “Okay. How about Hazel?” It was the best restaurant in Newberg—great menu, but casual—and was owned by a friend of his from culinary school. They could camp out at a table in the corner and hang as long as they wanted.
“Sounds good,” she said. “Six?”
“Great. Hey, I’ve been wondering if you found your keys. I still feel really bad about that.”
“My keys . . . yeah, they were in the juniper bushes.”
“I’m glad you found them. Spider-free, I hope.”
She laughed softly. “Someone from maintenance fished them out for me, but yeah, no spiders.” There was a beat of silence. “I need to run. See you tonight.”
Suddenly his day had a decidedly better outlook. He shrugged away the irritation of Dad and Derek’s ambush and thought of spending the evening getting to know Maggie Trent. He hoped she’d maybe spill some information about Alex. Yeah, it might be unethical, but something told him she wanted to share. Perhaps he could ply her with wine. Hazel had a killer cellar.
At the very least, he’d get a second pair of eyes on Alex’s contacts. Hopefully together they’d find something.
Kyle smacked the steering wheel. Hell, he’d have to go back and get Alex’s laptop from his office. No way was he doing that now—he’d stop by later, on his way to the restaurant. Everyone would be gone by five.
Unless Dad and Derek were leaving now, trying to head him off before he did something stupid at the racetrack or the casino. Kyle shook his head, irritated with himself for baiting them. He was a gambling addict, and their concerns were valid. Why, then, did they piss him off so much?
MAGGIE DECIDED TO walk the four blocks to Hazel. It was located on the main highway through town, and parking would be dicey on a Friday night since it was so popular. The walk also gave her a chance to meditate—or at least practice her version of inner soul-seeking.
Tonight that meant thinking over her last appointment of the day. Doris was a sixty-year-old woman trying to work through her fear of flying so that she could take a trip to Europe. Maggie had only seen her a handful of times, and they’d made great progress. She imagined Doris might be ready to “graduate” after a couple more sessions. The issue, however, lay in Maggie’s engagement. Twice during their fifty minutes, she’d lost track of what Doris had been saying. First, she’d contemplated how to lay out her mother’s flowerbed tomorrow. Then later, she’d thought about tonight’s meeting—it wasn’t a date—with Kyle Archer.
Doris hadn’t picked up on Maggie’s lapses, but that didn’t make it acceptable. Maggie was horrified and had spent the last couple of hours mentally berating herself. What kind of therapist was she?
The shittiest one in the world, according to her dinner date.
No, he was not a date.
Her phone rang in her purse, blasting the latest Maroon 5 song. She dug it out of the front pocket, sighed upon seeing her mother’s number, and answered the call. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, my little flower bud. Are you still coming tomorrow?”
“Yes, ten, right?”
“Sure, whenever.” Mom prided herself on flexibility. She might show up early, she might be late. She was, however, universally unapologetic. “I think you need to look at my roses, too.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“That black spot thing.”
Maggie frowned. “You’re not using the spray I gave you, are you?”
“Oh, honey, you know I’m not good at that sort of thing.”
Yes, routine is almost impossible for you. Maggie exhaled. “Should I show Dad how to do it?”
“I don’t know if he has time, but you can ask. Why don’t you text him?”
“I’ll do that. Listen, Mom, I need to go. I’m meeting someone for dinner.” As soon as she said it, she wished she could take it back. How stupid was she, opening herself up to twenty questions?
“Do you have a date?” Mom sounded hopeful.
“No. Just meeting a . . . friend.”
“Does this friend have a penis?”
“Mom!”
Mom laughed. She always enjoyed provoking a response, which meant choosing shock-value words, regardless of her audience. After twenty-eight years, Maggie ought to be somewhat immune, but Mom knew exactly which buttons to push to get a rise out of her. “Don’t be a prude.”
“I’m not a prude.”
“Bullshit. You’ve always been a prude.”
If she only knew the kinky stuff Mark had demanded she try . . . Maggie’s flesh started to crawl. Not from those particular memories, but from who Mark really was and how she’d totally missed the warning signs that he was a controlling bastard.
“Mom, I really do need to go.”
“Oh fine, run off with your tail between your legs like you always do.” Mom exhaled in frustration. “Sometimes I’m amazed you actually sprang from my loins.”
“Why, because I speak appropriately in polite company? Or because I think open sexual relationships are a bad idea?” Her parents had a completely open marriage, and by the time Maggie had started middle school, they’d moved into a duplex so that each could inhabit their own private dwelling. It suited them just fine, but for two teenage kids, it had been a nightmare. They’d been careful not to expose Maggie and Rowan to their activities or partners, but Maggie and her brother weren’t stupid. They were also eternally mortified.
“See, you are a prude. It’s okay, honey. I love you just the way you are. And some man will, too.” There she went—like Maggie was some charity case.
“I gotta go. See you tomorrow.” Maggie hung up before Mom could say anything else and further batter her self-worth. She stopped on the sidewalk and slipped the phone back into the front of her purse, then dove her fingers into a small inner pocket for her pillbox.
The oval tin was old and had an image of a lily on the top—her grandmother’s favorite flower. It had been a gift when Maggie had started high school. For when she might need to take something for “those inconvenient times of the month.” How she missed Gran, the only sane voice in her upbringing. She’d also possessed a green thumb, which she’d passed on to Maggie. Summers in Gran’s garden were her favorite childhood memories.
Thinking of her paternal grandmother relaxed her whirling nerves. She opened the lid and stared at the Xanax inside. She had been taking it less and less since losing Alex and closing her practice, but talking to her mom was one of the few times that still drove her to pop one. She closed her eyes and inhaled the summer air, catching scents of roses, honeysuckle, and fresh-cut grass.
Did she really want to go over there tomorrow and listen to Mom badger her about her choices?
Why are you a therapist? You’re so much happier in the garden getting your hands dirty.
If you’d dumped Mark when I told you to, you’d be in a much better place now emotionally. You’re so closed off.
Maggie picked up one of the pills, ready to swallow it down to calm the tumult inside. The worst part of it was that Mom had been right about Mark and maybe was even right about Maggie’s career choice.
Damn it all to hell.
Just then a car pulled onto the street and parked right next to her. Belatedly, she recognized Kyle’s black SUV. She dropped the pill back into the box and stowed it in her purse.
He opened the door and stepped out, his long, tan legs exposed beneath the hem of his khaki shorts. He wore brown leather flip-flops and a white V-neck tee that only accentuated his tan. He looked like he’d stepped out of an ad for Bacardi Rum or maybe a Caribbean cruise. Or out of the pages of GQ or People. He flashed a smile, which only served to intensify his celebrity good looks. “Hey there.”
Her chest actually constricted because he was so damn attractive. She should’ve taken the stupid Xanax. “Hey yourself.”
“Walking to the restaurant?”
“It isn’t far.” She gestured a block ahead at the highway. Hazel was just to the right.
“And it’s a great summer night.” He pulled a laptop case from the car and tucked it under his arm. “Ready?” He locked the car and turned toward the highway. “I’d offer you my arm, but that’s a little old school, right?”
She couldn’t resist smiling. “Another recommendation from your mom?”
