“Because I had no other choice.”
Grant threw up his hands and sat back again, slinging his arm over the back of the chair. “Well, you do now. You can either deal with this the way I want it and spend some time with your son. Or you can leave and not have anything to do with him.”
Remy’s face lifted toward us like those were the first words of the discussion he heard. He didn’t say anything, but his expression was enough to cut my heart out. Without a word, I pulled out the chair closest to him and sat down. Grant might have had me by a puppet string, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of saying it.
The visit with Remy was good after I was able to block Grant out. We played with his dough, and I read to him as he ate a fruit cup and sipped on milk. If I just pretended nothing else around us existed, it was like we were alone. When he was done eating, he crawled into my lap for more of the book I was reading him. Soon, his head drooped and rested on my shoulder. I cradled him close as he slept, cherishing the few precious moments with him. He was only three but already seemed so big. It was hard to look at him and think he was at once so tiny and growing so fast.
Until a familiar voice sent a ripple of squirming discomfort down my spine.
“Leave it to you to bring your own coffee to a coffee shop. And from such a low-class establishment, too.”
I didn’t turn around to look at Grant’s mother. She wasn’t going to get to me. Not that day.
“Time to go, Remy,” Grant said as if the little boy was still playing in his seat.
My eyes snapped to him. “He’s sleeping.”
“And he’ll keep sleeping in the car. We have plans,” Grant’s mother announced.
She bent down to try to pull my son out of my arms, and I curled away from her, deflecting her hands with my back. The gasp she let out was so offended and ruffled, I expected her to stomp her foot.
“Lindsey, we need to leave. There are people expecting us,” Grant said.
I wanted to argue with him. To fight for more time with Remy. But I knew if I did, I could lose the chance at seeing him again anytime soon. As much as it pained me, I had to give in and let them take him. Holding my son close to my chest, I stood up.
“I’ll bring him to the car,” I said.
“That’s not necessary,” his mother said, but I ignored her.
We walked to the car, and I carefully settled Remy into his seat. He stirred as I attached his harness and kissed him on the top of the head.
“I love you,” I whispered against his soft hair. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Love you, Mommy,” he murmured, then fell back asleep.
“If you’ve taken long enough, we really need to leave.”
Grant’s mother had a way of infuriating me like no one else in my life ever had. She couldn’t be anywhere near me without finding a way to belittle me. I forced myself to ignore her, exchanged only the most basic of conversation with Grant, and headed to my car. My body shook with anger when I finally got on the road. There was more time before I needed to be at the bar than I planned for, so I headed straight for Nick. I needed a hug and possibly a drink.
7
Vince
“Just think how proud Colby is going to be of you,” Nick said, reaching over to nudge Darren with his elbow.
“Shut up,” Darren said, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead.
He sounded more winded than he probably wanted to sound, and Nick and I laughed. Darren was on a mission for physical fitness and health. It started a while back, before Kelly came back in town. He said it was because he wanted to be a better racer. Trimming off a few pounds could make a massive difference in his speed and the way he was able to control his bike on the track. Considering the defensiveness of the other racing teams this season, that was important.
Darren was performing well in the rankings, but we were well aware that it could always change. Another rider could come to the race better prepared or use more effective techniques. Darren could be off for the day. Or a crash could end the race, and possibly the season.
We tried not to think about the dangers too much. It was frightening, especially after watching what Greg went through. Instead, we did everything we could to support Darren in being the best he could be. Which included dragging him out on runs even when he bitched about it. And bitch about it he definitely did.
His best friend, Colby, offered up his physical training expertise to whip Darren into better shape. The goal was to cut off some weight and increase his strength, balance, and stamina. He’d been doing well, but all of us noticed he was slacking a bit while he prepared for his wedding. That meant it was up to us brothers to stay on his ass and force him to do his runs even when he didn’t feel like it.
That night he was particularly struggling. Considering how much planning was being done during work hours, I couldn’t even imagine what happened when he was home with Kelly. I envisioned the walls covered with seating arrangement schematics and every surface taken up by samples from different vendors. Just thinking about it made me tired, so I could imagine Darren was drained. Maybe that meant the run was even more important. It would perk him up and give his brain a break.
We had gone around the usual circuit and were almost back at Nick’s place where we started. As we approached, I saw a car pulling into his driveway. I recognized it instantly as Lindsey’s.
Damn it. After everything I did to try to avoid her for the last few days, here she was showing up right in front of me.
Groaning internally, I did my best not to show any change of emotion. This was definitely not something I wanted to talk to any of my brothers about right now. I didn’t even know exactly what it was. Sure, I’d had a surge of protective, defensive feelings about Lindsey when I’d seen her upset. It wasn’t something I’d ever felt for her before and I wasn’t exactly sure what it meant. But whatever it was, I was sure it would fade away. I would get over it and it wouldn’t be a big deal anymore. Keeping my mouth shut would mean I could just wait for it to go away and everything would go back to normal.
But if I mentioned it to any of my brothers, that would be the end. I would never hear anything else. Not to mention they would not hesitate to tell Lindsey all about it. That was a humiliation I would just as soon not have to go through.
I could have peeled off and headed for my own place. Tucked away in a dense patch of forest, the cabin seemed isolated and totally distanced from everything. But it was actually only a few miles away from Nick’s place. I could make it. Explaining why I left my car behind might be a challenge, though. Deciding the questions it would stir up just weren’t worth it, I continued alongside my brothers. We had slowed to a jog at that point, and Nick was grinning at Lindsey. She’d gotten out of her car and was leaned back against it, waiting for us.
There had been plenty of rumors over the years about the two of them. Everybody thought they made just the sweetest couple and were going to end up together. Not anybody in the family. All of us knew from day one there was nothing between Nick and Lindsey but good friendship. They got along perfectly and understood each other’s sense of humor. But there was never even the slightest hint of any sort of romantic attraction between them. I figured that’s why their relationship worked out as well as it did. I was firm of the belief that men and women could be just friends. But in order for it to really work and last as long as it had for Nick and Lindsey, there had to be no attraction, no romantic feelings. And definitely no sexual feelings.
She fell into step behind us as we went inside and headed directly for the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of cold water out of the refrigerator and guzzled half of it in one shot.
“Are you hungry?” Lindsey asked.
“Starving. They just ran me all over the place,” Nick said.
Darren laughed. “It was only six miles. We didn’t go on a death march.”
“If you don’t have any plans for lunch, I’ll hang around here,” Lindsey said. “I have some time before
I have to be at the bar. You need to go take a shower.”
Nick laughed. “Way to be blunt. I’ll be back down in a minute.”
“I get the other shower,” I said at the same time Darren did.
We argued back and forth over the rights to the second shower located downstairs. Of course, I won. Darren was not only the youngest of the four of us, he was also the sweetest. Out of the brothers, he was always the first one to think about somebody else and do anything he could to help. That is, if they could get past his quiet, shy exterior.
As I started for the second bathroom, I realized I forgot my bag at home. Taking a detour to Nick’s bedroom, I stole some clothes from his dresser and went back to the bathroom. After a fast shower, I made my way back to the kitchen. Darren was already poised and ready for his turn. He was better prepared than I was, gripping a duffel in front of him. As he headed for the bathroom, I went into the kitchen and found Lindsey still there. She stood at the counter making mimosas.
When she turned to look over her shoulder at me, I raised my eyebrow. She looked at the blender and let out a sigh.
“It’s been a rough morning. I needed something strong,” she said.
She didn’t explain any further, and I didn’t push. If she wanted me to know the details, she’d give them to me. Considering how she looked the other night at the bar, it seemed this wasn’t just a one-day issue. Whatever was bothering her that day was probably the same thing that made her look so angry. Some of the protective feeling started tingling up through me again, and I forced it away. I still didn’t know anything about it. I didn’t know what was going on in her life or what she wanted to do about it. That meant it wasn’t my place to try to protect her.
But it was my place to be her friend. And that meant I could do whatever possible to make her feel better. She was obviously struggling with something, and I hated to see it.
Going to the refrigerator, I started pulling out ingredients. Piling them up on the island in the middle of the kitchen, I went to the breadbox and took out one of the loaves of thick, crusty bread I knew would be there. Nick always picked up bread from the bakery near the compound. It was a weakness of his, and he almost always had too much of it. That wasn’t so bad because the leftover chunks got stuffed into the freezer until he could bring them to Mom to be transformed into bread pudding or Thanksgiving dressing. Today, it was being called upon for a higher purpose.
“If you’re feeling sad, there’s only one thing to do,” I said.
“What’s that?” Lindsey asked with a sigh as she sipped one of the mimosas.
“We’re going to make our mother’s famous French toast. There is enough fatty, buttery goodness in there to make anyone smile. Besides, it’ll go with the mimosas. We’ll be fancy and call it brunch.”
“That sounds amazing,” Lindsey said. “I’ll help you. Just tell me what to do first.”
I knew the recipe for the French toast like the back of my hand. Our mother made it for us from the time we were little. It showed up on the table on holiday mornings, birthdays, and anytime somebody needed a bit of cheering up. I watched her make it so many times I picked up the ingredients and technique without her ever having to teach me.
“Find me a big mixing bowl,” I said. “And we’re going to need a whisk and some measuring cups and spoons, too.”
I turned on the oven and took out a serrated knife to cut thick slices of bread. Lindsey gathered everything I needed, and I instructed her to crack half a dozen eggs into the mixing bowl. As I talked her through adding milk, heavy cream, sugar, and spices into the bowl, I lined the slices on a baking sheet. They went into the oven to dry out. It only took a few minutes for the bread to get toasty so it would absorb all the delicious custard, and soon Lindsey was giggling as she poured the custard into a baking dish, trying not to let it spatter and drip. I went behind her and put the slices in to let them soak, then took out a griddle to coat with butter.
Lindsey and I worked together pretty well, considering we never spent time in a kitchen together. I tried not to spin daydreams of us in my kitchen cooking. I knew that wasn’t even in the realm of possibility. It was pushing the envelope enough to be spending this time with her now as my brothers cleaned up and dressed.
But it didn’t stop me from having fun with her then. I was frying up the slices of toast, and Lindsey had moved on to bacon when my brother finally came back into the kitchen. She glanced over at Nick and rolled her eyes.
“Took you long enough,” she said. “I swear, you spend more time in the shower and primping than I do.”
Darren and I laughed, and Nick retaliated by snatching a couple pieces of fresh bacon she had just put on a plate. The big, alcohol-infused lunch was a great time with my brothers and Lindsey. We laughed and joked the entire time, and I was happy to carry on an entire conversation with them without even so much as a mention of a wedding, a baby shower, or even racing. It was good sometimes to just be able to step back and enjoy hanging out together and not think about responsibilities or pressures we didn’t use to have. It was like being kids again.
After lunch, Lindsey had to make her way home to get ready for work. She’d only had one mimosa and then a healthy stack of French toast, so she was fine to drive. I, on the other hand, wasn’t trusting it. Leaving my car at Nick’s to pick up later, I decided to walk home. The fresh air would do me good. As I went, I thought about Lindsey. Something had definitely shifted between us. Now I just had to figure out how to make it even more without pissing Nick off.
8
Lindsey
Sunday was my only day off from the bar. I’d made a good number of changes around the place when I’d taken over from my father, but one I kept the same was being closed on Sunday. It was one of those things that just felt right. Especially around Charlotte, North Carolina. People around here had specific ideas about Sundays. They were for going to church, gathering up at Grandma’s house for lunch, then whiling away the afternoon. Depending on the time of year, that might mean doing a puzzle or playing a game with the family, putting up preserves and doing canning, or just lounging around and relaxing. For a good chunk of the year, it meant football.
To some people, that meant I should have changed the schedule and opened at least for a few hours on Sunday afternoon and evening. Some sports bars had sprung up around town and put up huge flat-screen TVs that aired the weekly football games. It lured in a rowdy crowd and brought in good money. But it just wasn’t me. Maybe I didn’t go to church, and maybe my grandma had gone up to the quilting bee in the sky many years ago. But one thing I kept steady was the tradition of closing up the bar on Sunday.
Usually that meant I devoted the day to catching up on rest and the tasks around the apartment I let go by the wayside during the week. I liked to say Sunday was the day I woke up when I was done sleeping. My phone alarm didn’t even get turned on Saturday night. When I woke up, then I’d start my to-do list, but there was no pushing myself to get up early.
It didn’t work out quite so much like that on that Sunday. My eyes popped open even before the sun came all the way up, and I couldn’t will myself to go back to sleep. Refusing to give in to it, I shoved my head under the pillow and stayed there that way. But after a few hours of tossing and turning, I couldn’t take it anymore. I got up, showered, and got dressed. My list of tasks to do around the house started with cleaning up the kitchen, so I tackled that while coffee brewed.
By my third cup, the kitchen was completely clean, I had done three loads of laundry, and was in the process of cleaning all the floors. After that, I went right into scrubbing the bathroom. I told myself I was just very motivated and wanted to make my home clean and fresh. What was actually going on was trying to stuff my brain full of as many distractions as I possibly could, so I didn’t let my thoughts wander.
As impressive as my productivity was, it meant I was completely done with everything I needed to do before noon. That never happened. It left me with a whole day stretche
d out in front of me and too much nervous energy and caffeine to stay still. I cooked lunch, partially so I could enjoy a good meal rather than my usual sandwich and chips, and partially so I would have something else that I needed to clean up. That finished, I went back to trying to decide what to do next. I was going stir-crazy. Pacing back and forth through my living room, I was teetering right on the edge of saying “fuck it” and just leaving.
Not just the apartment, but Charlotte in general. I had the bar, and I had Nick. But I didn’t have Remy. And I hadn’t had a man in my bed since Grant. Running away to the beach was sounding better and better every minute. Only adding to the plan was Vince. Nobody knew I had been crushing on Vince for years now. The only friend I had who was close enough for me to talk to them about it would be Nick, and there was no way I was going to share that bit of information with him.
Having a guy as a best friend made talking about other guys challenging enough. When the guy I couldn’t get out of my mind was my best friend’s brother, it added a whole new level of awkward. It wasn’t like it was ever going to happen for us. At least, that’s what I always thought. We had known each other for a long time, and he’d never shown even the slightest bit of interest. Most of the time it was like he barely even knew I existed. But recently it seemed that was changing.
He was seemingly flirting with me now. Whatever it was, it was odd. What was even stranger was that Nick was the one who pointed it out to me. I couldn’t help but notice Vince was showing up to the bar more often than he usually did. Back in the day when my father still owned it, he spent more time there. But over the years, he stopped coming in on his own and would only come with his brothers. But over the last couple of weeks, he was showing up by himself for dinner or just to grab a beer. He always seemed to want to talk and would linger around even when he was done with his food or drink.
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