Now, I can’t imagine my life without it. Woodworking, turning scraps and discarded planks into something beautiful, there was a symmetry to it. A dedication that required time and great detail. When I finished a piece, I could gaze upon it with the utter satisfaction that my hands made that creation.
“That’s looking great,” I hear my twin brother’s voice as I finish sanding off the last plank that will make up Molly’s crib.
Turning, I spot Forrest standing in the doorway of the barn I use for my work. That friend I bumped into, Grady Burton, offered it to me when he saw what I did with the pallets. Call it a handout, but I took it willingly. The space is lofty enough that I didn’t choke on sawdust, and out in the middle of several acres, so I could work in peace. In exchange, I help him out with whatever he needs, from hauling hay to harvesting crops.
“Yeah, I’m just trying to finish it. The kid will need a place of her own to sleep soon. Have you seen Bowen recently? He looks like an exhausted, caged tiger. The guy is going to keel over if he doesn’t get some sleep and alone time with his wife soon.”
Running a hand over the curved headboard piece of the crib, Forrest chuckles. “If he wanted alone time with his wife, he shouldn’t have had a kid. Trust me, I know.”
“Part of me still can’t believe you’re a family man.” I wipe my sweaty forehead and grab the water jug off the folding table that doubles as a workbench, taking a large swig.
“Sometimes, I can’t either. But, it’s my life now. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” He shrugs. “Hey, did you hear I caught another criminal? Just call me Detective Perfect Record.”
And there’s the twin I know. Forrest has always been the most boastful brother, probably because he feels the most unlike the rest of us. Where we were all blessed with baseball arms and charm, my lookalike got the wit and intellect. He’s a damn genius, but I won’t dare stroke his ego and tell him.
I applaud sarcastically. “We all live in a safer world simply because of you. All hail Forrest.”
He rolls his eyes, knowing I’m mocking him. “By the way, did you steal my leather belt again? I can’t find it anywhere.”
Shit. I forgot I took that. “Maybe …”
“Fletch, you know it’s weird that you borrow clothes from your brothers, right?”
I shrug. “All the girls I know who have sisters do it. Your wife swaps wardrobes with Lily and Presley all the time.”
“Because they’re chicks. Guys don’t do that,” Forrest protests.
“Why can’t we? I don’t feel like going to the store to grab a new belt, and I know you have a couple. It saves us all money. I’ll let you borrow something of mine so we can call it even.”
My brother shakes his head. “That logic doesn’t make sense. Would you let Bowen borrow your boxers?”
I consider this. “If he needed them.”
“So, you’d wear a piece of clothing that your brother’s ball sweat was on?” Forrest’s mouth is set in a deep frown, and he cringes from the idea.
Placing the water jug, half empty now, back on my makeshift workbench, I pick up a can of stain and a paintbrush.
“I mean, I guess if I didn’t have another option. Or if they had a cool print. Like big fluffy dogs or something. Or maybe rocket ships. Boxers have to have a cool print, or you don’t have that secret, confident swag under your clothes.”
Forrest ponders my last sentence. “Hmm, I guess you might be right. I do have some sick plaid briefs that Penelope loves …”
I begin slathering stain onto the smooth planks that will assemble to make the crib.
“You need something? You know why I work all the way out here …” My family knows my preference for being alone while I’m creating.
He walks over to the other side of the barn, inspecting some of the half-finished stuff I’ve cast aside for the crib project.
“What’s this going to be?” he asks, his hands pulling out a large, circular object.
I glance over my shoulder, starting to get annoyed by his presence. “A clock. I’m trying to teach myself about how to build one using all wooden gears, hands, inner-workings, that sort of thing.”
My brother studies it. “You’ll have to put the gears like this.”
He makes a motion with his hands, and of course, it took him less than three seconds to figure out how to build one when I’ve been reading books on it for three weeks.
“Do you need something?” I snap, wanting him gone.
I only have so much time to come out here and work between my shifts at the grocery store, helping Grady, helping Mom, babysitting, and all the other shit that takes me away from my passion.
“Saw Ryan walking home from the yoga studio the other day.” Forrest drops this casually into conversation like I don’t know what he’s trying to get at.
“You’re my twin brother. We have the same mind. Yes, I know she’s in town. No, I don’t want to talk about it. No, I’m not going to stand here and gossip about chicks with you while you, the married man, tries to set me up.”
“There has always been that thing between you,” he points out, still trying to badger me about this.
“Forrest, drop it. I’m not dating, you know that. And the first time I met Ryan, everyone was trying to fix you two up.”
He waves this off like he didn’t have her staying with him the last time I saw her two years ago. “That’s ancient history, and we had zero chemistry. I’m a happily married man, now. Who just wants to see his baby brother happy.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re older by half a minute.”
“Thirty-seven seconds to be exact.” he counters.
“Whatever. Regardless, I don’t want to be with anyone. I’m focusing on me and am in no place to take care of someone else.”
Forrest comes to sit and watch me work, taking up the empty stool next to my folding table.
“Fletch, it’s been almost five years. Don’t they tell recovering alcoholics not to get into a relationship for the first year? You’ve held up that promise four times over. And your promise to yourself was that you’d never be involved with a woman again until it was the real deal. Brother, I’m telling you that you and Ryan could be the real deal. Everyone sees it, we all feel those fuck me vibes whenever you two are in the same room. Hell, when she came to help me with that case, I thought you two were going to bone on the couch in front of me.”
I try to ignore the blaring facts alarm going off in my head because it too remembers how much I jerked off to fantasies of Ryan in the weeks after I’d found her at Forrest’s old place. But his tone is pissing me off, as is his message.
“Will everyone just get off my dick about this? Jesus, the woman hasn’t been in town more than a week and I’ve seen the way everyone is frothing at the mouth for us to fall madly in love.”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. I’m just looking out for you. When you decide to get off your celibate soapbox and apply logic to your life, call me.”
With that, Forrest hops off the stool and exits my barn, leaving me to work in peace.
But damn him, I can’t stop hearing the echo of his words in my ears.
The jerk planted this seed of an idea, that Ryan could be the girl I could get serious about, and it won’t stop pressing at my frontal lobe.
I’m going to have to pummel him for this.
7
Fletcher
“You’re seriously allowing your kid to have a manhunt party for his birthday?”
I look skeptically at Penelope, my sister-in-law. She married my twin brother, Forrest, two years ago in a courthouse ceremony. And my brother then adopted her three young boys. Surprisingly, he’s become one of the best father figures I’ve ever witnessed interact with children. Who would have known? I was happy for him though and having three rowdy nephews keeps me on my toes.
“Take that judgment out of your tone, Fletcher,” Penelope scolds me, setting up a table in their driveway.
She throws a
colorful tablecloth over the folding table and then begins putting cups, plates and plastic silverware on top. It’s dusk, with the summer sun sending rays cascading over the rooftops of the houses in her and Forrest’s neighborhood.
“I’m just saying … it’s a game where people hunt other people in the dark and then drag them back to the ‘jail.’ Which in this case, is your garage. You don’t think this could get ugly? Or some other mischief could be happening out in those woods?” I raise an eyebrow, trying to suggest something.
“He’s twelve, Fletcher. If you don’t think any of those boys or girls in his grade haven’t kissed each other yet, I don’t want to know how oblivious you’ll be as a parent.”
Forrest snorts at his wife’s tongue lashing of me. “And when did you become so morally righteous? What were you doing as a twelve-year-old?”
Well, maybe he has a point. I was stealing cans of beer from Keaton and Bowen’s parties in the farm fields. And actually, probably doing much worse than an innocent game of manhunt.
“Fine, if this is what the kid wants for his birthday, I’ll make it the best damn manhunt party he’s ever seen.” I clap my hands together.
“Uncle Fletch! Uncle Fletch!” Matthew and Travis run into the driveway, the garage lights from several houses illuminating the block.
“My dudes!” I high five my adopted nephews and then ruffle their hair.
Who knew I’d love being an uncle so much? The kids are a blast, and I get to let my goofy side out, even more, when I’m with them. I help Forrest and Penelope out a lot by picking them up from practice or school, and they look at me as more of a friend than an authority figure. I know that Molly will do the same one day, but for now, she just has me wrapped around her miniature-sized pinky.
“Are you going to be on my team?” Travis bounces up and down, not yet at the age where excitement is no longer cool.
“You bet your ass I am.” I elbow him after I curse, and the boys giggle. “We’re going to crush those hiders. How many kids you got coming to this thing, anyway?”
He ponders the question for a minute, while Matthew begins sneaking bites of cookie off the snack table his mom set up. “About thirty. Plus all the old people.”
And by old people, he means my brothers, sisters-in-law, and myself. Damn, are we really being called the oldies now?
“Well, the old people might just kick your butt.” Bowen comes walking up, hand in hand with Lily.
They greet me with a fist bump and a hug respectively. “Where is baby lady tonight?”
Lily’s eyes look weepy. “Eliza is watching her, she’s already asleep. I’ll have to run home in a few hours to feed her, but Bowen thought it would be fun to get out.”
“Don’t sound so miserable about it.” Bowen kisses his wife’s forehead as she sniffles. “Molly is fine, babe, and it’ll be fun to get out just the two of us for a little while.”
“You’re right. I just miss her already.” My sister-in-law blinks rapidly, and Bowen leads her away for some privacy.
“Okayyyy,” I blow out a breath, not wanting to deal with that kind of emotional baggage tonight. “Let’s get this party started!”
About half an hour later, nightfall has descended, and so have the town’s pre-teens. They’re all gathered in the driveway, listening to Penelope lay ground rules about the game.
“You’re going to split into two teams, one will hide first and the others will hunt. No straying, if we get a call that you’re on Main Street, you’ve gone too far. No physical violence, we’re not playing tackle and capture here. If I find you destroying property, I’ll escort you down to the police station myself. Don’t spook the neighbors, who have been warned about this little game going on. All in all, have fun, but be respectful!”
I’d say that’s a fair ask, and the kids don’t voice any objections. I can see a couple of the boys and girls eyeing each other, and it makes me nostalgic. I remember the days of first crushes and innocent flirting.
“Okay, split up, and we’ll give the hiders a five-minute head start. Go!” Forrest yells, and all the kid’s scatter.
“I’m going to own these kids!” I holler, feeling the adrenaline course through me.
So, what, I’m almost thirty and still enthused by backyard games? I’ve used about eight of my nine lives and have to find enjoyment in the little things.
The world goes silent as some hide and others try to sneak up on them, and I edge around the side of Forrest’s house. My feet tread lightly, and a summer breeze brushes through my T-shirt as I snoop about.
There is a form in the shadows, and I smirk at how poorly someone hid. Here, in the trees behind Penelope and Forrest’s house, is such an obvious hiding spot. Or maybe that’s what they were going for, thinking that no one would check here because everyone would run miles away.
I skirt around the other side of the clump of hedges, careful not to make too much noise or the person will suspect me and flee. When I’m close enough, I reach out a hand, grab them by the upper arm, and whisper, “Gotcha.”
“Oh my God!” A female voice yelps, and from the sound, I know she’s not Travis’ age.
She moves into the light a bit, the moon illuminating one side of her face.
“Ryan?” My heart rate kicks up as I realize I’ve come across the one person I never thought I’d be hunting.
“Fletcher … jeez, you scared the crap out of me.” Five black-painted fingernails come up to massage her chest, like she’s recovering from a mild shock.
“I didn’t realize you were playing. I didn’t see you in the driveway.” I’m dumbfounded, and acutely aware that we’re alone, secluded in the bushes.
“I was standing out back with Keaton and Presley when Forrest yelled to start hiding. So, I made a dash for it. Figured, why not partake in the fun?”
She had the same idea I did. “Right.”
The silence envelops us, and we should move out of the hiding spot, but neither of us moves. An enchanting magnetism draws us closer, and rather than announce that I’ve captured a prisoner, I stay quiet, staring at her as she stares at me.
I shouldn’t do this, admire her fox-like features or search for answers to questions I can’t ask in those whiskey-colored eyes. My hand hasn’t moved from where it lightly holds her arm, and the longer I keep it there, the bigger the hole I’m digging myself into.
But, it could just be something we leave out here in the dark. A stolen moment between us that only the night will witness and won’t leave us tied to anything.
Without thinking further, my free hand reaches up to catch the silky ends of her locks, the dark hair slipping through my fingers like smooth silk. Ryan’s eyes flick down to where I touch her, and her eyes flutter closed as if I’ve put my hands in the most intimate of places. My God, is she sexy … and we’re both fully clothed, having only the lightest of contact.
“Fletcher …” The way she says my name is different than anyone who has ever called me by it before.
“Hm?” I ask distractedly, my gaze catching on her lips as she speaks.
Full and transfixing, I know that in the daylight they’re the color of ripe plums. I study them as they move again.
“Are you going to kiss me?” Ryan breathes, and my eyes flick up to hers.
The expression in them isn’t rejecting, but it isn’t inviting either. She’s not asking me to kiss her, she’s asking if I’m going to. I’m not sure what’s worse; being asked to kiss her when I know it will only harm both of us in the long run, or not knowing if she wants me to when I’ve decided it’s the only thing I want on earth.
The brush of her fingers over my tricep sends goose bumps over my flesh, and I realize she’s just touched me, too. Our mouths are inches apart now, and whether or not either of us have mentally agreed to this kiss, it seems to be happening.
Her scent catches in my nostrils, feminine and somewhat overpowering, in the best way possible. But it’s her perfume that finally breaks the spell, instead
of spurring me to run faster in the direction of danger.
“No,” I answer her question, untangling my fingers from her strands and backing away.
Because once I taste her, I know it will never be enough. I’ve barely been alone with her, but I feel it deep in my bones. There is something addicting about Ryan Shea. Which is the worst possible thing for me.
She eyes me warily, but almost in an understanding way, as I retreat backward, our eyes never dropping from one another.
I nod, hoping she gets why I can’t kiss her. On some deeper level, I feel more connected to this woman than almost anyone else in my life, and I don’t even know why.
Ryan nods back, confirming that she sees who I am past the face I put on for most people.
8
Ryan
The chiming of my ringtone wakes me from a dreamless sleep, panic hitting me as I sit up in bed.
No matter why your phone goes off at three a.m., it’s always going to incite some kind of fear. I throw the rumpled sheets off my body, disoriented in the strange guest cottage in the pitch-black night.
What if something was really wrong with Presley? No, they would have come out to tell me if that was it.
If this was Yanis blowing up my phone in the middle of the night, I was going to fucking kill him. Or better yet, block him entirely from ever calling me again. Which I should have already done, I know.
My hands fumble around in the dark, trying to grab at my phone which is still vibrating on some surface. Finally, I find it, and pick it up while squinting against the bright screen.
“Hello?” I say groggily, pushing a few sweaty strands from my face.
“Ryan? You picked up! Aw, listen, girl, I really need you. I got some people on my ass, and there is just some money …”
My blood goes cold in my veins, that sinking feeling of dread dropping my stomach down to my toes. Fuck, I hadn’t thought of the possibility of her calling.
Natasha rambles on in the background, while I try to keep my composure. I don’t call my mother by anything but her first name, simply because she gave me up when I was three years old and drifted in and out of my life for years until I put a stop to it.
Nash Brothers Box Set Page 59
