Forgiven: The Nash Brothers, Book Two

by Aarons, Carrie

  Being in her presence, it hurts too much. I was so blindly in love with this girl from the moment she crossed my path, she basically concussed me. There was no explanation to it either; one second, there was the world before her, and the next, everything shifted. What we had, still have, is that inexplicable kind of love. The kind that defies logic and years, that keeps burning brightly no matter how much you try to extinguish it.

  She was around too much now. Those long brown curls, her eyes the color of a midnight sky filled with stars, that perfume that haunted my dreams … Lily was breaking me down and she didn’t even know it. But for her sake, and mine, I had to poison her against me.

  Once I’d slept off the depression of slicing her with my words, and the massive alcohol hangover, I’d started plotting.

  The one thing that had brought me joy, besides Lily, and still did … that was baseball. After my college prospects dried up, I was bitter and didn’t want anything to do with the sport. I could have gone into a program for sports broadcasting, with all of my knowledge. I could have gone to school to be a gym teacher, and went the coach route, eventually. Hell, I had enough contacts and inroads that I could have done something.

  But I’d been young and angry, and I’d said screw you to the sport that no longer wanted me for the way I wanted to exist within it.

  Truth was, it had been ten years, but I still kept in touch with a few of my contacts from back then. I was friendly with some of the assistants and scouts, and it got me thinking …

  “I’ve uh … been thinking about giving Lewis Mider a call.” I start the conversation, already feeling like the suit had shrunk three sizes with how uncomfortable my skin felt.

  Keaton’s eyebrows go up. “The scout who was recruiting you for UNC?”

  “You’ve got a good memory, brother.” I nod. “Yeah. We’ve exchanged a few emails over the years, and I was thinking I might see if he has a position. Or knows of anyone in the industry who’s hiring.”

  “To be a scout?” Keaton frowns.

  “Or a coach. Or … anything.” I shrug.

  Keaton slips out of the suit jacket and slings it over the back of a folding chair. “What’s this all about, Bow?”

  I’m not good at talking about feelings. Scratch that, I’m fucking terrible at it, and I rarely ever do it. But something has been itching me, picking at me like a kid at a scab, ever since Keaton and Presley got engaged.

  For the last ten years, I’ve let life happen to me. I let my baseball career vanish because I couldn’t play as well. I let Dad convince me that the barbershop would be a good investment once the old owner put it up for sale. I haven’t dated, haven’t let go of the anger, haven’t … anything.

  I’m not one to wish for rainbows and sunshine, far from it actually, but maybe getting out of Fawn Hill could give me the fresh start I’ve needed since I flipped my truck that night.

  “I miss baseball. And I need something … else. Maybe if I leave town, I can find it.”

  There, that was opening up.

  Keaton snorts. “Well, that was about as detailed as I thought it would be.”

  I glare at him.

  He holds his hands up. “But it was better than usual, I’ll give you that. If this is what you want … if it will make you happy, then I say go for it. You’d be an awesome coach, or scout, or whatever. We both know that baseball is your first love. I just … I want to make sure you’re doing this for the right reasons.”

  “And what are the wrong reasons?” I bristle.

  “The wrong reason would be doing this to run away from your problems. The easy solution is moving out of town, leaving all of the turmoil behind. The hard thing … would be talking to her.”

  Now it’s the death stare that I shoot back at him. “You know I can’t do that.”

  Keaton’s eyes are sad, and he gives a slow nod.

  I don’t let him get a word in. “Plus, I’ve been sitting in the same place for ten years. This wouldn’t be running. This would be breaking free. From the things that have held me down for a decade. I might not be able to play, but I can be around the sport. I don’t know … something about you and Presley, Keat. It eats at me. What the hell am I doing? I have a dead-end life.”

  “I don’t view it that way. You have a successful business, you fight fires to help and save people, you have your family.”

  His words don’t even puncture the surface. “You know what I mean. The life I have … it’s a fallback avenue. I’ve never been anywhere but here; I have no experience or miles on me. I’m almost thirty years old, single, living in the town I grew up in with no … motivation. Nothing is a challenge.”

  Keaton smiles, looks down shaking his head. “Damn, you just described my life before I met Presley. And … I can admit that I felt many of the same feelings. But, then I found love.”

  I can’t look at him now. “I had that, once. And it’s gone, it has to be dead and you know why. At least I can try to find a way back to a part of the person I once was.”

  Keaton is silent for a long time, long enough that the tailor comes back and marks both of our pants and tells us we can change and meet at the register.

  Finally, he clears his throat. “You should call him. If this is the way you’re going to break down that wall you’ve surrounded yourself with, and trapped yourself inside of, then I think you should call him.”

  13

  Lily

  Three days after the total dismantling of my self-esteem thanks to Bowen, all I want to do is sit in my house and lick my wounds.

  Too bad it’s dress shopping day.

  “Yippee,” I sarcastically recite as Penelope pulls into the parking lot of the only wedding and bridesmaid dress store in fifty miles. Of course, I want to see another woman in a wedding dress today. Of course, I want to try on whatever horrible creation they’ve invented to make bridesmaids feel even more like bridesmaids. Of course, I want to toast with champagne and celebrate love.

  Lord, I should have taken something for this.

  I’m never the type to be grouchy. It literally goes against my chemical makeup, and I can recount on one hand the total number of times I’ve ever been outwardly mean or prickly in my life. But today, it would have to be the first finger on the second hand.

  Something shifted in me after Bowen took me down a notch. Okay … it was probably more like twenty notches.

  For a man to go from almost kissing you, for the second time in a month, to completely slaughtering your confidence, love for him, and values you hold dear … it was—and I never curse—a mindfuck. I didn’t know which way was up. When Bowen had started going in on my, what he called, desperation and weakness, it was worse than our breakup.

  Because when our relationship ended, I didn’t get words. It was radio silence. But to hear him voice those opinions about me, to pull apart every fiber of myself that I thought was worth something … it hurt like hell. To tell me he didn’t love me, that he didn’t even want to look at me …

  I have to bite my tongue to keep from crying in the backseat of Penelope’s car, next to one of her kid’s car seats. There were two gummy bears smashed into the lining, and I had to focus on that to stop myself from losing it.

  But nothing stung as bad as hearing Bowen call me weak in regard to my parents. He knew me better than anyone, even after ten years of barely speaking, and he knew that was the touchiest subject for me. Because … I was weak when it came to them.

  Bowen had been there for all the phone calls telling me to get home now. He’d been there through campaign speeches and caucus trips and the smiling and waving. All the things I was forced to do that I didn’t want to because it fell under “being a good political daughter.” Each party, or dance, or night with friends that I missed because I was out doing something for my dad’s position or campaign.

  He had been the one I’d cried to, complained to. Back then, he’d stood up for me, privately between the two of us. And now, it seemed he was using all the ammo h
e’d amassed against me.

  It was cruel. Each word that had shot like venom out of his mouth and at me was so incredibly cruel.

  Penelope and Presley have already gotten out of the car, and I’m lagging a few seconds behind as I drag myself onto the pavement.

  “Earth to Lily, where you at?” Penelope snaps in my face.

  I swat her hand away. “I’m here.”

  “Woah, who are you and where is Lily? We’re shopping for fluffy white dresses … looking at wedding gowns is one of your favorite pastimes.” Penelope eyes me like an alien has taken over my body.

  “I’m fine. This is Presley’s day, don’t worry about me.” I try to smile but it feels so forced that my cheeks hurt.

  Presley seems to be too absorbed in the excitement of the day to latch onto my sour mood. “Ah, I didn’t think I’d be this nervous when we got here. I mean, I don’t even really care about wedding stuff, just the whole marrying Keaton part matters in my mind. But … this is my fashion moment. I only get to do this once.”

  Penelope nods. “That’s right, so make it count. You can have whichever one you want. Mostly because Keaton is paying.”

  Presley bumps her hip. “Who says Dr. Do-Good is paying? I own my own business, thank you very much.”

  “How is the studio doing?” I ask, happy to talk about anything unrelated to weddings or love.

  “It’s doing amazing, actually. There was a write-up about it in the Lancaster newspaper, which is so cool. And our memberships have steadily been growing. I mean, it’s only the first month, but we’re making money. I was able to squirrel away some for Grandma because she refuses to take a salary. I just … I can’t believe I get to go to work every day and teach yoga.”

  I nod, knowing exactly how that felt. “Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life.”

  “Always quoting.” Presley chuckles. “Such a librarian thing.”

  I shrug. “Books are the best medicine. Which is why I prescribe them every day.”

  Penelope makes a gagging noise. “Yuck, kill me with the sappiness. We’re shopping for wedding dresses; this is already as Hallmark movie as it gets. At least entertain me with some dick stories.”

  My teeth grind together. Most days, I love my best friend. Today, however, with her raunchy comments and annoying over-enthusiasm, and my terrible mood, I want to strangle her.

  But, Presley indulges her. “Is it true that sex gets better after marriage?”

  “Most people would say the opposite, but my sex life was amazing. Although, inconsistent, what with the husband overseas in a war zone.” Penelope shrugs, and it’s the first time I’ve heard her talk about Travis in a while.

  Which is strange. She never mentions him, not even to me.

  “Well, I think ours is going to get better. Not that it’s not amazing now, but since the engagement … hell …” A blush flushes across Presley’s cheeks, and the color almost matches her hair. “When was the last time you had sex?”

  Penelope and I look at each other, and my best friend points at me. “I’m thinking that question was aimed at you.”

  My grouchiness crowds in. “That’s not really your business. How about you tell us when you last had sex, Penelope?”

  I lash out and say this to hurt her because I know she hasn’t been with anyone since Travis died two years ago. But instead of snapping back at me, her eyes shift nervously and she scurries for the door of the bridal boutique.

  What the hell? “Um, Penelope, answer the question.”

  Presley goes after her too, her eyes curious. “Did you sleep with someone?”

  “Welcome, ladies.” A store employee walks up on us at that exact moment, and I giggle without thinking about clamping my mouth shut.

  She definitely heard us asking Penelope if she’d had sex with someone.

  “Hi, I’m Presley McDaniel, I made an appointment for all of us to try on dresses for my wedding today.”

  The woman checks the book at the front counter. “Yes, we have a dressing room waiting for you. Come on back.”

  I grab Penelope’s elbow as Presley walks in front of us. “What is going on? You met someone?”

  My best friend sighs. “I didn’t meet anyone, Little Miss Priss. I fucked someone.”

  “Penelope!” I whisper scold.

  She rolls her eyes. “What? There is a huge difference. Don’t go making a big deal out of things. I just … it was time, and the moment was hot. So I did it. There are no wedding bells or happily ever afters in my future.”

  That made me sad for her. And for me. We’d been stuck in the same boat for a while now, and I was worried for her. Setting aside my own failed love life, Penelope deserved someone to care for her. She and Travis had been soul mates, but it didn’t mean there wasn’t someone out there for her to spend time with.

  A frown turns my lips down all the way through the first two dress try-ons. Presley and Penelope are bubbly and vivacious, sipping on champagne and dancing around in tulle. I try to be supportive, give my thoughts on the dresses, but with each change, I sink further into the gloom drowning me.

  I shouldn’t have come here today.

  Walking out of the small dressing room the attendant hung my bridesmaid dress options in, I glance at myself in the mirror. It’s pale pink and floor length, with lace detail from the bust to the shoulders and a low scooping back.

  The material is airy and light, and the way its small train is dragging …

  A tear falls accidentally before I can scoop it up or blink it away.

  “Are you crying?” Penelope walks out in a blue tea length dress and rushes over.

  I sniffle, covering my face. “No, just allergies.”

  “You’re crying?” Presley comes out now, in a long-sleeve lace gown that she looks gorgeous in.

  Another tear falls, because now they’re on either side of me, holding my shoulders. And I can’t help but breakdown now that they’re near, now that someone is comforting me. I wish they would have ignored me, so I wasn’t sitting in a wedding dress shop sobbing.

  “Is this why you’ve been surly all morning?” Presley hugs me, her voice gentle.

  Forming a sentence right now would be difficult, so I just cry as she holds me, and Penelope rubs my back. Once I’m close to settling down, when the sobs are nothing but intermittent hiccups, Penelope tips my face up to look into hers.

  “Can you tell us what’s wrong now?”

  I shrug, looking at the bottom of the dress as it drapes onto the floor. “Bowen and I … we talked when we all went out to the Goat. He said some pretty awful things, but the gist of it was that he’s no longer interested in me, thinks I’m desperate and weak and doesn’t want to have to look at me when we’re at the same functions.”

  “He said that? That motherfucker, I’ll cut his balls off!” Penelope yells in a fit of rage.

  Presley is quiet, hanging back in her opinion to see if I need to say anything else. I don’t, because saying that felt like taking a bullet. I didn’t need to speak again.

  “That wasn’t very nice of him. And I’m on your side, he’s an idiot and an asshole for it. But I think something else is going on with Bowen.”

  “Yeah, he’s a prick, that’s what’s going on. You don’t need to deal with his bullshit any longer, Lil.” Penelope hugs me.

  My eyes connect with Presley, and while I want to give Bowen the benefit of the doubt, I’ve done that for too long. It’s time to see him for what he truly is. And that’s a guy who isn’t worth my love or time.

  “I’m sorry to break down on your day.” I hope she can read how apologetic the look in my eyes is.

  She pats my arm. “Don’t apologize. You needed to let it out. Do you feel better?”

  I took a second to search my soul, and I had to admit, I felt lighter after having a breakdown all over my friends. “Actually, I kind of do.”

  Presley claps her hands. “Good, because I think I found my dress!”

  14
>
  Bowen

  In the end, I email Lewis Mider, who is now a scout for one of the local triple-A teams.

  He responds within two days and is happy to hear from me. And while he knows his organization isn’t looking for anyone right now, he may have a lead with a team in Ohio and will keep me posted.

  Just reading that email sets something loose in my chest. I’m not sure if I’m happy about his response, scared of what it may bring, nervous about possibly leaving the town I’ve always lived in …

  It’s probably all the above, but I’m too superstitious to even talk about it. And if that isn’t a baseball player mentality, I don’t know what is.

  But I do open up the barbershop feeling much lighter than I have in weeks.

  And that’s when he walks in.

  There is nothing outwardly intimidating about his body language, or even his stature. No, on the contrary, Senator Eric Grantham isn’t a particularly large or burly man. He has a willowy build, is shorter than I am, and has a head full of half-gray hair.

  But it’s the way the man carries himself. His presence demands respects, reeks of power and a nose turned up in every direction. I’ve never liked the man, not even when I openly loved his daughter.

  And he’s never hidden the fact that he hates me. On sight, I knew from the first moment he saw me that he didn’t think I was good enough for his daughter. Hell, I thought that a majority of the time, still do, but that was her decision to make.

  “Bowen, my boy, thought I’d come in for a nice, fresh cut before I head down to Philadelphia.” The way he calls me boy is so condescending that my hands curl into fists.

  No one else is in the shop, it’s a Wednesday and too early for even the morning birds to arrive. This was strategic, and something in my gut tells me he is not just here for a haircut.

  But what am I going to do? It will be worse if I turn him out. The man has more power than anyone in Fawn Hill, and I don’t need to be even further down on his shit list.