It’s oddly familiar now that we’re actually doing it. As if we haven’t missed a beat of the last ten years.
“Put more cheese in those,” I tell Bowen.
“There are already six slices in here, and we’re only making six eggs to split. That’s way too cheesy.”
I scoff. “There is no such thing as too much cheese. Put more in.”
“Bossy,” Bowen says under his breath, scrambling the eggs and adding more cheese. “Do you still prefer tea over coffee?”
He moves to the pot he put on before but opens the cabinet to reveal a box looking suspiciously like my favorite kind of green tea.
“You drink that brand of Twinings?”
Bowen shrugs, but I don’t miss the flash of a blush, as if he’s caught, that steals over his face. “It’s not bad.”
I turn back to the stove where I push the sausage links around the pan with a spatula and hide my smile. “I’ll have tea, thanks.”
“Toast?” he asks, moving to the toaster after checking the eggs.
“Yes, I’m starved.” The thought just pops out.
“I wonder why that is.” I don’t miss the amusement in Bowen’s voice.
Is he flirting with me?
“I like your house. It’s very you.”
“So, you mean I’m simple and devoid of much personality.” He chuckles.
I turn, eyeing him. “No, I mean it’s clean, masculine but comfortable, you have a few photos of your family and an award from the firehouse. Plus, there are books on men’s hair styling on the bookcase, and a signed jersey from Roberto Clemente hanging like a shrine above your TV. It’s neat but contains all the subjects you hold most dear. Which aren’t many, that’s why they’re special. So yes, I like your house.”
My answer stuns him into silence, and he sulks around the kitchen until breakfast is done cooking.
After the table is set and Bowen sets down our steaming mugs, coffee for him and tea for me, we sit across from each other.
The clock on the kitchen wall ticks as I try not to stare at him, but there are words buzzing on my tongue, wanting to be set free.
“Just start, Lily. I know you want to ask me things.” Those clear blue eyes seem to sigh with resignation.
“Do you really blame yourself for the accident?” I start with a harsh one, but who cares anymore?
If I only get to do this once, might as well get all the ugly stuff out on the table.
“Yes. And no. Logically, I know I didn’t cause it. But I’ll never forgive myself for your seatbelt not being on.”
My cheeks burst into flames at his admission. “That was my fault, not yours, Bowen. I was misbehaving, trying to be bold. And I caught shit for it.”
He gives me a wry smile. “You’ve got curse words this morning, huh?”
“When I’m emotional, I can’t help it. But I mean it, none of it was your fault.”
There is a pause while we eat the breakfast we cooked together, and as I let his answer sink into my brain.
“Were you … okay, after? No lingering side effects?” This man looks small, cautious.
I give him a reassuring smile. “Absolutely none. I’m healthy as an ox. Well, except when it rains. Then the places where I had stitches always ache.”
A sharp intake of breath. “Me too.”
Bowen rubs his neck, and my hand flies reflexively to my right wrist, thumbing the spot where I had twenty stitches. They’re our shared battle wounds.
“Do you remember it? The accident?” Bowen asks me a question again before I can ask him one.
I shake my head. “Not fully, no. Bits and pieces, but one second I was in the car, and next I was waking up in a hospital bed. Do you remember it?”
His fingers flex on the table, and I see the tension creep into his jaw. “Probably best that you don’t remember. And yes, I do.”
“Do you hate me for ending your baseball career?” I choke out.
It’s always been a sticking point for me, one I’ve never been able to get over. He was destined for greatness, and the night of the accident changed all that.
“Never. I’ve never hated you, not for one second. It still hurts that I lost those opportunities. But I guess I’ll never know. Maybe it wasn’t meant to happen, one way or another. I’m not unhappy, though, Lily.”
The small smile he sends across the table makes my heart rest a little easier. We take a break for a minute, sipping from our mugs and chewing as we watch each other.
I take a deep breath, knowing that the worst question was about to come out of my mouth.
“Why did you leave Fawn Hill? Why weren’t you there when I woke up?” This is the big one.
No matter what his answer is, I know it’s going to feel like taking a bullet.
Bowen sighs, setting his fork down. “Lily, I can’t tell you that. I just … can’t. It’s not something you want to hear, and I’m not … I can’t share it.”
My head hangs low, devastation creeping up my neck. Last night changed nothing. I thought, for a moment there, that we were really being honest. That everything that’s transpired between us was going to be explained. This is the most crucial question, the one that’s haunted me for years.
“Would you take this kind of answer?” Bowen reaches across the table, grasping my hand. “I … I’ve tried for a very long time to stay away from you. For reasons I can’t share. But last night … it changed a lot. And despite what might happen, I don’t want to keep staying away. You were right, Lily. I never stopped having feelings for you. But we’re … complicated. And there is a lot of hurt between us. I never wanted that. And now I want … hell, so many things. I’m all fucked up.”
“Listen to you, waxing poetic. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you describe your feelings so at length.”
He shrugs. “I’ve picked up a few skills in the years we’ve been apart. Plus, I’m trying harder not to be an asshole.”
“You were never an asshole.”
Something clouds his eyes. “I never meant to hurt you.”
I nod my head, my heart expanding to four times its size. And I’m confused too. I don’t want to walk away from this because I’m still in love with him. But I’m also terrified of what he can’t tell me. Or how he might desert me once more.
“I know. So, let’s … see where this goes. To taking it slow?”
Raising my mug, I will him to meet me halfway in a toast.
After a minute Bowen raises his. “To taking it slow.”
21
Bowen
And just like that, it’s my brother’s wedding weekend.
The entire summer seems like a whirlwind, what with my best man duties, usual workload, and chaos with Lily. Add in the news that Lewis Mider landed me a job interview with a Triple-A team in Virginia, and the days seemed to be getting shorter and shorter.
Ever since the night at my place and our talk the subsequent morning, things have been different between Lily and I. Understandably, since we laid it all out there.
Well, not all of it. I was still guarding the secret that would eventually lead to her hating me.
But for now, our interactions were … civil. More than, actually. We’d even shared some texts, a cup of coffee, and some heavy petting at her place in these last two weeks leading up to the wedding. I’d meant it when I said I wanted things to change, but slowly.
Once I’d kissed her, been inside her, I knew there was no way I could avoid her anymore. I’d had her, and one taste after I’d starved myself for ten years would never be enough. Honestly, nothing would ever be enough. Until I had a ring on her finger and she was tied to me, and even then it wouldn’t be enough.
But I knew I’d never get that. So I’d lie to myself, deny that I was about to shatter my heart again and keep seeing her. Maybe a job in baseball would come through, and I could leave and make it easier on both of us. Not that it would ever be easy, but the distance might help.
I’d been in love with Lily for t
hirteen years, and in the ten we hadn’t been together, that love never waned. It might seem impossible, but it hadn’t. And it wouldn’t go away if I left, but I could shield her from the hurt that was coming if she ever knew the secret I couldn’t share.
“Do you think I should bang Presley’s friend, Ryan?”
Forrest looks across the room, contemplating the leggy woman with bobbed black hair. She’s standing with Presley and Hattie, Presley’s grandmother, sipping on a glass of wine.
“You want to fuck a guy?” Fletcher asks, not bothering to look up from his phone.
I check to see what he’s doing, but he’s only playing Candy Crush. Ever since Keaton gave our family some reading materials on how to support a family member fresh out of rehab, I’ve been trying to keep an eye on Fletch. One of the side effects of quitting one addiction is picking up another, and gambling can be a go-to for those trying to stay sober from drugs and alcohol.
“No, dipshit, Ryan is a girl. Well, damn, a woman. Would you check out the legs on her?” Fletcher whistles low.
He makes more noise than intended though because said woman directs her gaze to us and raises an eyebrow at my little brother.
Fletcher finally looks up from his game and across the room to Ryan, who is looking at us. His eyes cloud and he taps his fingers on his legs. Interesting.
“I mean, we’re both coders. She’s gotta be whip-smart. And she looks like she could either hand me my balls or take real good care of them.”
“You’re a pig.” I snort, hitting him upside the back of the head. “Plus, you’re not a coder. You’re a hacker.”
Forrest rubs his scalp. “Ouch, you prick. And don’t talk to grown-ups about subjects you know nothing about.”
Fletcher snickers. “He’s gonna beat your ass for that one. When are we released from this prison, by the way? I want to go home.”
The diner is basically empty a half hour after Keaton and Presley’s rehearsal dinner. I’ll admit it was a fun night, one I hadn’t particularly been keen on since, you know, a room full of strangers isn’t exactly my scene. Presley’s family, and ours have been coming into town by the carful, even though Keaton claimed they were keeping it small. There were probably forty people at the rehearsal dinner, and there will be double that number tomorrow.
My brother and his bride look so damn happy, it’s hard not to feel the love. Which is why I haven’t been able to stop staring at Lily all night. Although, I’m never able to stop looking at her once we’re within fifty feet of each other.
We’ve been sneaking glances all night and continue to do so as I watch her walk up to the other women and Ryan.
“Your brother is getting married, stop being selfish,” Forrest chides him, interrupting my thoughts about Lily.
“You’re the one talking about fucking half the bridesmaids.” Fletcher snorts.
Forrest raises his beer, takes a sip. “Not half, just one. We don’t get many city girls in Fawn Hill, and Keaton stole the last one. I think I might need to see what big brother is always bragging about.”
That makes me laugh. “Keaton never kisses and tells, so stop that noise. Also, you would sleep with anyone at this wedding if they threw a glance your way. You’re telling me that you wouldn’t drop trou for Penelope if she crooked her finger at you?”
Forrest clams up, taking another sip as his body goes rigid. What the hell is this about? I have a sneaking suspicion I know what’s up, because my little brother never shuts his damn mouth. Unless he’s done something really bad.
“Don’t tell me you—”
“Hey guys, thanks for waiting around.” Keaton approaches us, his golden boy looks finely pressed this evening.
He’s in an immaculate navy suit, hair slicked back, and he’s holding three gift bags stuffed with tissue paper.
“I got you each a gift, to say thank you for not only being my groomsman but for being my brothers.” He hands them out.
“Look at you getting all sentimental and shit,” Fletcher cracks, making a kissy face at Keaton.
I take my bag from my older brother, and when the twins start rooting around inside, I do the same. I’m not expecting what I pull out.
“You got us … bracelets?” Forrest eyes him curiously?
It’s essentially a thick, gunmetal-colored metal band with a clasp made of black leather. There are tiny dots etched into it, but other than that, it’s pretty plain.
“This is … cool, man,” I say, trying to mask my confusion about why he got us matching bracelets.
Keaton pulls up his sleeve, and I see he’s wearing an identical one. “Look closer.”
I inspect the bracelet again, and this time, something clicks for me. “Wait, these aren’t just dots. This is Morse code.”
Fletcher starts to laugh. “Oh my God, like the time we only communicated in Morse code for like two months and drove mom crazy!”
We all crack up because that shit was funny. We all love and fear our mother, but we were shithead little boys who liked to cause trouble. Keaton taught us all Morse code as a prank when I was about fourteen and the twins were ten, so we’d have our own secret language.
“Okay, so that’s an … N.” Forrest looks around the band, trying to decode it.
“It says Nash Brothers.” Fletcher blinks up at Keaton.
It takes him less than a minute to translate it, faster than I could have done, and I find that now that his mind is clear, my little brother is more intelligent than any of us. The wedding gift he built for Presley and Keaton, hell, it’s magnificent.
I clear my throat, surprised by the emotion in it. “This is really nice, Keat. Thank you.”
“Dad would have loved these.” Forrest is oddly humbled for once in his life.
We all sit in silence for a minute, and I think every one of us is fully aware that we wish Dad could be here. Even with what he did to “protect” me from Senator Grantham, I miss my father every single day.
“All right, no more sappiness.” Keaton sucks a breath in, smiling. “I want you all to get a good night of sleep, we have a wedding to pull off tomorrow.”
We all nod, standing to hug our oldest brother for the gift and then disperse.
And I head right for the girl I’ve been sneaking smiles with all night.
22
Lily
The rehearsal dinner is at Kip’s per Presley’s request because Hattie is hosting it and we already all know the food is dynamite.
Penelope and I spend the day turning the old diner into a lovebird’s paradise; white lace tablecloths, pink and white flowers covering any surface we could stick them, Etsy-worthy signage, and a big wooden … well, creation is the only word for it, that Fletcher made.
I have to say; I did not know Fletcher could make anything … besides a mess. That was mean but true. In the last year I’d seen him really trying, and when he’d shown up with this beautiful gift he wanted to present at the rehearsal dinner, I actually cried.
Penelope did, too. What the heck had gotten into that girl?
The work of art was a seven-foot-tall wooden ladder that he’d carved and made look completely rustic. It could be used for throw blanket storage, or to hang coffee mugs from the branches he’d whittled onto it, or just as a piece of decor. The part that made me burst into tears, though? Hanging from each rung were these hand-carved wooden signs of places that were near and dear to Presley and Keaton, along with their mileage from Fawn Hill. New York City, the town in Connecticut where Presley had grown up, the town Keaton went to college, the island they planned to honeymoon on. And on the middle rung was Fawn Hill … but instead of the mileage, it simply said, home.
Gosh, I could sob just thinking about it. It was beautiful, a one-of-a-kind gift made with love.
Dinner had gone well, with Presley’s father giving a nice speech as they’re the ones who had footed the bill. Traditionally, the groom’s family was supposed to have this honor, but since Presley didn’t have the closest relationship
with her parents, she and Keaton had flipped the script. They wanted Eliza and Hattie to give toasts at the wedding reception, and those two were the ones who’d been around for much of the planning. Presley’s parents didn’t seem to mind, and so far, her mother and sister had behaved themselves, so I didn’t have to give anyone the maid of honor beatdown.
Wine and beer had flown freely, out-of-town guests had been introduced or reconnected, and all in all, it had been a night of merriment. If not a blur for me. Being a maid of honor was no joke, and I was getting a crash course in hospitality with the job. My goal was to keep Presley free of worry and drama, and out of any technical details so she could enjoy the entire weekend. Not that she was a bridezilla by any means, but she and Keaton deserved to soak up as much couple time in the next two days as they were able to.
And now, Kip’s is almost empty, save for immediate family and bridal party members. I’m standing with Presley, Hattie, and the third bridesmaid, Ryan, who is Presley’s best friend from New York City.
Ryan is … my opposite. In a good way, I genuinely like her. But the girl is crazy with a capital C. She handles whiskey like a Southern gentleman, has no filter, wore a black silk slip dress, that looks like it’s better suited to the bedroom, to the rehearsal dinner, and has no problem striking up a conversation with anyone.
“So, which Nash brother is on the table for me to sleep with tomorrow?” She hooks her long, thin arm around Presley’s shoulder.
Oh, did I mention she looks like a Victoria’s Secret model? One of the ones from the nineties, all natural puffy lips and perfectly rounded thighs.
“The twins are single, but they’re children.” Presley snorts.
“How about lumberjack brooder over there? He looks yummy.” She licks her lips as her gaze travels to Bowen.
My veins singe with jealousy, and I’m speaking before I even know what I’m doing. “He’s off limits.”
Forgiven: The Nash Brothers, Book Two Page 10