by Harlow Cole
“Progress always involves risk.
You can’t steal second base
and keep your foot on first.”
—Frederick B. Wilcox
5
Savages
Brayden
“You’ve become a regular fixture around here, haven’t you?”
Logan stopped beside me on the way to his truck. The acid in his tone needed a good reminding that I’d been around here a hell of a lot longer than him.
I slammed my car door and tucked the bag of food against my hip, rounding to face him. The dipshit had traded in the man bun for a ponytail and Billabong visor. A fucking bright yellow visor. Lord. I tried not to roll my eyes.
Ashley damn well better not have hooked up with this loser.
“Just enjoying being out on the water,” I replied with a slight edge of my own. “Going out sailing with a friend again.”
“Yeah, sure you are. So are the other half-dozen guys who cruise in and outta here every day, trying to get in her pants. Word from the wise, buddy, I don’t get the feeling she wants you around. Maybe it’s time to catch a clue. Go back and find another supermodel’s heart to crush.”
Interesting.
So, he clearly knows my name isn’t Brandon after all.
This dude was pissing in the wrong pool. The inside of my palms itched. You could never totally take the fight out of the boy. I turned my head and spat on the ground. A familiar warm-up before lighting up a bastard. I got real close, so he’d understand my special English.
“You know, I pay a lot of people a fuck-ton of money to give me advice. Not looking for the unsolicited variety from you.”
As I walked away from him, I bumped his shoulder. Just a little, for the fun of it.
Maybe he was right about one thing. I had met a lot of supermodels. But, their emaciated stomachs and fake tits never made me half as hard as I was now, walking toward the office, and watching Ashley’s body as she made her way up from the dock.
I stopped to appreciate the natural sway of it, tucked inside a navy-and-white-striped bikini top and tight little board shorts. I stood at the counter outside the dock house, sporting a bag of food and a boner, as I waited for her to close the remaining distance.
“I swung by Lucky’s for lunch.” I held up the familiar red-and-white bag. “Bacon and avocado club was the special today. Couldn’t stop myself. I know it’s your favorite. Swindled two dill pickles, too. And there might be a bag of M&M’s in the bottom. Peanut, of course. Although have you tried the pretzel ones they have now? They’re a fucking travesty.”
“Brayden.” She stopped just short of me.
I saw her glance quickly down to the bag and then at my chest. I’d left my shirt in the car. On purpose. No sense in it getting wet while I was out in the water.
I smirked.
“Why the heck has every teenager in town been loitering around here half the day?” she asked, annoyed.
I took a few steps forward to get a better look at the crowd formed down on the man-made beach. Twenty-five teenagers. Hanging out in kayaks, laying in tubes, and trying to knock one another off paddleboards. She must’ve had to empty out the whole shed.
Evan was already in the water. His Sunfish and mine stood at the ready, fifteen feet out. He was macking all over the cute redhead he’d told me a lot about. He’d asked me for advice about her. I’d tried to give him a PG version of why I was the very last person qualified to talk about how to handle women.
“Evan and I invited a few more friends today. Kid did really well last couple of times we’ve been out. We thought it was time for him to show off a little bit. That chick he’s with is his new girl. She’s cute, huh? He’s a great kid.”
She didn’t say anything. Just stood there, blankly staring at me.
“How many rentals you have today?” I asked, feigning innocence.
She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. “We’re sold out.”
“Huh.” I cocked a cheeky grin. “Go figure. That’s great. You sure you don’t wanna play hooky and come out with us?”
“Some of us have work to do.”
I held up the bag of food and smiled knowingly. No chance she’d pass it up.
She finally huffed and grabbed it from my hands.
“See ya later, baby girl.”
She stomped toward the office, but I caught her peeking in the top of the bag as she went.
I’d lay odds she ate the M&M’s first.
* * *
By late afternoon, half of St. Michaels High was assembled on the beach. They sat in camp chairs and took turns out in the water. The vending machines had long been emptied. Someone had a radio playing bad pop music. A few boats came in and tied up to the open dock, drawn in by the crowd.
I sat back, lingering on one of my newly painted benches, enjoying the flip side of people-watching.
Evan finally broke away from the pack to check on me. “Hey, man, you tired of smiling in selfies?”
I held my fist out for him to bump as he sat beside me.
“Nah. It’s all good. The dude who asked me if I’d sign his forehead before the picture was sorta colorful.”
“That’s my friend Aaron. We all think he was dropped a lot as a baby.”
I chuckled and watched as his eyes sought out his girl in the crowd.
“You remind me a lot of my teenage self, kid.”
“Yeah? How’s that? My striking good looks?”
I smirked and nodded in his chick’s direction. “You always know where she’s at. You seriously dig this girl, huh?”
He shrugged his shoulders and tried to fight off a shit-eating grin.
I bumped his arm. “Be good to her. Hold doors open. Tell her hair looks pretty. Take her flowers . . . don’t be a fuckup.” I didn’t add, Like me.
He turned to look over his shoulder toward the dock house. “How are things with you and Miss Foster? Any thawing of the ice?”
“I’m trying to learn a life skill they call patience.”
“Yeah?” He snickered. “How you doin’ with that?”
The kid had gotten to know me too well already.
“Off the record?”
He nodded.
“It totally fucking sucks.”
His eyes lifted, along with his smile, but then narrowed just as suddenly. “Looks like that douchebag is back to bug her. He’s like a bad habit that won’t shake off.”
I swiveled around to follow his gaze. Ashley was standing up at the counter, talking to a group of half-baked sunbirds who’d just climbed off their daddy’s yacht. I recognized two of them. They’d been at Foxy’s that night I met Dillan. The two from the end of the bar with leering eyes and wandering hands they were lucky they’d been allowed to keep.
“Those guys regulars?” I asked, playing it cooler than I felt.
“Unfortunately. The one in the pink polo likes to get a rise out of her.”
As Evan spoke, the dude he mentioned finally turned to the side. A face I knew all too well. Finally seen in the flesh.
“Think there’s some kinda history there,” Evan continued, oblivious to my sudden change in mood. “The last time he dropped by here while I was helping her out, she asked me to stay until he left. Said he wouldn’t bug her if I was around. ‘Safety in numbers,’ is what she called it.”
I stood up and rounded toward them. I watched as the pink-shirt-wearing prick leaned over the counter and said something that made Ashley push him in the chest. He grabbed her wrist, only dropping it after she snapped something back at him.
“As if I needed another reason, asshole,” I murmured to myself. “I’ll be back, kid,” I called to Evan, already on the move.
By the time I reached the dock house, Ashley had retreated inside the office. The crew of sunbirds stood around with contraband bottles of beer and an elitist air of entitlement. I lingered on the fringes, pretending to sift through the bin of life vests as I sized them up.
They looked like a Ralp
h Lauren outlet on Easter Sunday. White Docksiders, madras plaid shorts, and pastel polos with starched up collars. One had Ray-Bans tucked on top of his head, and the other had a pale yellow sweater tied around his neck. They reeked of bad weed and department-store cologne.
Fucking tools.
“You’re laying it on pretty thick with this one, Preston. I thought for sure you’d be switching it up to that little waitress over at the inn this summer.”
“Nah. Her tits are like goose bumps. So not my thing. This one . . . I don’t know. She’s a pain in the ass, but swear to God, this chick did some kinda voodoo shit to my dick last year.”
“I don’t know, man. Looks like she’s ready to break your balls now, not suck ’em.”
“Yeah, Xander’s right. I think you burned that bridge hard. No way she’s gonna spread that sweet cunt for you again this summer.”
“I rode that bridge hard, motherfucker.” They all chuckled and high-fived. “Come on, boys, remember where we come from. Girls like that don’t turn guys like us down. I got two Benny Franklins that say I bang her again by Fourth of July.”
“I’ll feel you on that wager. But we want some proof, asshole. Video, or it didn’t happen. And no dropping a forget-me in her drink, or the bet’s off.”
My back teeth ground together.
Patience was a dumb fucking life skill.
Mine had about all dried up.
“Nah, dude. None of that shit. That chick is a wildcat in the sack. Gotta tame that bitch full throttle.” Pink Polo held his fists out and thrust his hips back and forth like a total D-bag. “This is a win-win for me. I get to dip back into that pot of honey, and I get to take Xander’s money.”
Clause 18-A.07 of my contract. I knew it well.
No fighting.
Micky had hounded my ass about it my whole first year in the League. Told me guys would be trying to goad me. Dickweeds in bars and nightclubs would all make a play for me to throw the first punch. He’d seen it before with young up-and-comers who’d gotten hotheaded and had to write big fucking checks.
Those days were behind me. I’d been a choirboy, never even tempted toward violence. But, right at that moment, the only thing that could improve Pink Polo’s face was a handprint of my fist.
“You all talking about Ashley Foster?” I called out.
Their chatter stopped as they turned to look at me. All three of them sized me up. In that pretentious, are you good enough for us to talk to, way used by pompous rich boys.
“Yeah. You know her, man?” the yellow sweater wearing pussy finally asked. He lifted his chin in acknowledgment. “My buddy here is her ex.”
“I know her pretty well. We grew up together.”
“Well, you probably don’t know her as well as Prestie here. Dude knows all about things that chick can do with her tongue . . .”
“. . . apparently . . . good . . .”
“. . . if you know . . . ever had a chick do . . .”
The blood rushing in my ears blocked out half their words. They kept laughing and pounding each other on the back.
I closed my eyes for a moment and channeled all the things Doc Wolfe would say. Her nasally voice would ask me to inventory my emotions. She’d tell me not to use anger as a mask for disappointment and sadness. Remind me to practice assertive expression, to demonstrate my hurt through nonviolent means.
Blah. Blah. Blah.
I’m not the one who needs to hurt here, doc.
I could smell the stale air freshener saturating her office in fake vanilla. I could feel the soft velour of her couch, my fingertips brushing back and forth, while she ping-ponged between her textbook knowledge and my real-life brain.
I knew how to handle this properly.
I’d employed her techniques a hundred times.
Stay calm.
Pink Polo laughed at something else his buddy said. The static in my head grew louder, drowning out the doctor and my last shred of good sense.
His teeth were too straight. And blinding white. His parents must’ve spent a fortune at the orthodontist.
Sure would be a shame if they all got knocked out.
Micky had told me to count on a hundred K for every punch. He’d said that was the going rate. There were two more of them still lounging on the deck of the yacht. And these three dimwits.
Five altogether.
I was staring at half a million dollars in the face.
My head flipped to another channel as it conjured images of grainy black-and-whites. Two smiles. My broken heart. Lonely nights mad at the world, madder at myself. Stuffed between two thighs I didn’t really want. Hating what I couldn’t have.
What this asshole had taken.
What I fucking let him have and can’t get back now.
This pastel-wearing, white-toothed joker became the mascot for all that pain.
“Fuck it. I’ve been waiting for this for too long.”
I lunged forward, grabbing on to Pink by the collar. “If you’re smarter than you look, you and your fuck-nugget buddies here will turn back around, row out of here in your daddy’s little boat, and never look back again.”
Doc Wolfe had gone to med school for twelve years to learn her craft. I’d only need fifteen seconds to practice my God-given right hook.
“Whoa, dude. What the fuck?” his friend asked, bemused.
Pink Polo turned his head and spat on the ground near my shoe.
“Wrong answer, asswipe.”
I tightened my hold just as Ashley rushed out of the office and Evan came tearing up the hill with a few of his buddies in tow, like they were grown enough to play backup.
“I don’t know who the hell you think you are. But you lay one hand on me, and you have no idea the wrath my father—”
“I’m the guy who makes sure dickweeds like you don’t touch her.”
“Too late, man, ’cause I know every inch of that pussy.”
He tipped his chin up toward Ashley. His arrogant grin badly needed a matching set of my knuckles. My fist flexed by my side, crying out for a taste of the action.
Ash knew I was about to strike. Guess she’d seen me in this position enough times in her life.
Rounding the counter fast, she grabbed on to my biceps with both hands. “Dallas,” fell from her lips. That one simple word stirred a thousand memories.
I froze, caught beneath the weight of it.
Her hands and pleading eyes pulled against my own, slowly forcing my hold to release.
Pink Dickweed took a step back, stupidly worrying over the wrinkles in his shirt. He should’ve still been worried about getting out of this alive.
Ashley stepped in close, leaving only a breath between us. My vision filled with her. The rest of them faded into the background.
“Dallas,” she calmly said again, staring back at me with intense green eyes I knew better than my own. She carefully stressed the word with one brow pointing upward for emphasis.
She wasn’t using my real name.
Wouldn’t say it out loud, confirming my identity.
“Don’t do this.”
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t rearrange this guy’s face right now, baby girl. One reason. If you heard the shit he just said about you . . .”
She tilted her head to the side, gesturing quietly toward the larger group of teenagers now filtering up from the beach, at the ready to catch a glimpse of the action.
She stood up on tiptoes, mouth and breath brushing against my ear. “Every single one of those kids is armed with a camera phone. All of them will be happy to brag they witnessed you punch this jackass out. Not the attention you want, or the kind this place needs.”
As she spoke, her fingers trailed down my arm, lightly brushing across my scarred elbow. Owl-wide eyes bored into mine, silently adding, He’s not worth your arm.
Of course, she had no way of knowing. I’d learned some lessons from my father without repeating his mistakes. The morning after the Yankees called me up to th
e bigs, I’d insured my right arm. Rearranging Dickweed’s smile would be worth half a million in lawsuits, but it sure as fuck wasn’t worth forfeiting my career, even for a sixty-five-million-dollar claim.
I gave her a curt nod, letting reason sink back in. Taking the prints she’d left on my skin as a consolation prize for letting this jackass walk.
“Preston”—she swiveled back around and glared at him—“get the hell out of here. I don’t want your business. I don’t want anything from you.”
“Oh, shit,” his friend muttered, awkwardly staring at me. “Are you . . .” His eyes narrowed.
He needed thirty more seconds to place my face. I slid my cap down lower, hiding the eyes that always gave me away.
My top lip curled in a snarl. “You heard the woman. Get the fuck off her property.”
The other friend pulled on Preston’s arm, forcing him to walk backward. “Let’s blow, man. Had enough of this dump anyway.”
Ten feet away, the quiet one punched Pink Polo in the arm. “Dude, do you know who I think that was?”
* * *
I leaned against the doorjamb, staring at her from across the room.
“Thank you, Soot.”
It didn’t escape me that she no longer bristled at the sound of her special name.
“For what?”
She kept her back to me as she stood motionless, staring out the window. The late afternoon sun cascaded through the glass. It circled her dark hair with angelic light, making me feel even more like the devil.
“For protecting me back there. Not using my name. Stopping me from doing something stupid. I’m not a dumb teenager anymore. It’s been a long time since I used my fists to make a point.”
“I did it to protect the business. Not great advertising to have a fight break out with half this town’s youth on the lot. Although, trust me, I would’ve enjoyed seeing Preston’s face getting deconstructed.”
I pushed off against the doorframe, giving in to my need to get closer. “They’re all still here, aren’t they? Circling like always.”
“Who?” she asked, bemused.
She turned to face me. That soft pink upper lip teased me, flaring out, tugging on my dick from across the room. I closed the distance between us, crowding her back on purpose. Her chest visibly swelled, responding to the instant pull that formed every time we got this close.
