My voice is low as I blink up at her. “Who says I’ve overcome it?”
Ryan nods. “You’re right, that was the wrong word. Conquer? Tame?”
She isn’t joking, and I can tell by the set of her caramel eyes that she’s trying to congratulate me in a genuine way.
“Those are better. When you’re an addict, there is no … overcoming it. It’s always right there, sitting just under the surface of your flesh. Most days, I feel like it’s going to swallow me whole, and I only escape the pull by the skin of my teeth.”
Hell, that was way deeper than I wanted to get. And now Ryan is looking at me with a timid, almost fawn-like indecision in her eyes. Should she stay and see if I put one right between her eyes? Or should she bolt, running far away?
I didn’t think it was possible to scare a woman like her off. Apparently, I also had never voiced how difficult maintaining my sobriety was. And I’d just chosen the worst possible candidate to reveal the gritty, rough reality.
12
Ryan
I can’t fall in love with an addict.
Growing up in the clutches of one, I know how dangerous it is to trust them with your heart.
Shit, why the hell was love even on the tip of my tongue. I haven’t even been on a real date with Fletcher Nash, and that coffee we shared after his AA meeting surely doesn’t count.
Regardless, I’m on a fast from men. I told him as much. Not that it deterred his quiet, gentle, delicate soul from speaking directly to mine.
Fuck my foolish heart. It fell too easily and trusted too swiftly, despite its awful track record. My head wasn’t much better, for as intellectual as I could be, my brain never talked the foolish organ in my chest out of the stupid shit it did.
It’s been a week since my not-a-date date with Fletcher, and all I can think about are his words echoing in my head. That an addict never stops being an addict. His truth was so powerful, and … refreshing. It was the first time in my life that someone who’d abused drugs or alcohol had been so upfront about what it felt like to suffer from the disease. And trust me, with my mother and growing up in the foster care system, I’d known plenty.
Our shared coffee drinking had ended awkwardly, with him trying to make some kind of joke to save us from the pit of reality he’d dug us down deep in. I escaped with half of my heart still lying on the table, listening to how damaged he was.
Because I was damaged, too, though my party trick was hiding all the scars and old wounds underneath a cool, composed, sassy exterior.
My phone chimes as I head into Kip’s, the diner everyone in town seems to flock to for lunch. Presley asked me to meet her here, as we haven’t gotten much time together with her busy studio schedule.
The message is from my boss, Geralyn. When I decided to move into consultancy, I wasn’t going to pick just any company. I was going to pick the best, and one run by a complete badass woman in the STEM sphere. Geralyn Octon is such a woman and has no problem keeping up with the biggest of Internet bad boys. She works hard, is tough as nails, and runs one of the best hacker consultant agencies in the world. It’s why I’ve been as successful as I am, picking her to be my boss.
Selecting the voicemail, I press my phone to my ear.
“Ryan, I just had a project come in with a big-time company, flashy data breach. Has your name all over it. Call me back.”
A year ago, maybe even two, that message would have gotten my blood thrumming. I would have been like a dog biting to get off the leash to work on whatever project it was Geralyn described as flashy.
But at this moment? Nothing about her words excites me. I am so disinterested that I don’t even feel like myself anymore. Something about Yanis, about Greece, sucked all the life out of me.
No … I was lying to myself if I put all the onus on him. I’d been fading even before his betrayal. I am in my thirties now, and things I’d convinced myself I never wanted … they’ve started to look appealing. Settling down, marriage, children …
Why is it that I can practically hear the biological clock ticking in my ears, now?
“Hey, you!” Presley bounces out from the booth she’s secured for us in the back.
The diner smells heavenly, like fresh peaches and sizzling, buttery pie crust. I’m in dire need of a thick, juicy burger, and my mouth starts watering for it.
“Hi.” I hug her, kissing her on the cheek as we both pull away. “How were the morning classes?”
Presley hasn’t even grabbed us menus. Probably because she knows I’ll order a burger, and I know that she’ll order a BLT. These were the little intricacies of knowing someone for as long as we’d known each other. In New York, we’d been family. I’d been the only one there for her, and while she knew a bit about my past, I wasn’t sure she fully grasped that she was my only family.
She giggles. “Mr. Abrams farted again in the senior class. I had to try so hard not to laugh.”
“Something about that downward dog really gets him barking.” I wiggle my eyebrows, cracking the pun.
Presley rolls her eyes. “That one was too easy.”
We order as the waitress comes by, who then asks how Presley is and if she and Keaton plan on attending the town hall dance in three weeks.
“Wouldn’t miss it. Don’t you know I’m married to the self-appointed mayor? I think Keaton is secretly hoping we win Mr. and Mrs. Fawn Hill.” My best friend shakes her head as if her husband is incorrigible, but deep down, I know she thinks his childlike splendor about these things is adorable.
“This place really is something right out of Gilmore Girls,” I tell her, sipping my lemonade the minute it’s set down on the table.
“That’s why I stay. Oh, and the fact that I belong here more than I ever have anywhere. Isn’t it strange? Me, here?”
Honestly, when she first moved here, I thought she was nuts. I’d pegged it as just another Presley running away from her problems situation, and bet she’d be back in the city in two months’ time. But now that I’ve met the Nashes and have stayed in Fawn Hill for extended periods of time … I understood why she fit so well here.
My head cocks to the side. “No … it suits you.”
“The small-town vet’s wife. I guess it does.” Her smile widens, and I know she’s mooning over Keaton.
“And the kick-ass yogi business owner who has transformed a town’s fitness regimen. Give yourself the proper credit you deserve.”
She nods. “I learned from the best, after all. Remember when you made me demand a raise at the restaurant I was hostessing at?”
The place had been a brown-nosing eatery close to the major news network buildings, used for schmoozing anchors and guests alike.
“Yeah, because they were giving you like two bucks an hour and made you close every night. I woulda socked that manager right in the nose.”
Presley laughs. “And I did it, you got me so fired up. Then he canned me right on the spot. Said I was a cocky little bitch not worth my weight in martini olives.”
“Well, at least he had a good comeback, that’s one I’d never heard. Besides, you asserted your value. A woman should never underestimate it in business.”
My friend reaches across the table. “And you never have. You’re one of the savviest women I know. But honestly, I like that you’re teaching at the middle school. It might be the best job I could have thought of for you.”
I’d gone to the school yesterday, for the second time, and given a lesson on creating GIFs that the class was especially thrilled about. By the end, we’d made some hilarious video memes of their favorite cartoons or TV shows.
“It’s not a job … you get paid to do those. And don’t lie, you never thought I’d be a good teacher. I’m not a kid person.”
Presley rolls her eyes. “I hate when people say that. You’re not not a kid person, you just haven’t been around them much as an adult.”
“I was around them enough as a kid,” I tell her, an edge to my voice.
Her eye
s soften a bit. “That was a different situation, and you know it. You’re a cool woman, like one of the neatest people I’ve ever met. You’re quirky and sarcastic, and you can talk to anyone in a way others can’t. It’s not a mystery why kids would be drawn to you … you’re like, who I would have wanted to be when I grew up if you were my teacher.”
Our waitress sets down our food, and I immediately take a giant bite of my burger. The cheese blends into the meat, and the tang of the ketchup hits my tongue in vinegary goodness. Looking across the table, Presley is just as invested in her BLT. We’re making sounds of ecstasy over our food, probably loud enough to attract the looks of other diners, and we both start to laugh at the same moment, mouths full of food.
“Being there just makes me think of how awkward I was in my middle school days. I had a hopeless crush on this guy named Tim. We were a couple for all of three seconds before he dumped me because he said I was too distracting with his youth football schedule.”
“Stop it! Men never change, do they? Except now, instead of youth football, it’s poker night with the boys. In middle school, I had not yet mastered how to tame my hair. I looked like a giant fuzzy monster, like Elmo if he’d been sent through the spin cycle.”
A giggle escapes me because I’ve seen those pictures of her. It wasn’t a pretty era for my friend.
“Would you go back? To the high school glory days?” I ask, wondering about her answer.
She tilts her head to the side, chewing a hunk of bacon as she considers my question. “Hmm, sometimes I’d like to. Life was so much simpler then. Homework had a deadline, Friday night parties were a guarantee. Your laundry was done for you and everything in the world was tainted with this hopeful possibility or something. Like anything was just in reach at the tip of your finger. How about you?”
It doesn’t take me even a second to answer, “Not if you paid me a hundred million dollars.”
Getting out of high school meant aging out of the system. It meant no one could keep tabs on my life anymore.
The past twelve years had been my glory days, and I’d lived them to their fullest.
13
Fletcher
“Fletch? FLETCH?”
Someone calls my name over the pound of the country song banging through the speakers in my shop.
The chainsaw in my hand whirs and jumps as I slice chip after chip from the massive block of wood in front of me. I’m not sure yet what it’s going to be, but my brain has been grasping at ideas all week and I’ve finally had time to come out here and do something about it.
I turn the belt off, waiting until the tool is all the way off before I set it on the ground. Prying my goggles from my face, I look to the entrance of the barn to see Keaton.
He walks in, admiring some of the half-finished work I’ve got going on, and sets a bag that looks suspiciously like the one the from the donut stand on Main Street on my workbench.
“Brought some reinforcements.” He nods at the pastry bag, and I open it to peer inside.
My favorite chocolate cruller and a Boston cream sit side by side. “Thanks.”
I haven’t spoken to any of my brothers since poker night, which was about two weeks ago. It’s the longest I’ve gone without talking to them since I got sober. Back when I was drinking, I would disappear for a month here or there, sleeping on friend’s couches or scumming around with lowlifes. I’ve tried to cut out the isolating behavior since I came home from rehab, but I’m still pissed about what went down at Forrest’s house.
“What are you working on?” My older brother sticks his hands in his khaki short pockets, and I know he’s trying to lean into the conversation with softball questions.
“Not sure yet.” I cross my arms over my chest.
I’m being glib on purpose because he wants this to be easy. Everything comes easy to Keaton, who has been the golden child of our family since my life started. I didn’t even have a shot, Keaton is six years older than I am, and he’d already firmly cemented his role as the next in line to the Nash throne by the time Forrest and I came into the picture. Dad groomed him to be a mini Jack Nash, and so far, he was doing a bang-up job.
So, no, I wasn’t going to make this easy.
“Come on, Fletch, don’t be like this. I brought you a peace offering donut.”
A frustrated breath escapes me. “You guys don’t trust that I can live a full, sober, successful life. That’s what it comes down to, Keat.”
He shakes his head. “That’s not it at all. We just … we worry about you. I am so proud of how far you’ve come, but … you didn’t see yourself all those nights, Fletcher. Passed out on disgusting, sticky floors. I had to put you over my shoulder … hell, countless times. Forrest got punched in the face, twice, for coming to your rescue over run-up bar tabs. Bowen’s job at the fire department was in jeopardy when you lit those curtains on fire at that house party and almost burned down the entire neighborhood. We all love you, we’re rooting for you, but we’ve seen some scary shit. You’re our baby brother, we just want the best for you.”
My anger rises two shades up my neck. “I’m not a baby, Keaton. I’m a grown man who can’t live in a padded cell his whole life because I fucked up years ago. You all need to trust me way more than you do. I understand that I scared the crap out of you, and I’ve apologized profusely for it. But you also have to give me some credit. I’ve been sober for five years. I’m ready for a place of my own.”
He considers me for a second and then nods. “I’m proud of you. And because you’re not wavering in your determination, I’m even more proud of you. I know that you’re a man, but ever since Dad … died, I feel responsible for how your life turns out. How all of our lives turn out. That’s all. I’m sorry, I really am. Now, eat your goddamn donut.”
This is how guys operate, and I know it’s the most sincere apology I’ll receive from my brother, so I do as he says and reach inside the bag.
“Are we good?” Keaton says as I munch my donut, not having acknowledged his apology.
“Yeah, we’re good. Although I might require one more of these before I fully accept.” I’m being a brat and I know it, but it’s nice to watch him squirm for a minute.
“Jerk. Anyways, there was another reason I came out, other than to stroke your bruised ego.” He gives me a pointed look.
“And what’s that?” I polish off the snack.
“The town council has been considering replacing the clock in the tower at the municipal building. It hasn’t worked properly for years and just looks outdated up there. They want to put out a contract for it, and I mentioned to Gordy that they should reserve it for you.”
Gordy’s a childhood friend who now owned a landscaping company in town and occupied a seat on the town council. My heart starts to thrum as I listen to Keaton’s proposal, and I wonder how fate dealt such a perfect hand.
“Who told you I was working on a clock?” I muse, knowing Forrest had been flapping his big mouth again.
“Who do you think?” Keaton rolls his eyes sarcastically. “But seriously, you should do the job.”
I drum my fingers on the workbench, ideas already fluttering around my head about how to build a brand new and improved clock tower. “Well, I don’t want the job given to me … I’ve done too many things in my life the wrong way. I’ll bid properly, just like everyone else going for the contract. But … anyone else will have a hard time beating my price. Because the money, any kind of it, will be better than what I’m working for now. And that’s free.”
My brother smiles. “That’s precisely what I was thinking. Low ball them, make some extra cash, and then let your work speak for itself. Once people see this project, your name will start buzzing in certain circles. I think this could be huge for you.”
I might not have seen it when he walked into my barn, but Keaton truly was proud of me. He wouldn’t have put me up for the job with Gordy, or come here to convince me to apply, if he didn’t want the best for me.
“All right, well, I have to get back. Seems that Hattie’s dog, Chance, swallowed a roll of pennies whole. How that dog is still alive is beyond me …”
His sandy blond hair, so different from the rest of our dark locks, shakes humorously as he goes to leave.
My voice stops him. “Hey, Keat?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
He nods, and there is an understanding between us that I’m thanking him for much more than a donut, or suggesting I do some work for the town.
I’m thanking him for believing in me, even when I don’t think he is.
14
Ryan
Dark black satin hugs my body, and I know I will look out of place.
In the room full of sundresses and summer rompers, I’ll stick out like a sore thumb. But I haven’t had a night out in almost a month, and when you hail from the Big Apple, swanky lounges and cool SoHo bars are practically a multiple-days-a-week occurrence.
“Holy shit, you should be on the sparkly pink Victoria’s Secret runway.” Penelope wolf whistles as I walk into Presley’s bedroom.
She and my bestie are getting ready for the town hall dance, lining the rims of their eyes with black kohl pencil and fluffing up their hair. In typical Fawn Hill fashion, the dance starts at five p.m. and goes until eight, so that some of the kids over the age of seven can attend with their parents. It’s so out of my wheelhouse that I actually laughed at the flyer Presley showed me a week ago. This town and its adorable traditions.
I do a twirl, showing off for them. “I am going to stand out like a sore thumb, but I don’t care.”
Honestly, I’ve never cared much what people thought about my appearance. I wear what I want, when I want, style my hair against the trend and am never far from my prized possession leather jacket. Compared to Penelope, in her floating yellow maxi dress, and Presley, in an olive green romper, I look like I’m ready for a gothic slumber party. But I feel hot as fuck, and that’s all I care about.
Nash Brothers Box Set Page 62
