Nash Brothers Box Set

by Carrie Aarons

  “Until next year, fam.” Fletcher salutes once almost all the work is done. “I have a meeting.”

  Mom kisses him on the cheek, tells him she’s proud of him, and we all watch him go.

  “He’s doing well,” Keaton observes.

  I have to agree. “I didn’t think we’d ever see the day.”

  “Your brother is much stronger than you all think. He may have had some stumbles, but he’ll succeed more than any of you.”

  “Way to have a favorite child, Ma.” Bowen snickers.

  My arms wrap around her in a hug. “All right, while it’s been fun being told I’m not successful, I have to skedaddle.”

  Mom rolls her eyes at all of us. “None of you ever needed much help to achieve your dreams. Don’t twist my words.”

  “Too late, woman!” I yell over my shoulder as I retreat to the sidewalk.

  It takes ten minutes to walk home. Driving to the fair would have been a stupid idea, it would have taken me just as long to find my car in the miles-long gravel lot the town set up for those who decided to park on the carnival grounds.

  The night air allows me to clear my head, to get the ringing of the day’s busy and loud atmosphere out of my head. Because when I get home, it’s back to work on the financial cyber-theft case.

  Shooting a text off to Penelope, I wish her a good night and add in that I’ll miss her boobs. She’d asked if I wanted to come by after our booth shut down, but I know I need to solve this. It’s gotten too far out of hand, and I’m this close. I can feel it.

  My house is dark and quiet when I walk in, a welcome change from the events of the day. I make a pot of coffee to sustain my energy for the all-nighter I’ll probably pull and then fire up my computer.

  The first thing I open is my email and promptly drop the entire mug of freshly brewed caffeine straight to the floor. The scalding liquid drips down my leg, onto my desk chair, the mug broken into splinters of ceramic in pools of brown coffee on the hardwood.

  But I can’t feel the burns clearly indenting my flesh. I don’t move to clean it up.

  Because sitting there, as the first message in my in-box, is a picture of Penelope outside of her house, ushering the kids in the door. It’s been shot from a long lens, and clearly, she has no idea the picture is being taken.

  Underneath, the words cause my heart to sink like an anvil. “Stop searching for me or be prepared to lose her.”

  The sender’s ID has been masked, and I know I need to get to work. To run diagnostics on it, to trace the message back to its origins. I know I should call Captain Kline, tell him about the now two personal connections I have to this case. First, there was Keaton and Bowen’s businesses, and now someone is threatening the woman I love.

  I should do all of that … but I just sit frozen, staring at it. I have to catch this person before he does irreparable harm to my family. And I have to do it myself. I won’t rest until he’s behind bars … or worse.

  33

  Forrest

  “So, you couldn’t do something without my help, huh?”

  Ryan stands in my doorway, huge duffel bag slung over her arm, and a sleek silver laptop case in the other.

  “Just so we’re clear, my captain gave me his approval to use a consultant, but no one else knows about this case or that you’re helping me with it. So this is strictly between us.”

  The raven-haired knockout walks into my house on her super-model long legs. “Whatever you say, buddy boy. So, show me what you’re working with.”

  I lead her to my “case headquarters” of sorts or the part of my house that could probably be described as something out of a Netflix crime show. There are three gigantic computer screens at the back of the living room, over which hangs a huge whiteboard. The computer towers underneath the makeshift desk whir with speed and heat, working on hacking every hackable thing I can find to unearth this person.

  On the whiteboard hangs sheets of bank statements, lines of code, possible theories, and other documents.

  “Well, fuck, this looks like something out of Killing Eve …” An amused smile paints Ryan’s lips.

  Presley’s best friend from New York City is a total bombshell. She’s got the whole dark-haired beauty thing going on, and most of the time I’m not sure if she’s going to joke around with me or eat me for breakfast. Ryan is that effortless cool girl in a Victoria’s Secret model’s body, but with a computer nerd side that makes her so geeky, it’s hot. She should be the total package for me, and I see why Presley tried to set us up.

  The only thing is, there is absolutely zero sexual chemistry between us. When I look at her, I can appreciate how attractive she is, but nothing deep in my gut stirs. My cock doesn’t twitch nor does my tongue tie when I think about talking to her.

  We’re strictly platonic, and since we met at Presley and Keaton’s wedding, we’ve been professional friends. I’ve helped her with a few coding problems, and she’s consulted on a few of my cases … even though Kline wasn’t privy to those previous times.

  With the email that had been sent, I knew drastic measures were necessary. It was now, or this would all end in …

  I didn’t want to think about how it would end.

  So I put on a brave face, called Ryan, strapped my proverbial boots on, and shut off my mind to everything other than catching this prick.

  Inside, I’m a hollowed-out shell. After the email came through with the surveillance pictures of Penelope and the kids, I cut off contact. It’s been a full week and I haven’t seen her, returned calls, answered texts, or responded to any of my brothers’, or their wives, persistent nagging about dumping Penelope without so much as a goodbye.

  They don’t know what kind of danger I’ve put her in, or the threats that have implicitly been made against them. If anything ever happened to her because of me …

  I don’t know what I’d do.

  When I’d brought dinner over to her house, I basically all but told her I love her. Without saying the words, I hoped to convey that meaning. Because I do … love her. What I feel for Penelope is stronger than any other human emotion I’ve ever held for another person.

  But if there is a choice between keeping her safe and cutting out my own heart? I’d pick the latter every single time.

  I am a self-proclaimed reformed asshole, so I know how to piss a woman off when it comes to matters of the heart. The best way to douse a romance with a bucket of cold water is to ghost her; give her absolutely no reason as to why you are ceasing all contact and then let her anger build while you ignore every attempt she makes to reach out.

  Pretty soon, I’ll get a rage voicemail or text message. One that claims how much of a jerk I am, that I am a piece of shit for tricking her and her kids into thinking better of me. That she hadn’t wanted to start this in the first place, and who was I to leave her? That I am a selfish player who has no regard for anyone but himself.

  She’s not going to be wrong, but Penelope would also never know how deeply leaving her is killing me.

  After I lay out the entire case to Ryan and show her the ways in which I’d caught him seconds too late, we get to work. She’s busy tracing my steps, working backward on the progress I’d made with a fresh set of eyes. I am damn good at what I do, but it is personal … so it’s possible I missed something.

  While she does that, I slave away, hacking my way through every available network in the state of Pennsylvania, and some beyond. If I catch even an inkling of our suspect, I follow the trail.

  “Hey, Forrest, I came over to see if you still have that tube of foot cream you never used … have that wart again on my left toe, I guess I’m going to see if Keaton can freeze it off. I’m an animal, right?”

  I don’t know how long we’ve been working when a door slams somewhere in the house. The next second, Fletcher walks into my living room after entering through the back door and stops dead when he sees Ryan sitting on my couch.

  “Hey, Fletcher.” I can practically see the giggle s
he’s holding in as she greets my twin brother.

  He runs a hand through is hair, a pinkish blush marking his cheeks. “Oh, jeez, didn’t know you had company. Uh, hey, Ryan. I … didn’t know you were coming into town.”

  “Neither did I, but your brother apparently needs help and just can’t resist admitting his failure to me,” she jabs at me.

  “That’s not what happened,” I grumble. “The foot cream is in my bathroom.”

  Fletcher’s face deepens to an even redder shade. “Uh, yeah, thanks. So, Ryan, how long will you be here? How have you been?”

  One look at my twin and you can tell he’s so into Ryan, it’s pathetic. Not that I blame him if I can’t be I guess it’s great that someone appreciates her for how awesome she is.

  I’m just heartbroken and sulking in my dark web corner.

  My coding counterpart sits up a little higher, assessing my brother with a furtive head-to-toe glance. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be here, right now that’s confidential. But I’ve been good. Just got back from a consulting gig in Thailand, and before that, I spent about a month in London. Happy to be home though, I need a little bit of downtime.”

  “Can’t get much more down-home than Fawn Hill.” Fletcher grins, but I see the signs of something I can’t describe lurking in his eyes.

  “How about you? Presley sent me a picture of the art piece you made them for their wedding. It looks incredible. That’s what you’re doing now?”

  Fletch shrugs. “It’s just a hobby. I’m no artist, just a recovering alcoholic trying to make some extra cash.”

  I frown at his description of himself. I might be a selfish jerk, but I do know my brother is good at what he does. “Don’t listen to him. He’s fucking talented. Someday, he’ll make it a career.”

  My brother gives me a sheepish grin. “Well, I’ll leave you guys to it. If I don’t see you before you go, it was … uh, nice seeing you.”

  And then he runs out as if his balls are on fire. My typically smooth-talking, crowd favorite brother just acted like a stuttering pre-teen unable to properly speak to a girl he has a crush on. If he was trying to succeed in lifting my mood a little, he’d outdone himself.

  Ryan looked particularly entertained. “Your brother always that awkward?”

  “Honestly, no. I think you might scare him.” I chuckle, going back to work.

  “Me? Scary? No way. I’m just slightly aggressive and have an easily triggered temper. Nothing to be scared of,” she tells me. “I don’t think any guy that gorgeous has ever run away from me like that.”

  I turn to her, assessing the tone in which she said it. Ryan looks somewhat affronted, as if she wants to do something about my brother sprinting away from her.

  “Word of advice, Ryan? My brother is recently sober. He’s had a wreck of a past and needs all the focus he can get to put his life back on track. You don’t live here, and if you don’t have even the purest of intentions … then stay away from him. Yeah?”

  For a beat, she considers me. “Yeah. For the record, I think you’re way more loyal and caring than you ever let on.”

  The scowl I throw her resonates through my whole body. “Don’t tell anyone else that.”

  34

  Penelope

  Checking my phone, I home in on the last text I sent Forrest.

  Penelope: You’re really doing this? Leaving without any explanation. My goddamn kids have been asking about you, you piece of shit. How could you do this to them? How could you do this to me? All of your ‘I want a life with you’ talk was fucking bullshit. You’re just as much of an asshole as I always thought you were. Choke and die.

  Okay, so maybe my sign-off is a little harsh. But, I am fucking pissed. The first guy I dare to let into my life in the last three years, and he fucking ghosted me. Forrest Nash was, as usual, all talk and no action. The minute things start to get serious, of his own doing, by the way, he ran away like a little boy. No, worse than a little boy, because at least I raised my kids to be more mature and honorable than him.

  It has been a whole week since I heard from the man who was supposed to, without saying it out loud, love me. Shit, I thought I was in love with him. It made me even more of a moron than I probably actually am, and now he is making a fool of me.

  And I am not going down without a fight. I’ll take my swing and maybe fulfill my promise of cutting his balls off.

  So here I am, at Forrest’s front door. My heart is in my throat, the sparks of anger flying from the tips of my fingers to my toes.

  I knock, dread filling me to the brim, almost at a nauseous level. It takes a minute or two, but then his front door opens, revealing him.

  “Penelope, what are you doing here?” Forrest says with a start, clearly not expecting me at all.

  He looks outside and around as if trying to make sure no one sees me enter.

  What the hell? My heart slams into my chest wall. Is this how far we’ve sunk? Back to the fuck buddy days?

  “You haven’t returned my calls in days …” I start, not even sure what to say now that I’m actually here.

  He’s been ignoring my efforts to reach out after we admitted we had feelings for each other. After saying he wanted to take my kids on a vacation or buy them birthday presents.

  “Yeah, and?” His eyes are shifty like he’s wasting time talking to me right now.

  Inside, I want to die. Not only did I seek him out, but now he’s thoroughly embarrassing me.

  “You’re a fucking coward,” I spit, wanting to claw his eyes out I’m so ashamed.

  This man made me fall in love with him, and now he won’t even look me in the eyes.

  “Forrest, I have something for you!” A voice yells from inside the house.

  I freeze, every drop of blood in my body going ice cold. That is a female voice. In his house. When he hasn’t returned my calls in days. I swallow the urge to cry and push past him, because I have a right to see the woman who he’s cheating with.

  Cheat … what a funny word. We hadn’t even spoken about being exclusive … I bet that will be his excuse when I confront him in five seconds.

  I skid to a stop just inside his living room, my eyes blinking once, and then twice. “Wha … what are you doing here?”

  Ryan, Presley’s best friend from New York, is sitting on Forrest’s couch in a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt … visibly wearing no bra underneath. A laptop is perched in her lap, and from the containers of takeout food on the coffee table, I can tell she’s been here a while.

  “Hey, Penelope, good to see you!” Her face lights up, and I want to double over and hurl up the contents of my stomach on the carpet.

  A week ago, Forrest Nash all but told me he wanted to spend his life with me. And now I find him in his home, with another woman … one he’s admitted he thinks is sexy.

  Instead of answering her, I stomp back to Forrest, grab his elbow, and drag him to his kitchen.

  Once we’re standing next to the refrigerator, I lay into him.

  “What the hell is going on? Is this why you haven’t called me in a week? You have Ryan in here after professing to me that you want to take my kids to Disney World? You’re pathetic. And don’t even have the balls to call this off to my face. You ghosted me, just like a millennial asshole like you would do. God, I’m so fucking stupid.”

  “Is that what you think?” He’s callous, barely even looking in my direction as a muscle twitches in his jaw.

  “Tell me what I’m supposed to think, Forrest!” I whisper-yell since Ryan is only feet away.

  His face is impassive, and those blue eyes won’t even focus fully on me. “I guess you just have to assume what you already do. That we’re fucking.”

  It feels like someone just took a hatchet to my heart, whacking it away piece by piece. And there he stands, the man who I’ve irrationally fallen in love with, not saying anything to dissuade me from the notion that he flew in a girl for the weekend. Sour spit begins to pool in my cheeks, and I kno
w I’m going to be sick if I don’t get out of here.

  I gave my heart to someone once, and he took it with him to the grave. And now, the second time I try to summon the courage to be with someone, Forrest is handing it back in a trash bag like yesterday’s garbage.

  “Go to hell. You deserve this miserable little life you have.” My words are venom, and I hope they burn him from the inside out.

  Without acknowledging Ryan, I run out the front door. All the air in my lungs seizes, and I don’t feel myself take a full breath until I’m parked in my driveway.

  The lights twinkle from my house, and I see one of the boys pass in the window as my mom follows him, yelling about something before bedtime.

  That’s when I lose it, the sobs choking out of me in cathartic, rhythmic tidal waves. I know that in two minutes, when I’m forced to walk inside, my face will have to be dry, devoid of any sign of this breakdown.

  Because in two minutes, I’ll have to bandage up the hurt and get on with it. Be strong for everyone else in my life, just like I always have been.

  35

  Penelope

  The doorbell rings, and I curse as I step on a LEGO trying to get to it.

  I expect to see my mom on the other side, for some unexplainable reason. She isn’t due, but I’m having a particularly rough day, and that woman is psychic when it comes to determining what I might need. She always has been with her kids, but me especially since I live down the street from her.

  So I’m shocked to see Keaton Nash standing at the door, takeout fried chicken in hand.

  “Hey, friend. Brought you dinner.” He holds up the large bag, full of containers, and smiles his Keaton-smile.

  But he doesn’t fool me. I may love their wives, but Nash men have been on my shit list for the last five days. Ever since I discovered Forrest cheating on me with Ryan, after ghosting me no less, I am on a self-prescribed hiatus from all things Nash. Even now, just looking at Keaton, my heart stings with the betrayal his brother put me through.