Falter: The Nash Brothers, Book Four

by Aarons, Carrie

  Lily pushes the stroller with baby Molly in it, some paces behind Presley and me. Penelope is trying to wrangle Ames, her youngest son, from jumping in a pond fully clothed, and I have to smile at how much adulting we’re doing.

  “You just had a baby, give yourself some grace,” Penelope chides her best friend as we all fall into step together.

  When Presley suggested a Saturday morning walk with her sisters-in-law, I’d been a bit hesitant. These three spend so much time together, and even though I knew her first and she’s my best friend, it’s almost like Presley is closer with Lily and Penelope now. I don’t like to feel like the odd one out and was anxious to try to converse with people who spoke to each other every day.

  “Says the woman with three kids who looks like a supermodel daily.” Lily rolls her eyes.

  The baby whines for a moment, and Presley peaks inside, pulling back the blanket on her niece’s body and rubbing her tummy a little. Lily smiles at Presley in thanks, and Molly is fast asleep before I can blink an eye.

  “Jeez, who knew you were so good with kids,” I say to Presley.

  She shrugs. “Keaton and I babysit a lot for this growing brood.”

  “Speaking of growing, is there anything you want to tell us?” Penelope eyes her hopefully.

  Presley shakes her long red locks. “Not yet, although we’ve been talking about starting to try.”

  That tidbit of information catches my attention. “Really? I thought you didn’t know about kids.”

  We’d always talked about how neither of us was sure if we wanted to have children. Presley was too flighty, and I was too selfish. Listing off all the things I’d have to give up for a child … it seemed endless. I wasn’t sure if I wanted my life to change so drastically, and having a child meant putting everything you loved second.

  Her green eyes are shifty as she glances from her sisters to me. “Well, I … I know how great of a father Keaton would be. I feel like I’d be robbing him of fulfilling some destiny. And, well, babysitting has really given me the fever. If I get a baby half as good as Molly, I’ll be lucky.”

  “I’ll remember you said that when your little one is up at midnight, clawing at your boob,” Penelope jokes.

  Lily nods in agreement. “Although, it’s the greatest thing on earth. I didn’t know how badly I wanted to be a milk machine until I had a child.”

  I have to tamp down the shudder that runs through me because that doesn’t sound at all like something I’d want.

  The silence that follows when no one responds makes my skin crawl. Maybe they’re not pushing the discussion further because I’m here, an intruder on their family talks.

  “Ryan, I’m glad you’re back in town. Are you working remotely?” Lily asks politely.

  Penelope tunes in as Ames runs ahead of us, and Presley grins at me. They’re all trying to make me feel included, which is nice, but I still feel like an outcast.

  “I’m between projects right now.”

  It’s a better line than, I’m taking a break from work. I feel like that would only worry people more, because my job has been my spouse for the last decade. But how do you explain that you feel you’ve ridden the roller coaster of a career to its end? Because that’s how I feel. Once upon a time, I thought I had the sickest position in the game. Hacking or coding for whoever I wanted, wherever I wanted. Using the skills that came so easy to make massive amounts of money … the kind I could never even have dreamed of as a kid.

  But over the past two years, I’ve become resigned. My work doesn’t bring me excitement anymore. Honestly, the last time I got any joy or spark from what I do was when Forrest asked me to consult on his cyber thief case.

  So, I was taking some time off, until I could find something that inspired me again. I’d saved enough money, and I was staying for free with Presley and Keaton. Working my ass off for ten years … yeah, I think I could afford to take a sabbatical.

  “And you … just came off a breakup, right?” Penelope’s voice is cautious and delicate.

  I assume Presley told them about my dating woes, if not an expanded version of the story. Everyone was probably wondering why I was here, anyway.

  “Yep. It was pretty brutal. Found the bastard cheating on me, in our bed. With two women.” That age-old practice of talking shit about men who’ve wronged us felt like an appropriate activity right now.

  Plus, I hadn’t gotten to vent much, and after rampaging through my phone two days ago, deleting any evidence of him, it felt good to talk about.

  “Oh, no he didn’t! What a prick! Has he seen you? You’re like Minka Kelly’s younger, hotter sister.” Penelope snaps her fingers as if she’s about to fight Yanis on my behalf.

  That makes me snort. “First off, Minka Kelly is already young and hot, way more so than me. Unfortunately, he had seen me, for a year and a half while we were in a relationship. The fucking Greek asshole. Claimed it was the European way.”

  “Language …” Lily scolds me, eyes flicking to Molly and Ames.

  I cover my mouth. “Whoops, sorry.”

  “Ignore her, my boys hear more cursing from their mother than they ever will on the school bus.” Penelope rolls her eyes. “Anyway, I hope you slit his tires.”

  Shaking my head, I sigh. “I wish, but all he owns is a donkey and a moped. There was no need for a car where we lived. I did slap him in the face, though.”

  “Atta girl.” Presley claps twice. “He deserves to fall all the way down those Santorini steps and right into the ocean.”

  “Oh, the bloody fantasies I’ve had about injuring him.” My hands clasp together like I’m plotting his demise.

  In truth, I could always feel something like that coming from Yanis. As much as I want to claim I was blindsided, I wasn’t. He’s a Greek artist, famous for being the next big thing in impressionist painting. From the moment I met him, I’d been swept up in his robust attitude for life, love, and good food. He gave me the grand tour of Greece, made me fall into bed with him, and I was fascinated ever since. But that little voice in the back of my head, and heart, told me there was something wrong. I knew I shouldn’t have fully trusted him, and in the weeks leading up to his indiscretion, I’d already been thinking about how we were falling out of love. The spark wasn’t there anymore, it had died out just like all the other affairs I’d sworn were epic love sagas and would never end.

  This is how I was with men. I fell in love in two seconds, dove head first into a relationship and living together without a backward glance, and ended up royally fucking burned when it all came crashing down on top of my head.

  “Well, Fawn Hill might be small, but there are a few eligible bachelors if you want us to set you up,” Lily suggests cheerfully.

  My fingers come up in a X. “No, thanks. I’m swearing off men for at least a year.”

  “Good for you.” Penelope chuckles. “They’re nothing but trouble, in all forms and ages. If I could trade mine all in for a week or two and sit in silence by myself, I would.”

  “Amen,” Lily and Presley echo her.

  I laugh because it’s what I’m supposed to do, but I’m reminded by their sarcasm that they’re all in loving, healthy relationships. Their husbands would all jump in front of a bullet for them, as opposed to lying and scamming.

  And I know I claimed I wanted nothing to do with the single men of Fawn Hill, but I can’t get the most enticing one out of my head.

  It was only two days ago when Fletcher walked in on me butt naked and spilled all of his feelings about exploring my body. Christ, even thinking about it now makes my skin ignite and my stomach dip with temptation. The way I’d let his eyes comb over every inch of me for just a brief moment … Lord, it had felt like I would combust from just his gaze alone. All the air had gone out of the room, and the sexual desire between us had practically suffocated me. It was dirty and yet so right.

  For a brief second, I’d almost gone to him, asked for something that went completely against my vow to myself. B
y then Fletcher had done us both a favor and turned around, but not without obliterating me in the process.

  “I’ve thought about this for a long time. Probably too often, if I’m being honest.”

  If he only knew …

  “We’ll beat them off with a stick, then. Anything for our girl.” Presley slings an arm around my shoulder, trying to subtly hint that I was a part of their world now.

  “Thanks. Hey, can we go get those sticky buns from the coffee shop? I’ve been dreaming about them since I left two years ago,” I ask, trying to change the subject.

  Penelope raises her hands, praising my suggestion. “Hell yes, I need sugar and carbs, stat.”

  6

  Fletcher

  Each plank of wood was smooth and soft to the touch, the work I’ve put in on each board apparent.

  With a steady hand, I run the sander over the grain, rounding off any sharp edges or splinters. The pieces would have no hazards once they were stained and sealed, but you could never be too careful. This is the crib for my first niece, after all.

  I hadn’t known what to get Bowen and Lily when Molly was born and having little money to my name didn’t help. But what I lacked in financial gains, I made up for in homemade gifts the past few years. First, it was the gift I gave Keaton and Presley for their wedding. Then, I built the flower arch that Bowen and Lily stood under for their wedding. Then I designed a bench for Bloomfield Park, and have done some other work for local friends and family.

  Recently, I’ve been commissioned to design a chuppah for a prominent Jewish couple in New Jersey who found my work through Instagram. They surprised the hell of out of me when they offered two thousand dollars for the piece. It has been my largest sale thus far, and I’ve gotten a few inquiries recently just from their word-of-mouth praise.

  I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to do this full time. Build furniture, make wooden art pieces, use my hands to distract from the shaking cravings that run through my body almost all hours of the day.

  That’s why I started doing this. At first, it had been model ships in rehab. One of my counselors there had suggested a distraction that got me off the grid of TV or Internet … because alcohol commercials could pop up at any time. Even those were triggering for me back then. He said that reading could help, but my attention span was so shot that I gave up on that idea quickly. Arts and crafts were a last-ditch effort, that I found, shockingly, helpful.

  I built three model ships during my time spent at the in-patient facility. Once I came home, I knew I had to find a way to distract myself from the constant temptation to drink.

  It was fate that I stumbled on an old friend from high school who now ran his parent’s farm. He’d randomly started talking about some scraps of woods and old pallets he needed help getting rid of. I offered to make use of them, take them off his hands … and what started as just tinkering around with no knowledge or skill, turned into a passion.

  Now, I can’t imagine my life without it. Woodworking, turning scraps and discarded planks into something beautiful, there was a symmetry to it. A dedication that required time and great detail. When I finished a piece, I could gaze upon it with the utter satisfaction that my hands made that creation.

  “That’s looking great,” I hear my twin brother’s voice as I finish sanding off the last plank that will make up Molly’s crib.

  Turning, I spot Forrest standing in the doorway of the barn I use for my work. That friend I bumped into, Grady Burton, offered it to me when he saw what I did with the pallets. Call it a handout, but I took it willingly. The space is lofty enough that I didn’t choke on sawdust, and out in the middle of several acres, so I could work in peace. In exchange, I help him out with whatever he needs, from hauling hay to harvesting crops.

  “Yeah, I’m just trying to finish it. The kid will need a place of her own to sleep soon. Have you seen Bowen recently? He looks like an exhausted, caged tiger. The guy is going to keel over if he doesn’t get some sleep and alone time with his wife soon.”

  Running a hand over the curved headboard piece of the crib, Forrest chuckles. “If he wanted alone time with his wife, he shouldn’t have had a kid. Trust me, I know.”

  “Part of me still can’t believe you’re a family man.” I wipe my sweaty forehead and grab the water jug off the folding table that doubles as a workbench, taking a large swig.

  “Sometimes, I can’t either. But, it’s my life now. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” He shrugs. “Hey, did you hear I caught another criminal? Just call me Detective Perfect Record.”

  And there’s the twin I know. Forrest has always been the most boastful brother, probably because he feels the most unlike the rest of us. Where we were all blessed with baseball arms and charm, my lookalike got the wit and intellect. He’s a damn genius, but I won’t dare stroke his ego and tell him.

  I applaud sarcastically. “We all live in a safer world simply because of you. All hail Forrest.”

  He rolls his eyes, knowing I’m mocking him. “By the way, did you steal my leather belt again? I can’t find it anywhere.”

  Shit. I forgot I took that. “Maybe …”

  “Fletch, you know it’s weird that you borrow clothes from your brothers, right?”

  I shrug. “All the girls I know who have sisters do it. Your wife swaps wardrobes with Lily and Presley all the time.”

  “Because they’re chicks. Guys don’t do that,” Forrest protests.

  “Why can’t we? I don’t feel like going to the store to grab a new belt, and I know you have a couple. It saves us all money. I’ll let you borrow something of mine so we can call it even.”

  My brother shakes his head. “That logic doesn’t make sense. Would you let Bowen borrow your boxers?”

  I consider this. “If he needed them.”

  “So, you’d wear a piece of clothing that your brother’s ball sweat was on?” Forrest’s mouth is set in a deep frown, and he cringes from the idea.

  Placing the water jug, half empty now, back on my makeshift workbench, I pick up a can of stain and a paintbrush.

  “I mean, I guess if I didn’t have another option. Or if they had a cool print. Like big fluffy dogs or something. Or maybe rocket ships. Boxers have to have a cool print, or you don’t have that secret, confident swag under your clothes.”

  Forrest ponders my last sentence. “Hmm, I guess you might be right. I do have some sick plaid briefs that Penelope loves …”

  I begin slathering stain onto the smooth planks that will assemble to make the crib.

  “You need something? You know why I work all the way out here …” My family knows my preference for being alone while I’m creating.

  He walks over to the other side of the barn, inspecting some of the half-finished stuff I’ve cast aside for the crib project.

  “What’s this going to be?” he asks, his hands pulling out a large, circular object.

  I glance over my shoulder, starting to get annoyed by his presence. “A clock. I’m trying to teach myself about how to build one using all wooden gears, hands, inner-workings, that sort of thing.”

  My brother studies it. “You’ll have to put the gears like this.”

  He makes a motion with his hands, and of course, it took him less than three seconds to figure out how to build one when I’ve been reading books on it for three weeks.

  “Do you need something?” I snap, wanting him gone.

  I only have so much time to come out here and work between my shifts at the grocery store, helping Grady, helping Mom, babysitting, and all the other shit that takes me away from my passion.

  “Saw Ryan walking home from the yoga studio the other day.” Forrest drops this casually into conversation like I don’t know what he’s trying to get at.

  “You’re my twin brother. We have the same mind. Yes, I know she’s in town. No, I don’t want to talk about it. No, I’m not going to stand here and gossip about chicks with you while you, the married man, tries to set me up.”


  “There has always been that thing between you,” he points out, still trying to badger me about this.

  “Forrest, drop it. I’m not dating, you know that. And the first time I met Ryan, everyone was trying to fix you two up.”

  He waves this off like he didn’t have her staying with him the last time I saw her two years ago. “That’s ancient history, and we had zero chemistry. I’m a happily married man, now. Who just wants to see his baby brother happy.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re older by half a minute.”

  “Thirty-seven seconds to be exact.” he counters.

  “Whatever. Regardless, I don’t want to be with anyone. I’m focusing on me and am in no place to take care of someone else.”

  Forrest comes to sit and watch me work, taking up the empty stool next to my folding table.

  “Fletch, it’s been almost five years. Don’t they tell recovering alcoholics not to get into a relationship for the first year? You’ve held up that promise four times over. And your promise to yourself was that you’d never be involved with a woman again until it was the real deal. Brother, I’m telling you that you and Ryan could be the real deal. Everyone sees it, we all feel those fuck me vibes whenever you two are in the same room. Hell, when she came to help me with that case, I thought you two were going to bone on the couch in front of me.”

  I try to ignore the blaring facts alarm going off in my head because it too remembers how much I jerked off to fantasies of Ryan in the weeks after I’d found her at Forrest’s old place. But his tone is pissing me off, as is his message.

  “Will everyone just get off my dick about this? Jesus, the woman hasn’t been in town more than a week and I’ve seen the way everyone is frothing at the mouth for us to fall madly in love.”

  He holds his hands up in surrender. “All right, all right. I’m just looking out for you. When you decide to get off your celibate soapbox and apply logic to your life, call me.”

  With that, Forrest hops off the stool and exits my barn, leaving me to work in peace.