Denim Blues: Montana Heirs 1

by Ashley Kay

Live band rocking, we make our way to an empty table. I pull out Ava’s chair like a gentleman, my hand accidentally grazing her neck. Oh crap, I’m mortified. I hope she doesn’t feel my sweaty fingers, my nerves dripping from the tips.

  “Uh, you want to dance first or get some food?” I ask her, my voice catching. Damn puberty ruining any game I thought I had.

  “Food sounds good. Get me whatever you’re eating.” Her lips curl up into a sweet smile, then she turns to watch the other kids dance robotically on the floor.

  Loaded with food, drinks, and a healthy appetite, Grey and I return to the table and pass around the weighed down plates.

  After we’ve had our fill, the four of us head out to the dance floor. It’s a fast song, thank god, which gives me time to dance out the jitters in my stomach. Or puke, whichever comes first.

  The lights bounce back and forth across the room, music infuses our senses, sweat pools in our backs, and we forget we have any audience.

  Halfway through the song, Grey asks over the techno beat, “You ready to kick this up a notch?” His eyes spark with mischief as he opens his jacket, showing off a bottle of whiskey stashed in his inner pocket.

  “What the heck, dude, put that away.” I swivel my head, making sure no one got a glimpse.

  “Preston, relax, it’s all good. They won’t catch us this time. I’ll go to the bathroom first and take a few swigs, then it’s your turn. Come on, don’t puss out on me.”

  I turn toward Ava. She just shrugs and keeps on dancing. Remy is oblivious to all of it, her eyes glued to the guitarist up on stage. Slicing my eyes back to Grey, his expression’s expectant. “Whatever, man, I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “You never do,” he mutters under his breath.

  I sigh and focus on Ava. The song ends and a slow song starts up. I sweat even more.

  “Wanna dance?” I ask her, even though we’re clearly already out here dancing.

  “Sure,” she says, placing her arms on my shoulders. We sway to the music, and I’m close to entering those pearly gates.

  Greyson whispers something into Remy’s ear and creeps off toward the bathroom. I don’t care. I won’t let him ruin this moment. Ava and I continue to drift, not really looking at each other. I chalk it up to nerves and the fact that we’re inexperienced as hell.

  “Thanks for asking me to the dance, I’m having a good time,” I say to her, but she isn’t focused on me—her eyes are on my brother. He slides back in our direction, grabbing Remy before dancing their way next to us.

  Leaning in, he smells of a heavy dose of whiskey with a side of mint. “Your turn P, and remember, don’t chicken out.” He slyly puts the bottle in my hand, and I quickly shove it in my jacket pocket.

  “Ok, I’ll be right back.” I act as natural as humanly possible for me, releasing a held in breath when I get to the hallways with no problems. Swinging open the restroom door, I slide into an empty stall and take out the bottle. It’s small, about the size of my palm, flat, and already half empty. How much did he freaking drink?

  Screwing off the top, I bring it up to take a sniff. My nose wrinkles as the potent smell makes my eyes water. I’ve never been that interested in alcohol. Our dad doesn’t drink much, and mom has the occasional wine, but I figure I have time for all that later—you know—when it’s legal. Greyson has no problem sneaking a drink or two when dad goes to bed.

  It’s straight rubbing alcohol spiced with whatever whiskey is made of, and I can’t fathom who would just chug this.

  Tilting the bottle, I pour a little into the toilet to make it appear like I had some. Hopefully, Grey will be too far gone to notice my breath doesn’t smell like it.

  My fingers are reaching to close it up when the door to the bathroom flings open. I jump, knocking the lid off, and alcohol spills all down the front of me.

  “Shit,” I say out loud, swiping my hand down my tux, having no luck—I reek. My hands scramble to shove the bottle in my pocket when my stall door is opened by none other than Mr. Jenkins, one of the math teachers here. Fuck me. I didn’t even think to lock the stall.

  He sees the bottle and angry eyes bore into mine. “Mr. Lee, please come with me. They tipped me off you had alcohol and it looks like you do.” He motions with his hand for me to follow him out the door.

  What? Who tipped him off?

  Words evade me. I’m so screwed and I didn’t even do anything. One hand covers my face, the other gripping my hair. This isn’t good. I cannot get in trouble. I have a chance to make the JV team for baseball and this will ruin that.

  We stop in the hall by the open door to the gym, my eyes darting around for Greyson to signal that he needs to get in here and fess up. This isn’t my fault, I won’t go down for this. He’s my brother, loyal to a fault, he’ll come through for me like he always did.

  I finally find him, but he isn’t dancing with Remy, he’s slow dancing with … Ava.

  The hands on her hips—dangerously close to her ass—pull her closer. Pale, creamy arms are wound around his neck, fingers reverently touching his hair. She’s smiling, big and bright, eyes shining, like he’s the sun and she’s the moon.

  They’ve ripped my heart out of my chest, leaving it bleeding in my hands. It was all a lie, Ava and I. Just a way to get to my brother.

  Shattering my silence, I cup my hands and yell, “Grey!”

  He hears me, looks straight at me. I throw my hands out to the side, booze bottle in one hand, a mask of desperation and disbelief on my face.

  My teacher pulls on my arm, and I shrug him off, resulting in him tugging harder. “Preston, let’s go, NOW!”

  I’m struggling. I need Grey’s help. This is his freaking mess, but I want nothing to do with him. He moved in on Ava like I didn’t exist. Like I’m not his brother, just a conduit to get somewhere or someone.

  Surprise and something that resembles regret, flashes across Grey’s face. Then, in slow motion, he turns his head, leading him and Ava in a different direction, away from me.

  My insides crack wide open. The rivers of betrayal pump through my veins, flowing from my body all over the floor. I mimic a soldier on the field, watching as a comrade drives a dagger—hilt all in—straight through my stomach. I want to double over with the pain leeching all over. I’m drained and defeated. Alone.

  I drag my feet after Mr. Jenkins, ready to accept my punishment. He guides me to the lobby, where it’s quiet. I barely hear him as he runs through all the rules I’ve broken and how disappointed he is in me. Normally, I’d be ashamed, but at the moment I’m stunned into silence. My eyes glaze over—and not with alcohol. Standing there, I just curl in on myself and wait until he’s done, my face a blank mask. He goes easy on me. Says something like, since I’m a good kid and never in trouble, he’s going to let me off with a warning. I dodged a bullet, but I feel no relief. I’m numb.

  Shoving open the school doors, I move to stand out on the sidewalk, staring blankly up at the dark sky lit only by street lamps. It’s cold. I’m devoid of any warmth I had coming in.

  Loyalty … love. It’s a fucking joke. It doesn’t exist anymore. Stripped bare, love and loyalty at their core—are just words. Words I no longer know.

  5

  SAVANNAH

  What a flipping jerk.

  Jerk might be a little too nice for what I think about Preston Lee, but my momma raised me to be nice, so I’ll tuck how I really feel under my belt buckle. If I was wearing one.

  Rolling my eyes, I follow him down the hall, seriously ticked off. Greyson said he was tough, but dang. A left hook to that pretty face of his sounds awfully enticing.

  First off, the snarky email to all of us employees … the nerve of him to expect us to show up at this meeting in business attire. Does he not know where we work? This isn’t New York. Most of us here have been working on ranches or places like this all our lives. The fanciest we get is to go to the annual barn dance. And we sure as heck don’t wear suits. I run my hands down the stretchy
material of my athletic wear. I’m not changing. Screw him and his weird rules.

  My face burns, the effects of his searing electric blue eyes blends my brain to mush. If we were outside, the snow would have melted into a big puddle at my feet. Stop it, Savannah Martin. He’s a rake wrapped up in pretty paper.

  God has a serious sense of humor to create a beautiful man with a brazen attitude. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. Not only is he the gorgeous identical twin to Greyson, but he’s also mean to be mean, and I’m not used to that. Well, that is if I don’t count a rude, self-serving ex-husband, but that’s neither here nor there.

  I slither into the conference room, trying to blend into the textured walls. Preston is already up front organizing some papers, an air of authority buzzing around him. His brows furrow in deep concentration, his pouty mouth arranges in a frown, and he effectively ignores everyone in the room. Each slide of the paper reminds us who’s in charge.

  Most of the employees have gathered into clusters. Gypsy and Jemmy sit in the first row of chairs, Sandy gabs with another hiking instructor, and Lukas is trying to schmooze up to any female willing to listen to him talk. I shake my head when he turns those flirty eyes to me. Isaac is by himself, pensive as usual. Being a survivalist suits him. All of them are wearing their nicest attire, fit for a business meeting, except agony is plastered on all their faces. It’s torture to wear anything other than worn-in denim jeans and soft cozy shirts.

  Glancing down at my outfit again, my cheeks flame even more so when I feel Preston’s eyes boring into me. I suck in a breath, the air in the room suddenly too thick, suffocating me.

  After a calculated beat, I stare right back with a coy smile on my face, giving him a small curtsy before taking a seat in the back of the room. I swear a small twitch tugs on his lips, but now his attention has turned to everyone else in the room.

  Oh my god, what am I doing? I’m playing with fire. I’m not rebellious, but something about him makes me want to be.

  He’s my boss. Well … technically Greyson is, but I still shouldn’t be pushing any of this man’s buttons. The compulsion is strong, and judging by the fact that everyone’s fidgeting in their chairs, I might be the only one. I believe Preston Lee, CFO extraordinaire, might be good at making most people feel small, like tiny bugs on a sidewalk.

  Straightening my five-foot-five frame, I try my darndest to pay attention. These things aren’t for me. I’m more at home in the archery field with my bow. Zoning out, my mind clings on to my next client, most definitely not on my hot, mean, sorta boss, when a deep voice barrels out.

  “Savannah. Do you have anything to add?” My name tumbles off his lips like velvet and cake. If voices are a delicacy, his is pure tiramisu—bold, chocolaty, and gritty. Way too sinful this early in the morning.

  Everyone’s eyes swing to me, and I shrink back into the chair. Heart hammering, I shun my inner musings. I have no clue what he’s talking about.

  “Uh, not particularly,” I stammer. His penetrating gaze leaves me squirming. Why does it feel like he’s singling me out?

  “So the archery budget is none of your concern?” He places his palms flat on the table in front of him, arching an eyebrow. The sleeves on his dress shirt are rolled up to his elbows and that one movement stresses those spectacular muscles.

  Right. Archery budget. Yep, I’m definitely in charge of that. Standing, I clasp my hands in front of me, playing the dutiful and ever-present employee. I can’t afford to lose my job because I feel the need to aggravate boss number two.

  “The numbers for Lukas and I’s department are on target. We have increased our clientele and therefore have been able to update some of our equipment. The plan is to replace some old targets with newer models in the spring when we can practice outside again.” Licking my lips—my throat suddenly dry—I abruptly sit down.

  “Thank you, Savannah … er Savy.” His focus remains on me for a few seconds before moving to the next person on his agenda.

  Now that his eyes aren’t on me, I ponder the difference between brothers. Physically, they’re similar of course. Preston is taller and more built; his muscles strain against his fitted button down. Greyson is lean, but muscular due to all the work here. Preston’s also a stiff in a suit, starchy and crispy. Like Mae’s fried chicken.

  Grey has always been carefree for as long as I’ve known him; his eyes glitter with childlike excitement. Especially out here in Montana. It’s just lighter here. Blame the fresh air. Preston seems wound up so tight, like all that energy is simmering and coiling just below the surface. A part of me wants to let it out and see what happens.

  The meeting is about to wrap up when I remember. “Wait, you guys, we still have one thing left to do!” I blurt out, shooting up from my seat.

  I inspect the room and my friends’ and co-workers’ eyes widen when they realize what I’m about to do. A few heads shake and I chuckle nervously, because this seems like a bright idea about getting our new boss—whose looks could kill without using a gun—to do a rock-climbing competition. Being slightly unhinged, I’m going to do it anyway.

  Biting my lip, I sneak a glance at Greyson. His crazy eyes bulge from the sockets. I just shrug my shoulders. Preston has a stick up his bum, and he needs help to get it out.

  “Preston. Oops, Mr. Lee, whenever we get a new employee, we all take part in a rock-climbing competition.” I squeeze my hands in front of me, holding onto my boldness. What’s he going to do, fire me? Greyson wouldn’t let that happen, would he?

  “Ms. Martin, I regretfully decline the invitation. I don’t think it’s necessary.” A challenge lurks behind his eyes, confident I won’t question him.

  Oh, no, he’s not getting out of this that easily.

  “It’s most definitely necessary. It’s a tradition. We can’t break tradition. Besides, I’m sure you could easily make it up that wall with no problem.” I jut my chin up, daring him to back out of it now.

  Whispers and murmurs circulate the ever-shrinking room as his eyes flash with annoyance and something else. A demand or test he can’t resist, perhaps?

  The palpable hum of excitement fills my belly and after a few more seconds of our eyes locked in an unspoken duel, he breaks our stare, adjusting his tie.

  “Fine. We can’t back down from tradition, can we?”

  I don’t miss that glint of competitiveness, nor the twitch of his lips. I want to fist bump the air, but then he taps his watch, and he’s back to being professional.

  “Meet up in fifteen and then we can begin. Ms. Martin, a word, please.”

  Uh oh.

  Everyone shoots up from their chairs like a firecracker is lit under each of their cheeks and file out, leaving me and the brothers standing around awkwardly. I bite my nails, wishing I could go crawl under a rock. All my confidence has deflated and now I’m panicky.

  Greyson steps up beside me, looping his arm through mine. “Don’t take anything out on her, it is tradition, but if you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to. It’s fine.”

  Preston tenses. “It’s ok except,” he scrutinizes my outfit, and I wilt into the carpet, “I’m not wearing the right clothes for this little adventure and I wasn’t allowed to leave my things anywhere or change before I got here.” He gestures to his designer clothes and shiny shoes, still damp.

  I might lay an egg if he has anything other than fancy, schmancy suits in that bag of his.

  Greyson nods. “Uh, don’t worry, you can borrow some of mine that I have in my locker here.”

  “Like you borrowed something of mine, or rather stole, away from me,” Preston bites out, growling like a cornered animal. The testosterone is heavy in the room, pressing me further into the carpet, unwilling to let me slink out of here unscathed.

  Greyson lets go of me, pleading, as he holds out his hands. “Can we not do this here, please?”

  “Fine,” Preston sighs, stepping back. “Just get me those clothes and meet me at that damn wall.” He turns, stridin
g out of the room.

  A moment later, he sticks his head back in the doorway and grips the frame, eying me up and down. “Oh, and Ms. Martin, please remember to dress appropriately for our next staff meeting.” Winking, he raps the wood before leaving again.

  I turn to Greyson with my mouth hanging open. “Dude, your brother is … a brute?”

  He rotates his eyes to the ceiling. “That’s a friendly word for him. He wasn’t always like that.” He mutters the last part, but I pick up on it.

  “What the heck happened between you two? You aren’t telling me everything. And he thinks we’re together!” I gesture between the two of us with my finger, nearly gagging.

  He sticks his tongue out at me, disregarding my question. “Let him think what he wants. I should probably clear that up, you’re like my sister and that would be weird. Or maybe not, he looks at you like you’re a tasty little snack.” He playfully shoves me toward the door.

  Hmm. He’s hiding something. Did he just say I look like a snack?

  “Let’s go kick his ass at the wall, shall we?” Grey holds the door open for me to slip through.

  Without warning, a little tornado blurs past us in the hallway. Greyson and I rush out to witness Theo tackle Preston down the corridor. He crawls up his long legs like a spider.

  “Daddy!” he yells excitedly, scrambling up into Preston’s arms. My eyes bug out and I gasp, stumbling into Greyson’s chest, feeling his heart race.

  Pure shock bleaches through Preston’s entire face. He holds onto the little boy but doesn’t utter a single word. Theo cradles the man’s increasingly white face in his small palms and smooshes his cheeks together.

  Theo then tilts his head to the side and speaks in his sweet voice. “Daddy, why are you wearing a suit? You told me you don’t like them and that you only had to wear one to Grandpa’s funeral.”

  Preston’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, but again nothing comes out.

  Greyson takes this opportunity to come up to the two, putting his hand on Theo’s shoulders. Startled, the boy whips his head around and takes in his actual father, eyes widening in the shape of cerulean marbles. Swinging his head back to Preston, he lets out a yelp, wriggling out of his embrace. Flying into Greyson’s outstretched arms, he buries his head into the broad chest. Grey tenderly lifts the little boy’s head, brushing back his dark hair from his forehead. “Buddy, this is my brother, Preston. You haven’t met him, but he’s your uncle.”