by Elsa Nickle
Ethan took a step toward the man.
Dillon put a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, stopping him. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here. Don’t waste your time on that guy.”
“Yeah, I think we’d better call it a night.” Jax stepped in front of Ethan, blocking the guy from view. “Meet you at the house?”
Ethan took a deep breath to calm himself down and gave a sharp nod. They were right. The girl might have been worth a fight, but that moron sure wasn’t. He followed his brothers to the door when the guy called out to him, making a rude gesture with his hand.
That was it. Ethan should’ve walked away, but he was already strung tight, and that small motion snapped something inside of him. He dove for the guy, knocking him back against the bar.
The woman screamed and jumped out of their way as the creep grabbed Ethan by the collar and pushed him down hard. Ethan hit the ground and rolled just in time to miss a kick to the stomach. He grabbed the guy’s leg and yanked him to the floor. In a second, he was on top of the guy, giving him a solid punch to the jaw.
It took all three of his brothers to pull him and the other guy apart. The bartender screamed at the whole group to leave, threatening to call the cops if they didn’t. By the time his brothers managed to drag them out and chase the creep away, Ethan sported a nasty bruise on his shoulder and all four of them were breathing heavily.
“Well, you definitely know how to make an entrance back into town,” Dillon said, pulling off his tie and sticking it in his suit pocket.
“I like it.” Jax grinned, a bruise already appearing on one arm. “I never knew you had that kind of fight in you.”
Ethan grinned, adrenaline still pumping through him, until he caught sight of Landon’s expression.
“It may not be a big deal to get kicked out of a bar in that big city where you live,” Landon snapped, “but in small towns, people talk. Our reputation matters here.”
Ethan felt himself deflate. He wanted to defend his actions, but that required explaining what had happened before he got to the bar, and he didn’t feel like sharing at the moment. Or any moment, really. “I didn’t ask you to jump into the fight.”
“You didn’t have to ask.” Landon shook his head. “That’s the point of having brothers. But you were too caught up in yourself to even think about us, weren’t you?”
Dillon cleared his throat. “That’s enough. Our emotions are all running a little hot right now. Let’s get back home, and we can talk after we’ve cooled down.”
Ethan didn’t argue. While the others jogged across the street to where they were parked, Ethan had to make the short walk back to the coffee shop for his car. But that was fine, because time alone was just what he needed.
After he got in his car, he paused for a minute as he tried to recall why he thought it was a good idea to come back to Bisbee. He reminded himself that his younger brothers were getting married, and his mom always said you had to be there for the important moments. No matter how much grief they gave each other, they were still family, and Ethan loved them. He wouldn’t have missed their weddings, even if it meant enduring Landon’s barbs and anger. He started up his car and pulled onto the empty road.
The drive to the ranch took less time than he remembered. Unlike the congested roads of California, the old Bisbee highway was dark and quiet and peaceful. He didn’t really want the drive to end. Maybe that was partly because he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back home to the ranch. Could he even call it that anymore? It hadn’t been his home in so long.
Soon he turned off the main highway and onto a small dirt road. The rental car jumbled along the bumpy path that was more accustomed to trucks. He drove through the gate and pulled around to the back of the house where he used to always park. His brothers were already there.
He got out of his car. The light from the kitchen window spilled out to illuminate his path. He went to the trunk, popping it open with his key fob.
“Let me.” Jax went over to Ethan and grabbed the duffel bag from the back. Ethan didn’t like the smirk on his brother’s face, but he couldn’t think of what his brother could possibly do with his suitcase so he let it go and slung his garment bag over his arm.
Walking up the stairs of the back porch was surreal. It had been so long. His mother’s porch swing stood just where it always had, the same fabric and everything. It was like walking into the past, and he had to fight back the sting in his eyes.
As he followed Jax into the kitchen, he stopped short. Everything was completely different than how he remembered. The oak cabinets now a stark white with cold marble countertops. His gaze went to the living room beyond the kitchen. The wall color, furniture, everything he saw, had changed since he had been there last. Not a single piece of their mom or dad survived the years. Suddenly Ethan felt dizzy. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was going to be sick.
“Uh, listen guys.” Ethan rubbed his forehead. “The flight was a long one. And then all that stuff at the club.” He waved his hand as if to dismiss it all. He was grateful they didn’t ask any questions about the guy, and he didn’t want them to start. “Well, to put it bluntly, I’m beat. I think I’m going to go up to bed, if that’s okay with all of you.”
“It’s probably best you get some rest.” Jax gave another wicked grin. “You’re back on the ranch. Time to put you to work.” Ethan nodded, expecting nothing less than a few long weeks of hard labor.
Landon stepped toward Ethan, offering his hand. “Sorry for what I said earlier. Thanks for coming tonight. It means a lot.”
Ethan nodded, taking Landon’s hand. “Congrats. I’m sure she’s too good for you.” He instantly regretted trying to joke around. Maybe it was too soon. He smiled and gave an awkward wink to make it clear, and his brothers gave an obligatory laugh.
“All right, who’s hungry?” Jax said as he turned to the fridge. In truth, Ethan was starving. But he had already said he was going to bed, so he gave another quick, “Goodnight,” to whoever was listening and walked into the living room. As he passed the couch, he saw some kind of Barbie doll with bright pink hair. Her clothes were strewn on the floor. It took him half a minute to remember that there was an eight-year-old girl living in the house. He thought of Preston, curious how his baby brother looked nowadays, but as soon as he turned, all thoughts disappeared.
There, half-hidden by flowers, was the vase he had given his mom. Broken and duct taped together. The anger he had felt earlier turned to the crushing weight of disappointment. What had he expected? That everything would have remained the same? He knew things would be different, but he wasn’t prepared for the reality and pain of change.
Chapter Three
It was one of the rare times that Laurel didn’t feel like drawing or painting.
She sat at the chipped kitchen table, staring at the peeling door that led to the back patio. Her mom’s shift ended at ten that evening, and as soon as she walked into the house, they were going to have words. There had to be a different way to work their deal, because Laurel was so done with random dates.
The microwave clock had been busted for ages, but the oven time still worked. It was a quarter after ten, so her mom was due any minute now.
Laurel had already taken action—the first thing she had done when she arrived home was delete all the dating apps from her phone, and then she had cut a leaf off of their aloe plant and taken care of the burn Mr. I-Work-at-a-Hospital had accidentally given her. She was never going on a date with a stranger again. Every online match had been awkward for her, and maybe it was bad luck or a fault in her personality, but this method of finding guys clearly wasn’t working. Of course, things had been even worse this evening—it wasn’t just awkward, her date had been a creep. And although nothing truly bad had happened to her, she wasn’t taking any more risks. What if the next guy was scarier, and there wasn’t a handsome stranger to save her?
And even that part of her night had been terrible—mortifying. It felt like she’d trip
ped and fallen on her face in front of Chris Hemsworth or something. There was really no way to come back from an embarrassment like that. Not that she would ever see that man again, but still, he was the hottest guy she’d met in years and she came off looking frantic, sloppy, and a little crazy. Just thinking about it twisted Laurel’s stomach into knots.
At last, the gravel crunched outside, and car lights shone through the faded blinds. Her mother called out a thank you to whoever had given her a ride, and trudged through the door.
She made it halfway inside, caught sight of Laurel, and flinched backward, gasping. “Holy smokes, girl! You almost gave me a heart attack. What are you doing, sitting around out here at this time of night?”
Laurel dug her fingernail into a groove in the table. “Just waiting for you.”
Her mom scoffed. “Waiting for me? What on earth for?” She raised a painted eyebrow. “And stop doing that to the table.”
Laurel stopped. “I need to talk to you.”
Laurel’s mom removed her black apron with the Sheila M. How can I help you? nametag and put it on the peg by the door. Her brow furrowed. “This sounds serious.”
“It is serious.”
Her mom plodded over to the old pitted table and plopped into the chair opposite her daughter. “Okay. Shoot.”
Suddenly, Laurel lost some of her burning determination to have this conversation. Maybe because her mom looked so tired. The bags under her eyes and the way her entire body dragged from one movement to the next reminded Laurel of what her mother had sacrificed to scrounge up the money to send her to college. Double shifts, working holidays—just so Laurel could throw it all away when she dropped out of the ASU accounting program a year shy of graduating. Laurel may have had a bad date, but what was she going to say? Rusty hadn’t actually done anything to her besides ask if she drew nudes and touch her leg. It wasn’t like she could call the cops over it. And she didn’t want to relive the whole handsome stranger debacle. But she really needed to try to convince her mom to change the stupid dating rule. She could not back down from this.
Laurel rolled her shoulders back. “I want to change our agreement.”
Her mom’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh really?”
“Yes, really.”
Her mother put an elbow on the table and leaned wearily into it. “And what about the agreement would you like to change?”
Laurel dropped her hands to her lap. “I don’t want to go on dates anymore.”
Her mom blew all her air out of her nose in a laugh. “Oh yes, dating is such a chore.” She shook her head. “I wish someone was making me go on dates with cute, young professionals. Hey, don’t you roll your eyes at me! I know you’re an adult, but you’re still my daughter.”
Laurel was trying hard not to roll her eyes again. “Yes, I’m your daughter. And I’m asking if we can change the agreement. Please.”
Her mom closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, what is your issue here?”
“I am scraping the bottom of the barrel. This guy tonight was kinda gross, and he definitely wasn’t a doctor.” If Laurel stared at her mom with the right amount of intensity and pleading, maybe her mom would suddenly give in.
“Okay, so try again with someone else.”
Laurel had to unclench her jaw. “I’ve dated everyone in town that fits your specifications, and everyone else within a hundred miles. I’m starting to really hate it, Mom. And I’m telling you, there is nobody else around.”
“Oh, there’s always someone else.”
Laurel slammed her hand down, rattling the table and startling them both. “No! This is ridiculous! I don’t want to date anyone right now, and it is barbaric that you’re making me!”
Sheila raised her eyebrows and scooted her chair back. “Whoa—don’t get dramatic. You know I am perfectly fine if you want to live the rest of your life alone. What I am not fine with is you living in poverty.”
It always came back to this, and Laurel couldn’t even be mad about it. She wasn’t an idiot. She knew they were poor and that they always had been. And Laurel also knew that her mom loved her enough to want better for her. But the thing about this argument that hurt was her mother’s belief that Laurel couldn’t possibly be financially successful doing what she loved. When Laurel spoke, her voice wavered. “Being an artist does not mean I’ll be living in poverty.”
Sheila ran a hand through her straight, bottle-blonde hair. “Well, it sure doesn’t do much for your chances.”
This wasn’t fair. Laurel’s mom had tasted artistic failure secondhand, and her mind seemed permanently convinced that being an artist meant being poor. She didn’t see the way the world was now, with online shops reaching larger markets, or sites where artists could collect patrons. These resources didn’t mean that success was guaranteed, but it was a little insulting that her mom wouldn’t even try to believe in Laurel’s ability to succeed. This was all her dad’s fault. Laurel couldn’t even remember her father, and he was still shaping her life in the worst way. “Just because Joe couldn’t make it—”
Her mother went deathly still. “Bringing that man up is not going to help your case one bit here.”
Laurel squeezed her hands into frustrated fists. “I’m just saying that I’m not him.” Her mom had to see that, right? How could Laurel get her mom to change her mind about this? A different point of attack would probably be a good start, so Laurel swallowed her arguments about Joe and raised her chin. “And times have changed. It’s easier to make a living as an artist now.”
Her mom’s gaze was steely as she locked eyes with Laurel. All weariness seemed to evaporate from her body. She was now pure granite. “You say that being an artist is easier nowadays, but where is your proof?”
“I—”
“No. Times aren’t so different. We live in Bisbee, for heaven’s sake. There are a hundred artists in this town. Your father and I came here for that, because it was a place where artists were working and selling. He was good, great even. And you know what? He spent more money on paint than he ever made with his paintings. He tried for years, Laurel—years! I had no education, and there I was, the sole breadwinner for our little family, trying to pay for this house, working at a grocery store. When he left us, it was a relief, because at least then I wasn’t paying for his hobby.”
Yikes. Her mom had never been this brutal when talking about her life with Joe before. Laurel winced. “Okay, but—”
“What kind of person leaves his wife and a toddler and never comes back? A tortured, no-good artist, that’s who.”
It was a mistake to have brought up her father, she knew that now. Discussing him was painful for both of them. And her mom was right, the subject wasn’t doing Laurel any favors. But she still had one more angle to try. And it was the best one, because it validated Laurel’s talent. If there was any chance, maybe it rested on a discerning but impartial third party. “You know I made it past the first cut at ECAA. I have a shot—”
“You have a shot to blow another fortune on tuition for a school that doesn’t guarantee you a good job.”
Laurel took a sharp breath. This was painful, but fair. She would apologize for wasting her mom’s money as often as she needed to. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I couldn’t finish school the way you wanted.”
Sheila jutted her chin forward. “Couldn’t? More like wouldn’t.”
“Ugh, Mom—you want me to be happy, right?”
“Of course I do! But you don’t know what will make you happy in the long run. Take it from me, you want your options open, and you want to have a way to make some real money.” Sheila pressed down on the table, her perfect, pink manicure shocking against the old, stained wood. “You are good at math. You could go back and finish up your degree and make some real money as an accountant. If you want to do art on the side, that’s fine. And I’ll never make you go on another date.”
Laurel lifted her eyes to the ceiling. “We’ve talked about this. I cannot imagine being happy as an accounta
nt. It’s a great job, but it’s not what I want to do with my life. And you know I can’t just do art on the side right now. I have three weeks until the next deadline for ECAA. I need to spend every possible moment working on my submissions.”
Her mom shook her head. “I still don’t know why you can’t get a part-time job while you’re home.”
Laurel wanted to scream. “Dating strangers is my part-time job right now. And I want to stop. I don’t have enough time to paint.”
“Well, you figured out a way to do some art while you were at ASU.”
Laurel was gritting her teeth again. She had to consciously release the pressure. “Actually, while I was studying and working, I had zero time for art. That’s why I was so depressed.”
Her mom shook her head. “Then how did you get into that art school?”
Laurel blew out a frustrated breath. “I keep telling you, I’m not accepted yet. I just made the first cut. And I only had time to put together a portfolio over the holidays. Why do you think I was so happy in the dorms over Thanksgiving break? I was finally able to paint.” One of Laurel’s old paintings hung right above the table, and she unconsciously gestured to it. It had been a gift for her mother, a quirky still life of all her favorite fruits next to their corresponding ice cream flavors. She had painted it in high school, but the work held up. She was good even back then. “And it’s not just any art school, it’s ECAA. It’s one of the top ten art schools in the nation. Not many people make it past the first cut. It’s a big deal. You should be proud of me.”
One of Sheila’s hands quivered, and she reached for Laurel’s hand. “I am proud of you, honey.”
Laurel closed her eyes, drinking in the sweet words in the midst of a bitter conversation. “Then why aren’t you acting like it?”
