Feisty Red: Three Chicks Brewery #2

by USA Today Bestselling Author

  Sullivan went to follow behind the group, amazed at how grown up the Carter sisters were. When he’d seen them last, they were awkward teenagers. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Time had gone by, so much time. And yet, there he was, back in River Rock, no longer running from his demons, but determined to face them.

  As he headed past Amelia, who gave him a wave, his cell phone rang in his pocket. He grabbed it. One look at the screen revealed it was his agent. “I need to take this,” he told his uncle.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Ronnie said, waving him off and focusing back on Maisie, who was talking about beer tours and events.

  Sullivan turned away and pressed the phone to his ear. “What’s up, Marco?”

  “Not much here.” Marco had represented Sullivan since Sullivan was scouted. “How are things out in the middle of nowhere?”

  “Quiet,” Sullivan answered, kicking up some gravel as he left the barn.

  Marco gave a dry laugh. “I can only imagine. Listen, I talked to Coach Hale a few minutes ago.”

  “Yeah, what’s he saying?” He could still hear the coach’s roar in the locker room as he read the headline: Sullivan Keene hits hard at the club! The only thing he’d hit hard was that asshole’s face. Luckily for Sullivan, he hadn’t had a bat that night. He wasn’t sure what he would have done with it. He’d only ever snapped like that once, and that was the driving reason he left River Rock and Clara behind.

  “It’s simple, Sullivan,” Marco answered. “Take this month; you’ve got to get your head straight. Frederick”—the owner of the team—“is coming down hard on Coach Hale about how this makes the team look. This is your last shot. One more fuck up, and you’re done.”

  He got it. He’d had a few articles written about him in the tabloids over the last few months. None of them put him in the best light. “Yeah, I got it.”

  Marco hesitated. “They’re in their rights to do this, Sullivan, under your contract.”

  “I know.”

  “You got this. Right? I don’t have to worry about you?”

  “Yeah, I got this. See you in a month.” Sullivan ended the call, not having more to say than that. He was drowning when he should have been gliding through the water. His game was on point. But something wasn’t right in his head, and Sullivan had been pushing that down and down, and with his career on the line, something had to change.

  A bang had him glancing over his shoulder to find the front screen door slamming shut behind Clara as she left the house. Sullivan watched her closely and the way she held his gaze like she told herself she had to. He didn’t fault her there. She had something to prove to him, and he’d let her prove it. She deserved far better than the shit he’d given her. “All cleaned up?” he finally asked, breaking the heavy silence.

  Freshly dressed in jeans and a blouse that somehow brightened the blue in her eyes, she stared at him coldly. It looked forced. He understood why, though. He vividly remembered how she tasted, how she looked when she smiled lovingly at him. He remembered it all. But she wanted to show him she no longer felt that way. She stopped in front of him, giving him a thorough once-over. “You look good, Sullivan. Different, but good.”

  “Different, how?”

  She tilted her head, analyzing him in a way no other woman had analyzed him. Clara knew him. All his faults. All his weaknesses. All his pain. “Strong…old.”

  He lifted a brow at her. “I look old?”

  “Yup.” She strode by him.

  He stared after her like a damn fool. “It’s only been seven years since I’ve seen you. I can’t look that old.”

  “Just shy of seven,” she answered, heading off to the barn.

  Of course, this gave him a fantastic view of her spectacular ass. An ass he had no business looking at. He forced his eyes up. “Wait up,” he called then jogged to catch up to her.

  When she finally reached the barn, she turned back to him. “Fine. You look older. Is that a better choice of word? I’ve never known you to be the sensitive type, Sullivan.”

  He wasn’t the sensitive type. Yet, she was getting right under his skin. “I’ve never known you to be so outspoken, Clara.”

  She gave him a leveled look. “People change.”

  “Yeah, they do.” And that’s exactly what had brought him there. To her. To face the damage he’d done in hopes of finding peace. “I heard about Pops’ passing. I’m sorry you lost him. I know how close you were.” Clara’s grandfather had been good people. Sullivan wouldn’t bother with an apology for not calling or coming to the funeral. He didn’t have a good excuse.

  Her eyes saddened for a moment, and her pace slowed. “Pops would have loved to see the brewery flourish, so how about we go and find the others?”

  For a split second, in her sadness, he saw the old Clara. His Clara. He didn’t know what motivated him to grab her hand, stopping her, but his fingers soon wrapped around hers. Her gaze snapped to his, and she jerked away. “Do not touch me, Sullivan.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry. I just…” Want to apologize. Want to explain. Want to fix all this.

  “What you want is not relevant here,” she snapped, striding away.

  Knowing he deserved that, he blew out a long breath and followed her into the barn. Rows of tanks lined the old building, which admittedly, didn’t even look all that old anymore. The barnwood had been stripped and re-stained, the floors coated with new lacquer.

  “As you can see, we’re set up to handle the quantity needed for distribution,” Amelia said as Maisie led Ronnie out from the back. Amelia followed then gestured to her right. “We’ve got tons of room to expand.”

  Ronnie stopped and glanced around with an unreadable look. Truth was, Sullivan wasn’t close to his uncle. But being the only family he had left, they kept in touch over the years with a phone call on holidays and birthdays.

  “I’m liking what I see,” Ronnie eventually said. He looked around once more, studying the impressive space. “Give me a couple days to examine your proposal and talk with the team about a plan.”

  Clara gave a very polite smile. “We look forward to hearing from you.”

  Sullivan nearly snorted. They both knew they had something great here that would benefit them both. He kept the thought to himself as Ronnie said his final goodbyes. When his uncle was heading back to his truck, Sullivan said to Amelia and Maisie, “It’s hard to believe you’re the two little ankle bitters I used to know.” They were women now, but he could still see the mischievous glint in Maisie’s eyes and the warm affection on Amelia’s face.

  “Well…” Maisie replied. “That’s what happens when someone leaves and never comes back.”

  He deserved the dig. “You’re right, it does.” He sank his hands into his pockets, realizing he had two more people to make amends with. Not that he was surprised, the Carter sisters were close, especially Clara and Amelia. “I hear congratulations are in order.” Maisie had just become engaged to Sullivan’s old buddy Hayes.

  An honest smile crossed her face. “Thanks. Hayes and I are very happy.”

  “Sullivan,” Ronnie called.

  Looking over his shoulder, he found his uncle frowning, waving him forward. Turning back to the sisters, he said, “It’s really good to see you’re all doing so well.”

  “How long are you in town?” Amelia asked, and the question didn’t feel friendly.

  “A month.”

  A month too long, Amelia’s expression screamed at him.

  Firmly put in his place, and more determined than ever to fix the hurt and damage he’d done to this family, he gave a firm nod. “I hope this new venture works out for you all. Take care.”

  No one said goodbye to him, or even responded with niceties. They all watched him with crossed arms and matching frowns.

  He walked away then, feeling their hard stares burning into the back of his head. He’d make this right. And luckily, he had a month to do it.

  3

  Hours afte
r Sullivan left, Clara still couldn’t shake the tension nearly suffocating her. A month? Sullivan planned to stay a month? She didn’t know how she could possibly keep Mason out of sight for that long. However, she also knew Sullivan, wholly and completely, and she knew he wouldn’t stay that long in River Rock. The moment things got hard and he was forced to face all the reasons that had made him leave before, he’d book it again. All she needed to do was keep Mason close until that happened. She knew all too well what it felt like to be loved by Sullivan. It was an all-consuming thing, and she also knew what it felt like to have all that ripped away because he couldn’t emotionally deal with it. She didn’t know why he was here to ride out his suspension, and she didn’t particularly care. Mason’s well-being was her only concern. She wanted to go to her son and hold him close, but she needed the night to clear her head and to remind her fluttering heart that her love for the Sullivan she once knew died the day he left River Rock.

  When she had left her sisters wrapping up their workday, she headed for her bedroom. The space was practical but comfortable. She’d had the double bed for more years than she dared count. The old, worn beige-and-white quilt was made by her grandmother when Clara was twelve, and she had picked up the refurbished antique white furniture at a flea market and repainted it herself. Clara sat on her bed and pulled out the letter left for her in Pops’ will.

  “We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful what we pretend to be.” Kurt Vonnegut Jr.

  * * *

  Their grandfather left letters for both of her sisters too, though Clara had never asked if he’d left a confusing quote for them as well. Two years had passed now since their Pops left this world, and Clara knew as much about the quote as she did the day she opened the envelope at the reading of his will. She exhaled the confusion from her head, wishing he was there to explain it all. Pops was a wise man, full of useless knowledge in addition to the important stuff. Somewhere in this quote, Clara knew she’d find the comfort she needed in life; she just hadn’t got there yet.

  “Clara,” Amelia called from downstairs.

  She hurried off the bed, folding up the letter and sticking it back in her nightstand. When she made it to the staircase, she found Amelia standing at the bottom with a large pitcher full of margarita mix. “Seriously, why do you both keep feeding me booze? Do I look like I need a drink that badly?”

  Amelia smiled. “Yup.”

  “Great,” Clara muttered, trotting down the staircase. When she entered the kitchen after Amelia, she immediately spotted Maisie sitting around the old, worn oak kitchen table and inhaled the citrusy scent of limes. Back in the day, family meetings were held here with their grandparents. The tradition had lived on, and there was something about the table that always felt safe. “I’m okay, you know,” Clara said to her sisters. “You don’t need to stay,” she said to Maisie.

  Maisie was moving her stuff out of the house in a couple of days to live with Hayes in a gorgeous home by the creek. Her youngest sister smiled. “Please, like I could pass up margaritas.”

  Clara forced a smile and took her seat across from Maisie. When times got tough, some people chatted over coffee, some over chocolate, the Carter sisters drank margaritas. And usually, a lot of them.

  Amelia began pouring the drink mix into the margarita glasses and asked, “So, thoughts on today?”

  Maisie shrugged. “I think it went well with Ronnie. He seemed impressed by the brewery.”

  “I agree it went well,” Clara added. “Now we just wait to see what kind of contract he offers us.”

  “But we’ll take it, right?” Amelia asked, finishing up with the last glass. “No matter what it is.”

  “We’d be crazy not to take it,” Clara agreed, reaching for one of the glasses. “We’ve got no one else interested. But, at the same time, we need to play hardball too. We deserve a good contract. Let’s make sure we remember that.”

  “Hardball,” Maisie said with a firm nod. “On it.” She took a huge sip of her drink, her eyes fluttering shut.

  Clara laughed softly, which admittedly, felt good. Maisie wouldn’t know how to play hardball if she tried. She was too…free. “You can leave this part to me. I’m good at negotiating.”

  “You are,” Amelia said, licking the salt off her lips. “And we appreciate everything you’re doing for us and the company.”

  “Thanks,” Clara said before taking a sip of her drink. The tequila hit first followed by the citrus sourness of the lime and then the sharpness of the salt.

  She followed it up with another sip when Maisie asked, “Now let’s talk about Sullivan.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Clara insisted, setting her glass back down on the table.

  “Sure, there is,” Maisie said with a sly smile. “Like how good he looks?”

  Mouthwateringly delectable. “He doesn’t look terrible,” Clara conceded.

  Amelia asked, “Was it weird, seeing him again? You must have felt something. It’s been so long.”

  I felt everything. The guilt of keeping a big secret. The heartbreak of knowing the man she once loved no longer existed and had walked out on her. The yearning to run into his arms and stay there because it had once felt so good. The anger and desire to punch him in his handsome face. Feeling like it was impossible to explain all that, she shrugged. “I feel confused. I feel like I owe him the truth. I feel like Mason is owed a father. I feel like I wish things were different. That Sullivan was different. I wish he would have answered the damn phone when I called, instead of the woman. I wish he would have called back.”

  Amelia frowned. “That’s a lot of wishes.”

  “It is,” Clara agreed then took another long sip, adding moisture to her dry throat. She’d rarely talked about Sullivan to her sisters, particularly about Sullivan being Mason’s father. She’d swallowed and forged on, doing what had to be done. “But as much as I wish everything were different, I can’t undo the past.”

  “You’re right, you can’t,” Maisie said.

  And the past wasn’t pretty. When he was six years old, Sullivan’s mother received her breast cancer diagnosis. She went through repeated treatments for ten years. She fought so hard, but ultimately, the cancer took her. In the wake of losing his wife, Sullivan’s father became a drunk, and soon after, an angry drunk. He’d turned abusive and took his rage out on Sullivan.

  “Well,” Amelia said with a shrug. “If you ask me, you shouldn’t have to undo the past. Sullivan left and completely ignored his life here. You were left to pick up the pieces after. You don’t owe him shit as far as I’m concerned.”

  This all seemed like a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. “I never thought he’d come back.”

  Maisie slid her finger against the rim of her margarita glass, gathering up the salt. “You’re not alone. Even Hayes said he was shocked to find out Sullivan was back in town.”

  “Which begs the question, why is he here?” Clara asked.

  “Who cares?” Amelia shot back. “I think Sullivan has done enough damage already. Let’s just hope he realizes no one wants him here and then he’ll quickly go back to where he came from.”

  Clara nodded.

  Maisie licked the salt off her finger and offered, “I say just ride out his time here. Keep Mason close and out of his sight. You need to do what’s right for Mason, and until you know Sullivan is mentally stable, as far as I’m concerned, it’s your right as his mother to protect him.”

  Clara didn’t even want to voice the thought, but couldn’t stop herself. “But what if he is mentally stable? What do I do then? Tell him he has a kid I never told him about? Where would we even go from there? What would that look like for Mason?” Her head hurt. Her heart too. Sullivan was never supposed to come home. He didn’t even come home for his father’s funeral after he passed away a few months back. This wasn’t the plan. This had never been the plan. She rubbed her throbbing temples. “I can’t process how to deal with all this. Sullivan has a history
of loving and leaving in a very cruel way. I won’t let him do that to Mason. I can’t.”

  Silence settled in, until Maisie asked, “So what are you going to do, then?”

  “Protect Mason, no matter what.”

  Of course, her sisters didn’t miss that she hadn’t totally said her piece yet. “And?” they asked in unison.

  “And Maisie’s right,” Clara continued, spinning her margarita glass between her fingers. “I need to see exactly the type of man Sullivan Keene is now. If he’s worthy, if it’s in Mason’s best interest, then I’ll tell him the truth and face the fallout.”

  Amelia looked skeptical. “You’re really going to be able to do that?”

  “Yes,” Clara said with total certainty. “I have no other choice. If he’d stayed in Boston and forgot all about us and River Rock, I wouldn’t tell him. Not ever. But for some unknown reason, he’s back. He’s spending his suspension here. I think it’s important to find out why. Not only for Sullivan, but for Mason too.”

  Heavy silence descended around the kitchen table full of half-empty margarita glasses.

  “I really hate to be the one to point this out,” Maisie said, hesitantly, “but you did love him once. What if this gets, I don’t know…messy?”

  “It won’t get messy,” Clara promised, mostly to herself. “It can’t, not with Mason in the center of it all. Besides, things are different now.”

  “Why?” Amelia asked.

  “Because this guy isn’t my Sullivan. He’s not the guy I loved. And this guy he is now, the one splashed all over the tabloids and fighting in bars, is not a man I could ever love.”

  Just after seven o’clock in the evening, Sullivan finished tying up the shoelaces of his boots before leaving his apartment. It was built above a barn, and the floors creaked beneath his weight. He’d rented for the month from old man Bart, an eighty-year-old local. Luckily for Sullivan, Bart, who rented his apartment to help pay his bills, was between tenants. The apartment was a far cry from Sullivan’s upscale and modern condominium in Boston, but the rustic nature reminded him of when he used to work on a cattle ranch in his youth, during the summers.