Clearly, my love life is open for discussion with anyone since they all seem to know it better than I do. Love life. Ha! What love life? It’s been like the Sahara Desert down there. Worrying about Clyde being pissed off at me may be the least of my problems if another man can’t get my engine going.
It seems like every other guy I pass on the street doesn’t live up, but just being in the same room as Clyde has me purring like a kitten, ready to stretch out and spread them wide. Sounds slutty, but we have a history, and I couldn’t care less about any label. I suppose slutty may be a step up from bitchy where he’s concerned when thinking about me.
“Ugh, I can’t believe I’ve let it come to this.” Sighing, I shove a nacho in my mouth before Hoover across from me finishes them all off.
“I’ll be back to check on you two in a minute.”
“Thanks, Sheila.”
She nods and walks off, thankfully. Back to best friend time.
“Look, Shy, you don’t want to hear it, but it’s like I told ya before, you have groveling to do. It sucks ass, but you practically have to kiss his, just for him to open his eyes in your direction again.”
“It’s sixth grade all over again,” I mutter dejectedly.
She takes a healthy gulp of her draft and continues. “You weren’t here to see him fall apart when his family died. The rumors after he went to college were bad enough that he’d become a cocky dick to any female within ten feet of him, but then his parents died. I think it broke him some more. He hasn’t been the same guy since. He’s not so much cocky anymore, but he’s still a dick.”
My eyes fill with tears, hearing of the once sweet man I knew, turning so cold. It happens every time we discuss it. I can’t stand it knowing I had a hand in his sadness. I was trying to do what I thought would make him happy and successful in life. I’ve learned that what you think may be best for someone else, may not be the case at all.
Clyde was one of the kindest people I’d ever met. He was helpful and polite to everyone no matter who you were. It was one of the many things that had me falling all over him from the moment I laid eyes on him in grade school.
Her gaze grows melancholy and falls to the table, a frown marring her perfect, pouty lips. “I remember seeing him trying to grocery shop when he first got custody of his brothers. He’d have dark bags under his eyes to the point it looked like he’d either been punched or he hadn’t slept in a week.”
She shakes her head. “He’d have on dirty clothes, and you know Clyde always dressed kind of nice, even for working the ranch all the time with his dad. He’d be in sweat pants and a T-shirt, glaring at everyone like he’d snap their necks in two.”
She shudders, drawing in a sharp breath at the memory. “Some of the church ladies would take casseroles and whatnot over to the house, but he’d never answer the door. It got to the point that everything would be left on the front porch until one of his brothers would find it and bring it in. A few days later, the dish would be back on the porch. It was heartbreaking for anyone to witness who’d grown to love that family.”
She’s told me all of this and more before, but each time that she reminds me, it’s a dose of reality. I’m seeing him now, years after. I missed the worst part of it, and he was alone through it all.
“It took probably a year before the cloud around him lifted enough that anyone other than his lawyer, the sheriff, and Judge Maddox attempted speaking to him. I think it was Tyler who did it in the end. Nate sorta turned in on himself and pulled away from everyone. You know, he dropped out of college, following Clyde’s footsteps, but Ty, it’s like he became superman to them.”
Her eyes meet mine again, “Clyde was crazy proud watching Ty play football; it drew him out. When the colleges came around, Alabama was at the front of the line. Tyler said it was his parents that helped him get there, and I think all three of them felt that way. Clyde learned to smile again—an improvement toward the broody alpha male attitude, at least.”
Sniffing, I use my napkin to dry my soaked cheeks. The Owenses were loved by everyone in this town. Their family deserved this tragedy the least out of anyone I’ve ever met. Not only did Clyde and his brothers suffer, but the entire town felt the impact of their death.
“But, time’s passed, and they’ve had a chance to heal. That doesn’t mean he’s all better; it means you have to work harder for him than you did in the first place. Back when you were kids, it was damn near fate always throwing you in each other’s paths. Now you have to stand in his path, so he sees that you’re meant to be there. Got it chicky?”
Nodding, I clear my throat and take a sip from my Malibu and pineapple cocktail. “I think I do, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For reminding me that anything worth having, is worth fighting for.”
She winks. “That’s what friends are for.”
I couldn’t agree more. Tapping my glass against hers, I finish off my fruity drink. I’ve got a man to win back; time to pull on my big girl panties and get serious.
You’ll never do a whole lot unless you’re brave enough to try.
—Dolly Parton
“How’s it goin’ up there?” I ask Tyler on my cell as I stare out the side window toward the horses. They’re enjoying the morning grazing. It’s sunny, but the temperature is milder than it has been. Seems like the best time of year to be stuck outside; you can do anything and not get overheated.
“It’s cold: snow and ice. There’s even been some flooding. People keep telling me it’s typical New England weather, but I’ve never been so cold in my life. I swear to God my toes are going to get frostbite, and I’ve been sleeping with a heating pad in our bed.”
Chuckling, I take a small amount of pleasure in my brother’s discomfort due to his Southern born blood. I told him he’d freeze moving up to the Northeast to play football. I couldn’t be more proud of him though. He’s playing for the best ranked team in the league. That certainly takes talent and dedication. They give him plenty of playing time each Sunday, so I know he’s doing everything he should be. Our parents would be so proud if they could be here to see him now.
“It’s not even winter yet, bro. How will you handle the stress on your muscles?” There’ve been many nights of heating pads and ice packs in our past. I wouldn’t trade those moments though—they brought us even closer.
“Just adapt and overcome. It’s the only thing I can do; I’m definitely not paying them back for my contract just because I’m cold. That’s why I called you though.”
“Cause of the cold?”
“No, because I’m worried about the exact thing you just asked me. I’m not kidding about the cold. It’s Alabama winter up here already, and the temps are supposed to take a hit by at least forty more degrees. It’s already snowing here! These people are nuts to practice in this shit.”
A grunt escapes before I can stop it. “You’ve played plenty of games in cold weather when you were in college. You were able to hang on just fine.”
This kid is worried about something else; he’s just not saying it out loud.
“I know, but that was completely different. This is practicing every day in colder weather than any of those games with snow and ice. This is playing pro games when it’s zero degrees outside. And all of these guys don’t even blink. They’re used to it. I’m beginning to wonder if we’d have practice in a blizzard.”
He’s being dramatic which is a bit unusual for him. He’s my younger brother, but he’s never been a bellyacher. To hear him upset has my body growing stiff; I don’t like that I’m not there to see the issue first hand.
“Ty, what’s really going on? This sort of shit never bothers you, you’re not a complainer. Like you said, you adapt and overcome. So, tell me, little brother, what’s this call really about, and what can I do to help?”
After a moment, he finally replies. “Did you see they signed a few new players?” It comes out in a huff.
“I heard about it, yeah. You’re
really sweating it because Desmond Brown was picked up from the Bills?”
I can imagine him shrugging his wide shoulders as he would’ve when I’d question him here. He’d have yanked his hat down a bit farther, too, attempting to hide under the bill. I liked to keep him on his toes, made him think outside the box and consider other things than what he was worrying about at the time.
“It’s just different…” He pauses for a moment, and then admits softly, “…being here.”
“You’re used to me and Nate giving you shit about other players all the time to keep you fresh and on your toes, and now you don’t have that, in other words?”
He lets out another breath, I’m guessing a breath of relief. “Exactly,” he confesses, and I can see him wincing with the admission.
“I’ll tell Nate to start texting you every morning that you’re getting slower than him.”
“The hell I am. He’ll always be slower than me.”
Grinning, I breathe a little easier myself, hearing the confidence return to his voice. “You still have it, Ty. Believe in yourself. Your family does. As for the other players, use them to your advantage as you’ve always done. They’re your stepping-stones. You’ve earned your spot, now use them to your advantage.”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“You just know what I need to hear, when I need to hear it.”
No…I know what my dad would’ve said to me when I was playing ball when I was Tyler’s age. I wish he were here to be having this conversation with Ty right now. There’s nothing I can do about that though, so I have to give him the same advice our father would’ve.
Knowing my mom, the first sign of distress in my brother’s voice, she’d be packing us all up and demanding we move to be by my baby brother. My dad would’ve calmed her down eventually, but that was the type of person my mom was. She told us to get up whenever we fell, but she’d be there in a heartbeat to offer us a hand if we needed it.
They were both the strength behind us, fueling us to be good men.
“I just know you, brother. You and me, we’re a lot alike in what drives us.”
I hear howling and sigh. “Ty, someone just pulled up. I’m going to have to get off here.” That dog was one of the best decisions I ever made; she’s a walking, barking alarm.
“All right, I love you guys. Call me if you need anything.”
“We love you too. Let Kadence know we said hello.”
“I will. Later.”
“Later.”
More howling has me tossing my cell on the kitchen table and heading outside. “All right, Gracie, I hear you girl. Who’s here?” She’s a coon dog I adopted awhile back. I decided I needed someone around at nighttime to help me keep watch of the property since Nate’s been gone a lot.
I showed up at the local animal shelter to find two puppies had been dumped off that morning. I took them both—one for each of my brothers, but I’d never admitted that to them. Gracie’s a female coon hound that Nate named, and Titan’s a male Doberman that Tyler named.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter to myself. I’m not overly surprised to see my dogs running up to greet the white pickup truck they’ve obviously deemed a friend since she stops by all the damn time. Why she’s here yet again, is beyond me. I thought I’d made myself clear over the past few months that she’s not welcome to stop by.
“What now?” I cross my arms and head down the porch steps to see why she’s made another unwanted visit. I don’t understand why she hasn’t taken the not-so-subtle hint yet that I don’t want her here period. All she does is bring up memories that I want to forget.
She climbs out of the monster of a truck, and it takes every ounce of self-discipline in me to not go over and lift her tiny body down, so she doesn’t injure herself. She should get a step extension or a smaller vehicle. It’s pretty damn sexy seeing her drive that big ass thing around, though I’d never admit it.
“What are you doing here, Shyla?” It leaves me in a grouchy rasp, my eyebrows down in a scowl.
“Oh, hi puppies. Yes, aren’t you so sweet?” She coos at my dogs as Gracie licks at her hands and Titan’s so wound up, he’s doing his Doberman smile thing. The fact that they adore her pisses me off further. “I brought you treats, yes I did!” Reaching back up in the truck she comes back with a few squeaky toys that the dogs happily take before running off.
“They don’t need those,” I grumble, cocking my brow. “They have plenty of that stuff.” An entire basket full, spoiled asses.
“Aww, you bought them toys? I wasn’t sure.”
“Of course.” Huffing again, I cross my arms tighter until my muscles bulge. Being around her makes me feel like a self-conscious seventeen-year-old kid again. “What do you want? I’ve told you a good twenty times now that I won’t be selling. Do I need to call the sheriff to make my point clearer?”
“No need to call up Nick; I’m sure he’s busy enough.”
I scoff. “If you call drinking a pot of coffee at The Brew working.”
“Regardless, I’m not here to bother you about paperwork.” She smiles, still not answering my initial question.
“Well, I’ve got work to do.” I begin to turn when her dainty hand falls on my bicep, stalling me immediately. My breath catches in my throat, and my stomach drops so far, I feel like I’m tilting, but I grit my teeth to keep my composure. She can’t know I still move to her touch—she can’t ever discover that.
“Wait, please?” she requests softly, and I swallow to keep myself calm and cool—unfazed—as she continues. “I made you something.”
My forehead scrunches. She’s caught me completely off guard, something I don’t care for. I wasn’t expecting her to be here other than to pester me into signing her bosses “deal.” Usually, she hands over the paper, and I crumple it up and growl and then she leaves. I thought I’d been very up front on my feelings about anything she had to offer, but now she’s made something and for me?
She opens the back door and retrieves a large, brushed nickel mixing bowl covered in saran wrap.
“What is it?” I can’t help but ask, my curiosity getting the better of my normal few uttered words her way.
“It’s your favorite—fruit salad.”
I nearly choke. It’s my mother’s fruit salad; she’d taught Shyla how to make it. Out of everything for her to make me, she picks the one food item I miss the most. My dad could grill one hell of a steak, and we always had snacks around, but for special occasions, my mom would bust out the big guns. I swear her fruit salad was made by the angels themselves. I’ve tried to make it each year on Thanksgiving, but I can never get the recipe just right. She’d never written it down.
“You, ah, you have her recipe?” I swallow, attempting not to come off as overly eager.
“I memorized it. We made it so many times, there’s no way that I couldn’t remember it.”
“Oh.” I stand there, staring, feeling like I have a frog in my throat.
She smiles again and holds the bowl toward me. “Here.”
I want to shake my head, tell her to fuck off and leave my property, but she went out of her way with this. I don’t know if it’s a ploy to soften me up or if it’s genuine. I wish I knew what her motive was for making this.
“You going to take it?” She gazes up at me, her expression offering me no clues whatsoever.
“Sure.” Swallowing, I hold my hands out like I’m about to touch a bomb or something and she hands the bowl over. “Uh, thanks.” I sound like a dipshit.
Once it’s in my possession, she smiles again and pats my arm. “See ya around, Clyde Owens.” Then she climbs into her truck, shuts the door, starts the engine, and drives away. All the while, I stand there staring, not knowing what in the hell to do or say.
Gracie and Titan run by, squeaking their new toys and it breaks the spell she had me under. “You two are traitors; I want you to know that. You can’t give in so easily,” I chastise, and then shut up as I glanc
e down at the bowl in my hands. I don’t have much room to talk by accepting the bowl either.
There’s only one way to see if she really won the battle this time. I have to try the fruit salad. She may have caught me by surprise, but is it really as good as I remember? There’s only one way to find out, and I intend to do just that.
Heading for the house, my mouth’s already watering, and one thing’s for sure, I need her to write down that recipe.
I think it worked. He seemed a bit flabbergasted if his stunned expression was any indication, and that’s part of what I was going for. Everything with Clyde was always easy; it’s almost fun to have the challenge now. I hope the fruit salad reminds him of the many times I was in the kitchen helping make it.
We had so much fun. I loved his mom, and she always egged me on to torment him a little. Like when we made an extra bowl of whip cream, and she had me go dump it on him outside. I ran as fast as I could, but Clyde still caught me. He’d kissed me soundly then we went swimming in the pond the rest of the afternoon. His mom knew we were in love.
He may have a shell around his heart now, but we dated for nearly two years, and I’ve known him since the sixth grade. He helped me in the hallway when I was twelve years old, and that’s when he sorta dropped on my radar and then never left it. I always paid attention to him, and when I had a chance to finally be with him, I practically jumped at it. Every single girl in school had a crush on him, and out of them all, he’d put his arm around me and pretty much declared I was his.
If he had any idea, he’d have known I was his from that moment in the hallway he’d helped me pick up my belongings. No one had ever stood up for me like that and offered me blind kindness. He’d always been that way with me through the years too—caring and an overall nice person. It’s no wonder he easily won the hearts of the female population growing up.
If anyone knows how to get through to him, it should be me. I’m going to break out all of his favorite things that I remember. I’m not trying to buy him, just remind him that he’s not alone, that I did pay attention to everything about him back then. He needs to realize that he was once my world, and then hopefully, he’ll see that I still want him to be. Only this time, I won’t be leaving. This time I want that forever, even if I have to fight for it.
3 Times the Heat Page 4
