My life might not look stressful, living in a small town as a single guy, but the responsibility on my shoulders was, at times, crushing. I ran my own veterinary practice. Aside from Dierdra answering the phones and keeping the schedule, and my accountant looking at my books every quarter, I did most everything else. I saw patients, operated, birthed farm animals, ordered supplies, ran our small social media presence, participated in community events, and volunteered at the county shelter twice a month.
And that was just my job. I was also the oldest child, and with Dad gone, the man of the family. When Mom had trouble with her gutters, or car, or needed something out of the attic, or … anything really, I was the one she called. Reliable, steady Keaton, that was me. When my brothers were in trouble, I was the one who fixed the problem. I wrangled them on the holidays, scolded them when they didn’t do what they’d promised Mom, and was the moral compass of the Nash family.
It was exhausting. And October, the third anniversary of Dad’s death, was only four months away. Which meant the stress was only going to intensify.
Mom was going to go into complete mourning, just like she had the year before. It had lasted until well after New Year’s when I’d finally threatened her with therapy that she’d refused many times before.
But she was going to have a bigger problem this year. My brothers and I agreed that she couldn’t stay in the six-bedroom house we’d grown up in. It was too big, too much maintenance, and every single corner and closet reminded her of our father. I loved the house almost as much as she did, but on the upcoming third year since his passing, it was time to let it go.
We all had to start living again.
I headed into mile four, my arms pumping to the music blasting through my headphones. Coming out here on a weekday morning was my favorite time, almost no other Fawn Hill resident took to running the lake path at this time.
My phone rings from the band wrapped around my arm, cutting The Who off. I slow down, taking it out of its sleeve. The number that flashes on the screen turns the blood in my veins to ice. Because there can only be one reason he’s calling, and even if his reaching out does me a favor, he’s still the last person on earth I want to talk to.
“Gerry, is he there?” I pick up, letting him know I know why he’s calling.
A grunt and what sounds like glass crunching in the background. “Yeah, he’s here. Better get down here quick, Keaton, or I’ll be forced to call the cops if he tries to take his keys.”
“Fucking, hell,” I say more to myself than to Gerry Flint.
Gerry Flint is the owner of the Goat & Barrister, the one bar on Main Street. He’s a decent man, but with the history between us, we’re never going to be friends.
His daughter had bashed my heart in with a bat … and even if we’d been chummy once, there was no coming back from that.
Sprinting to the parking lot, I’m peeling out and swerving through town in a frenzy. Two cars actually honk at me on my way to the bar, and road rage is unheard of in our town.
Within five minutes of the phone call, I’m walking into the Goat. It’s a dark tavern, with wood paneling and old British-inspired decor. The person Gerry called about is slumped over the sticky, cherry-top bar, but I can tell he isn’t sleeping.
“Fletcher.” I sigh, not knowing if his name is a curse, a question or simply a resigned greeting.
My brother looks up, his eyes glassy, a cut above his lip bleeding, and then turns back to Gerry, who is polishing glasses behind the bar.
“You called him, you asshole? I don’t need a daddy, or didn’t you hear mine is dead?” Fletch practically spits at the owner, and I cringe.
“That’s enough, Fletch. Let’s go, I’ll drive you home. Gerry, thank you for calling. Can I have his keys? We’ll pick his car up later.”
There was smashed glass under his chair, and I could see beer dripping from a poster over a table on the other wall. As I neared, I caught a whiff of Fletcher and had to hold my breath. He’d definitely pissed himself, and it was possible there was throw up on his T-shirt. Fuck, and I was going to let him in my car?
My youngest brother … the family addict. I blew out a breath, trying to hold my temper at bay. Fletch had always been a party boy, he was the one you called for a good time. When Dad was alive, he kept it under wraps more … although Bowen and I had been the ones to bail him out of jail twice; once when he was eighteen and once when he was twenty, both for being drunk and disorderly. It got worse after that, and when I still lived at home, I’d find liquor bottles hidden in all sorts of places. The year after Dad died, he got a DUI and had been forced into an out-patient rehab as part of his court sentence. That had lasted all of six months, and he’d been slowly drinking himself to death since.
“I can drive.” He pushes my hand away when I try to help lift him off the stool. “Hey, get your hands off me, pussy!”
I don’t consider myself to have a short fuse, on the contrary mine’s probably pretty long, but I’ve had it with Fletcher. I know he’s an addict, and I know it’s a disease, but when you’re in it, watching a family member ruin their life, it’s hard not to get angry.
“I said, let’s fucking go. Or would you rather I call the cops on you, brother?” I bite out.
Fletcher cracks up laughing, his body swaying as he stands. “Oh, man, I ruffled Keaton’s feathers, I’m in big trouble!”
He cackles, poking my chest. “I’m not scared of you, big brother, and I’m definitely more fun than you. Not all of us want to live our lives celibate with our collar buttoned up to our eyeballs.”
My blood was boiling, sending hurricane waves crashing in my ears, and I had to bite my fingernails into my palms to stop from snapping his head back with a good sucker punch.
Instead, I grabbed his elbow and pulled him across the bar, past Gerry, who calls out as I’m about to push the door open into the sunny street outside.
“You need to do something about that, Keaton. Sooner or later, he’s going to kill himself. Or someone else.”
His tone hits a nerve in me, and I turn with my hand still wrapped around my brother’s elbow so he can’t bolt for the door. “You’re the one who served him until the early hours of the morning!”
Gerry shrugs. “It’s a business, Nash. I’m a bartender, not a nurse or his mama.”
That snaps my patience. “Don’t tell me how to take care of my family, Gerry. You raised a daughter who left behind a good life, both with me and with you. Don’t act like you know how to influence or control someone any better than I can. As I recall, you asked her to reconsider her choice, and she still left. So don’t tell me how to handle my business.”
The man’s face falls, but his upper-lip stiffens. “Boy, if you don’t realize by now that she did you a favor, you’re a moron. You weren’t right for each other, we all saw it. Get your romantic head out of your ass and get over it. And get out of my bar. I don’t want to see your brother in here again.”
My gut burns as I push out of the bar, the sun forcing me to squint. Just an hour ago, I’d relished taking in the early morning rays, and the fresh smell of the day.
“Don’t bring me home. Mom can’t know. Please, Keat,” Fletcher begs me, and a part of me sympathizes with him.
Somewhere in my brain, I know he can’t help the way he is. And I also don’t want to subject our poor mother to this.
“I’ll bring you to Bowen’s, but just know he’s going to kick your ass when he gets home.”
Now, with my sick, broken brother leaning on my shoulder at eight a.m., I can’t wait for this shit day to be over already.
8
Keaton
“Stir that caramel. And don’t give me that look, asshole. You’re silent today, remember?”
Bowen’s voice is clipped as he orders Fletcher around, but I’m too damn hot to notice. It has to be about a thousand degrees in this tent, and I wonder for the tenth year in a row, why we allow Mom to force us into manning the caramel corn booth at the Summer Kickoff Carn
ival.
It’s a Nash tradition! That’s what she says to us every year, and her hopeful expression and wistful tone of voice ropes us all in with an extra side serving of guilt.
I bag a fresh batch of popcorn; the steam rising from the bowl I’m scooping from sends sweat dripping down every part of my body. And I mean every part … my balls are chafing so bad that I want to dunk them in one of those industrial ice machines right now.
“How come Forrest doesn’t have to do any of the manual labor?” Fletcher whines.
Forrest answers, speaking in the third person. “Because Forrest is the only one who knows how to operate the credit card app on his cell phone. And Mom trusts me with the money. Now be quiet, you dick. You landed yourself in caramel hell.”
Bowen and I shoot each other a somber look. After the incident with Fletcher the other morning, the question of an intervention or rehab is no longer something we have to answer. Time is running out, and we are meeting with Forrest in a few days to plan exactly how we are going to get our brother help.
“Hey, Bowie, did you end up going out with that chick the other night?” Forrest asks, tinkering around with the makeshift cash register he’s set up.
My middle brother growls at the use of the nickname, but answers, “If you mean by go out, did I go over to her place and have her moaning my name? Then yes.”
I crack up because what else would Bowen have done. He didn’t date and was the crudest out of all of us.
Forrest high fives him. “Bro, help me out. The last girl I went out with friend-zoned me after I took her out on three dates and paid!”
“You should pay. Every time.” I roll my eyes at him. “And just because you take a girl out doesn’t mean she’s going to sleep with you.”
I felt like his father, lecturing him on treating a woman right.
Forrest shoots me a scowl. “I know that, thanks, old man. And I’m not saying she had to, I would never force a woman …”
“He’s just saying he doesn’t have enough game to complete the pass.” Fletcher chuckles from where he stands stirring the caramel.
“Shut the fuck up!” Forrest yells at his twin.
Bowen walks over to Forrest, rubbing his shoulders and smirking. “Aw, baby bro, do you need tips on how to satisfy a woman?”
“Get away from me.” Forrest shrugs him off, and we all laugh.
“When you’re ready to learn tips from the master, I’ll be here.” Bowen flexes his hips suggestively.
“Bowen Nash, behave!” Mom walks into the tent, and we all straighten up like we’ve just been caught.
“Sorry, Ma.” Bowen ducks his head and gets back to work, helping me bag.
We work quietly as the tinker of carnival music sings in the background, and customers come in droves to buy the Nash’s caramel corn.
Our family has manned this booth for more than twenty years, and way before my brothers and I were ever the ones doing the work. The Summer Kickoff Carnival is also a Fawn Hill institution, taking place in Bloomsbury Park and running for a whole week. There are rides, games, raffles, food booths set up by all the local restaurants and concerts on the weekend nights.
“Oh, Presley, how nice to see you!” My mom’s voice brings me out of my popcorn making concentration.
“Eliza, this smells amazing!”
I turn slowly, trying not to seem too eager. She stands in front of our booth, checking out the operation, and waves slightly when our eyes connect. She’s in Daisy Duke jean shorts, scuffed sneakers and a plain white V-neck tee that has me trying to peer down into her cleavage. Her scarlet hair is down in loose curls, and I wonder what it might be like to lick some of our homemade caramel off of her … lips.
“Hey.” I nod.
My brothers all look at me at once, and I want to punch them all in the bicep. Real subtle, guys.
“These are my sons. I think you’ve met Keaton. This is Bowen, and my twins, Forrest and Fletcher.” My mom motions to us like we’re plates she pulls out for special occasions.
My brothers wave or say hi, but I can see the interest in their eyes. They think she’s hot, and I guess I can’t blame them. But I still make a sound in the back of my throat without even meaning to, and Bowen’s amused eyes hold a question as he looks at me.
“Wow. I didn’t realize the hot vet had more hot brothers.” She laughs.
Did she just call me hot?
“Oh, I’m sure Keaton didn’t tell you how fun the rest of us are. He’s the boring one. How are you doing on this fine day?” Fletcher saunters over to the front table in the tent, giving Presley his Cheshire smile.
But before she can answer, Bowen physically turns him back toward the large boiling pots of caramel and shoves the ladle back into his hand.
Her green eyes twinkle with amusement.
“Are you here with anyone?” My mom asks.
“Just my grandma, but she wandered off to talk to the high school vice principal.” She shrugs as Bowen hands her a bag of caramel corn, and she tastes a piece. “Wow, this is so good!”
“Well, since you have a free minute, maybe you could accompany Keaton on the Ferris wheel. He was just saying how he wanted to go on it.”
Forrest snorts as my stomach drops. My meddling, manipulative mother … the Ferris wheel of all things. Is she purposely trying to embarrass me?
Presley must catch on to my mother’s setup because she smirks at me. “Is that so? Well, you all look kind of busy …”
“Oh, I insist. He’s been working so hard all day, and I’m sure he’d love the company of a beautiful woman such as yourself.”
“Mom, stop, she’s clearly doing other things and I have to help here.”
If I didn’t respect and fear my mother so much, I’d wring her neck right now. I should have told her that the woman shot me down not more than a week ago. Being in any kind of confined space after that rejection was going to be humiliating to say the least.
“Okay. Let’s go.” Presley winks at me as Mom turns her head to beam in my direction.
I blow out a breath. Well, this was going to be awkward.
My brothers wolf whistle as I shed the apron I was wearing and wipe the sweat off my forehead, then leave the booth trailing Presley.
We wait on line for the Ferris wheel without talking, and as the attendant straps the metal bar down over our laps, I’m fully aware of my side pressing right into her side. Sneakers touch sneakers, knees kiss, and her smooth bare arms rub up against mine.
Being this close to her as we ride up, up, up makes me want to do crazy things. The tight control I always have on myself and my life seems to tilt on its axis when this woman is around.
“So, if I ask you out again, are you going to give me a non-answer?”
Presley chuckles. “Look at you, doc, being so direct.”
I shrug as our car crests to the top of the wheel again. “I don’t really play games, Presley. And you should know, I usually don’t date. But I want to date you.”
There. It was out there now, and I was being a grown man about this finally. Sure, I was scared shitless, and it was probably a horrible idea to date someone with my past, but from what I’d seen so far, I liked the woman.
Presley’s eyes are fixed on mine. “I usually don’t date either. I’m not exactly uncomplicated, Keaton.”
“No one said I don’t have my baggage. But I’m not asking for anything other than a nice night out with you.”
Her red mane flutters in the warm night air as she turns away for a second, looking over the town from our aerial position.
“Okay. One date.” She slowly swings her face back to me, a small smile gracing her full lips.
Internally, I high five myself. “It was the caramel corn, wasn’t it?”
She throws her head back in a laugh. “Honestly, it was probably your mother. I never want to disappoint that woman, she’s so wonderful.”
I’d have to thank my mom later for scoring me a date with this beautiful woman.
“Would Saturday night work?”
The Ferris wheel brings us down and back up again, stopping while we’re about halfway up.
“Tomorrow is Saturday,” she deadpans.
I nod. “Yep. I don’t want you to change your mind. Plus, I’m not getting any younger. I’ll pick you up at seven? You’re staying with Hattie, right?”
She looks a little bulldozed, which I kind of like. Presley seems like the kind of girl who usually calls the shots when it comes to her love life, and I want to unbalance her a little. I’ve never had the urge to be spontaneous or cavalier, but with her, I’m starting to realize that my usual straitlaced rules don’t apply.
“Yeah, I’m at Hattie’s. How old are you, anyway? And what’s your middle name? I should at least know the basics before I go on a date with you. You could be a serial killer.”
Her expression is sarcastic, and I grin. “Wouldn’t that be a twist? The town veterinarian is actually a real-life Dexter? I’m thirty, and my middle name is William.”
Presley nods as if analyzing the two short tidbits of information I’ve given her. “Hmm, an older man. I don’t know how we’ll find anything in common with this three-year age gap.”
This woman is a ballbuster, and it’s interesting to find that her humor is growing on me. I’ve normally dated quiet, sweet girls.
“Oh, I think we can probably find some common ground.” I lean in a little closer and watch her gaze drop to my lips.
She pulls away a little, catching herself.
“Don’t worry, Presley. I’m not going to kiss you on this Ferris wheel. You’re not a cliché moment kind of girl, that much I can tell. And we haven’t even gone on a date yet. You should know I’m a gentleman. A gentleman who doesn’t play games. When I kiss you, we’ll both be ready for it.”
9
Presley
As usual, there were fourteen discarded outfits on my bed, two hair tools heating on my dresser, and enough makeup to fill a tractor trailer, spilling from the drawers of my nightstand.
Nash Brothers Box Set Page 4
