by Sara Whitney
“Dickhead! Let’s go!”
The barked command had Aiden shutting his eyes and desperately trying to remember the serenity prayer. Lord, grant me the wisdom to not murder my fucking brother over the mashed potatoes. Amen.
He headed up the driveway and joined Trip on the porch. “Hey. I’m glad you’re out here.” He wasn’t, but why be truthful? “We need to talk about Dad’s—”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
His brother’s snarled words caught him off guard. “What’s the problem?” He kept his voice even, but it was hard, particularly since Trip had blown up at him in front of their employees twice last week.
Trip brandished a handful of crumpled sheets of paper. “What the hell kind of estimate is this? Are we just doing work for free these days?”
Ah. The proposed contract for Thea’s house, the one that cut every possible cost to the bone. He opened his mouth to defend himself, then snapped it shut. Admitting he’d guessed what Trip meant would be the same as admitting that he knew the estimate was abnormally low. So he played dumb. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, man.”
Trip flung the printout at him, but the pages just fluttered to the all-weather carpet under their feet, coming nowhere close to actually hitting him. “What’s this bullshit?” Trip’s thick finger stabbed downward at the scattered pages. “That’s underbid by at least forty percent.”
Aiden counted to five before speaking. He seemed to always be counting to five around his family. Every conversation he had with them these days felt like he was on Sesame Street. “Forty percent? Hardly.” He bent and calmly collected the sheets. “It includes material at cost and a slightly reduced amount for labor if she’s willing to let us do the work during our slow days.”
Trip’s gaze sharpened on Aiden’s face. “She?”
Fuck. “Just a friend.”
“A friend you’re banging. Got it.”
Yeah, that was about enough. Aiden’s fist clenched around the papers and he hardened his voice, hating that everything with his brother was a battle these days. “She’s a friend. That’s all. I was just playing around with numbers for the job.”
Trip’s broad face twisted into a sneer. “Gotta use company perks to score a little pussy these days?”
“You jealous?” Aiden lifted his chin and regarded his brother with smug pity. “Almost sounds like you wish you were the single one.” He felt sick the instant he said it; his sister-in-law was great, and as far as he knew, she and Trip were happy. He dropped the asshole expression immediately. “Hey, I’m sorry—”
But Trip cut off his apology with a snarl. “Fuck you, Adonis. Like you know shit about commitment. I’d love to see you get a girl to stick around long enough to actually renovate her house.”
The words arrowed straight to the center of his chest, and Aiden’s hands curled into fists. But a rap on the front door interrupted the escalating fight, and they both turned to see their father’s scowling face through the front-door glass. Trip turned on his heel and stormed inside, with Aiden following at a slower pace.
“About time,” Rudy Murdoch grumbled after he stepped over the threshold.
“Thanks, Dad. Nice to see you too.”
He harrumphed at Aiden’s aggressively good-natured response. “Lunch is ready.”
Aiden watched in consternation as Rudy shuffled into the dining room. When had his dad’s mobility gotten so bad? That was an alarming development for a sixty-eight-year-old who refused to even consider slowing down on the job.
His mom planted a kiss on his cheek. “Perfect timing, sweetie. I just pulled the roast out of the oven.”
“Of course you did,” he said. Gloria Murdoch had some kind of second sense for the precise moment her offspring would be arriving and had always just pulled something out of the oven for them. Thanks to her gift of maternal foresight, he and Trip had been blessed with a childhood of still-warm cookies after school and an adulthood of home-cooked Sunday meals still sizzling in the pan.
He slipped into his usual spot at the table next to his mom and across from Trip and Ashley, who gave him a cheerful “hi!” Guilt swamped him again; the cute blonde didn’t deserve to be pulled into his ongoing war with Trip. But his brother’s face was carefully neutral, so hopefully the scene on the porch was the end of the ugliness for the day.
“Did Dale Deavers finalize the paint colors for his new garage interior?” Trip passed the bread basket to Ashley and looked to their dad for an answer, but Rudy didn’t respond as he bit into his roast.
“Yes,” Aiden said after a moment. “It’s in your email. He wants Desert Sand.”
Trip’s eyes cut to him, then back to Rudy. “Okay. I can start tomorrow.”
“You can have this whole conversation tomorrow at work. We’re having a nice family dinner right now.” As always, their mother sounded exasperated at the business talk around the table, and as always the Murdoch men ignored her.
“It’s the only time all three of us are in the same place, Ma,” Aiden said as he reached for a bowl of carrots swimming in gingery butter.
Her cheeks plumped in a smile, and she patted his hand where it rested on the table next to her. “Okay then.”
Gloria Murdoch was petite and pleasant and entirely huggable. She was the patient center of the masculine storm that was the Murdoch household, keeping order at the family construction business as the office manager and making a warm and loving home even when her sons had been teenagers prone to thundering through the house and bellowing rather than speaking or when her husband got a little too rowdy while watching the Bears play.
“We’re behind on the McClarens. They should’ve been done a week ago,” Rudy announced. He’d missed a spot of gravy with his napkin, and it glistened on his chin.
Trip met Aiden’s eye, and they shared a frown. They might not be able to hold a civil conversation these days, but they were both worried about their dad. “We finished that, remember?” Aiden said slowly, dread building in his gut. “Last Friday.”
“No.” Rudy’s tone turned belligerent. “I left instructions for Trip and his crew—”
“We handled it,” Trip said. “It’s done.”
“No, I…” Rudy’s thick brows snapped together, and he shook his head like a bull about to charge. “I… okay. If you say it’s done, then it’s done. What’s next?”
He and Trip exchanged another look, and he knew his brother was fighting back the same fear. Rudy’s memory problems were getting worse. Aiden knew it. Trip knew it. All the Murdoch Construction guys working jobs around town knew it. The big question was how many of their clients knew it and whether the Murdoch brothers could agree on what to do about it.
“We should finish up the Riverside Grill job this week,” Trip said. “Next up is Santiago Pharmacy. They’re ready to go on the reno for their new location in the Heights.”
Aiden grunted. “City permits got held up. We can’t start yet. I’ll talk to the Santiagos.”
“No,” Rudy said sharply, swiping his sleeve across his chin. “I’ll do it.”
Across the table, anticipation flashed in Trip’s eyes, which made no sense. Aiden was the one who worked with local governments to secure permits.
“I’ll call Tony Santiago first thing tomorrow to—”
“Goddammit, I said I’d handle it.” Rudy slammed his fist down and rattled every drinking glass and piece of silverware on the table. His dad could be firm, but that level of vehemence shocked the whole table into silence for a moment. Gloria pressed her hands to her lips as Ashley stared wide-eyed at Rudy. Trip even lost his smirk.
“Okay,” Aiden finally said, keeping his voice level. “Okay.” He rested his hand on his mother’s shoulder when she turned to look at him with bleak, pleading eyes. “Maybe Mom’s right. We should scrap the shop talk and just enjoy lunch.”
As if anybody was enjoying anything around that table. His appetite was gone, Rudy had retreated into himself, and Ash looked lik
e she wanted to be anywhere else.
“So. Aiden,” Gloria said briskly. “Have you met any nice girls recently?”
Trip’s scornful snort would’ve chafed if it wasn’t part of the Sunday lunch ritual. His mother was the last person on earth who held out hope that Aiden had the capacity to settle down someday. Every week his mother asked this question with hope in her voice, and every week he quashed that little spark while Trip made barely audible comments about man-whoring.
“I know lots of nice girls,” he said. Then he reconsidered his usual answer. “Actually, I spent some time with Thea Blackwell this weekend. Remember Thea?”
Gloria’s smile faded. “Yes. That poor girl, losing her dad so young.”
“I helped her out with a flat tire after the show on Friday.”
“‘Helped her out,’” Trip muttered. Ashley frowned and nudged him, but it didn’t stop his derisive snickering.
Aiden leaned back in his chair to study his brother. “Got something to say to me? Or something to say about Thea?” His smile was casual, but his voice carried a warning that Trip actually heeded. He crammed a forkful of pot roast into his mouth and let the subject drop, thank Christ. Because really, sleeping with Thea? Ridiculous. It wasn’t just that she was slender in all the places he was used to finding curves, but she was clearly a “marry me” girl. He didn’t mess with that type, and doubly not when it was someone who’d proudly shown him her tooth fairy haul when she was a kid.
Sleeping with Thea. Ha.
But then he tipped his head back and thought about standing on the back porch of the house she desperately wanted to make her own. The setting sun had limned her sharp cheekbones and soft mouth with an orange glow. She’d turned to him with those huge brown eyes, crushed when his estimate came in too high, and that sad, hopeful expression was what had driven him to write up a contract that underbid the job.
So no, he wasn’t sleeping with Thea. But he did want to find some way to help her afford her princess house. Not that he’d waste his breath explaining that to his asshole brother.
“When’s your next Moo Daddies show?”
He smiled at Ashley, grateful her question had shifted the subject. “The weekend after the home expo. We don’t usually do them so close together, but we’re fitting in one last one before we go on hiatus for Dave’s paternity leave.”
“Fun!” Ash said, patting Trip’s forearm. “We should go, babe. Do something different for a change.”
“Pass.” Trip leaned back in his chair but kept his eyes on his empty plate. “Not my kind of music.”
Everybody around the table recognized that as bullshit; his brother had gone to plenty of Moo Daddies shows early on. This animosity now was yet another frustrating piece of the Trip puzzle these days. Thankfully they managed to finish lunch without further incident, and Gloria herded Trip and Ashley into the kitchen for dish duty while Aiden joined Rudy in the study to discuss the job assignments for the week.
“First thing,” Aiden said, “what happened to your mailbox?”
Rudy just looked blankly at him, so he dropped it and made a mental note to fix it himself before he left for the day. Then he turned his attention to filling out the company assignment grid. “That shipment of doors we’re waiting on for the new office park is late.”
“Goddammit.” Rudy wasn’t a big guy, but he carried himself like one, and until recently his lean, ropy strength could put the younger workers in his employ to shame. Aiden was alarmed to see a lurch in his step as he walked an agitated circle around the room, puffing out his chest and squawking like a bantam rooster. “We need to fix it.”
“The blizzard out East held up the door shipment. Nothing we can do there.” Moving on. “Did the lumber supplies get ordered for the Johnson job? You said you’d handle it.”
His father’s pale blue eyes shifted from side to side. “Don’t know,” he finally muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Okay, that’s no problem.” He kept his voice easy. “I’ll look into it. Anything else I need to take care of?”
Rudy’s shoulders drooped under his Murdoch Construction sweatshirt, and he slumped into a chair. “Don’t know,” he said. “Check with your mother.”
“Okay,” Aiden said again, sinking into the chair opposite his father and resting his head in his hands.
This was bad. And it wasn’t going to get better. Rudy had founded the company close to forty years ago and had always managed every single project on the books with seemingly nothing more than his memory and a collection of Post-its he kept scattered around his truck and office. But these lapses were happening all the time now. How was he supposed to convince his proud, tough father that he couldn’t keep running the business he’d built from the ground up because his memory problems were getting worse, along with his temper?
Shit. He didn’t even know how to begin to have that conversation. Instead, he focused on one project he might be able to help with. “Listen, Dad, I really think I should come with you to talk to the Santiagos.”
“God, don’t you get it?” Trip’s voice came from the doorway. “You fucked their daughter and never called her again. They don’t want you anywhere near their project.”
“I’m sorry, what?” A bolt of alarm raced down Aiden’s spine.
“Looks like you won’t be the big boss on that project,” Trip said. Aiden looked at Rudy for clarification, but Trip was the one who spoke. “They told Dad that if you come near the project, they’ll take their business elsewhere.”
Aiden plunged a hand into his hair as he processed this revelation. “Wait, so I take Millie Santiago home one night a few years ago, and now I have to make myself scarce on our biggest job of the season?”
His eyes bounced between the two men. One looked delighted and one looked regretful, and neither looked like they were joking. That explained Trip’s glee at the dinner table at least.
“Unbelievable.” This time it was Aiden who stood to pace the room. “Why the hell would Millie even tell her parents about…”
In truth, it had been so long ago that Aiden barely remembered the hookup. He’d thought Millie was fine with it too. Anytime he took a woman home, he made sure never to mislead them about what the encounter meant, and he sent them on their way with plenty of orgasms to show for it. Where was the fucking harm in any of that?
“Your wild ways.” Rudy spat out the words, and Aiden’s already battered psyche sank even further at the venom in his father’s voice.
“Have I ever once, one single time, not done my job well?” he asked tightly.
Rudy leaned forward, his eyes sharp and his expression engaged for the first time all day. “Not once have you disappointed me. But the Santiagos like that Trip’s married and settled. Said they trust him to see the job through without getting distracted. Fucking puritans.”
Ah. A little of that panicky pain eased. His father wasn’t upset with him but with the client. Still, this was a problem. Part of the reason he’d hit pause on his hookups was so he had the focus to take on more responsibility at work. But what was the point of completely recalibrating that part of his life if their clients still didn’t trust him with their money or their property?
His brother’s thinly veiled delight bubbled to the surface again. “They’re not the only ones. Why do you think I’ve been running point on the Baker kitchen remodel and the garage construction out in Spring Ridge?” Trip was a hair shorter than Aiden but thicker through the middle, and he used every bit of his former high school football-player bulk to look intimidating now. Christ, Trip was fucking loving this, seeing his big brother ejected from job sites.
Aiden’s heart pounded in his ears. It wasn’t fair. He’d been sick of his reputation even before it had started affecting his job, and now he wanted to scream about the injustice of it all.
“All I’ve done,” he said numbly. “All I’ve done since college is try to help the business.”
“And fuck everything that moves,�
�� Trip muttered.
“Boys!” Their father’s voice cracked through the room. “I’m sorry, son.” The regret in Rudy’s eyes almost knocked Aiden off his feet. He sounded like the father from his childhood, the one who taught him how to hold a hammer and select a drill bit and tie a tie. And now he was stuck delivering the last news Aiden wanted to hear. “You know I trust you with the business. You’re my right hand. But if our clients think you’re risky, well…”
Rudy didn’t have to finish the thought. The client got what the client wanted. And the clients wanted the increasingly forgetful Rudy and the surly, short-tempered Trip.
Wasn’t that a kick in the teeth.
“Okay,” he finally said. “Okay. So I’ll focus on the Johnson remodel this week and leave the Santiagos to you and Trip.”
Rudy blinked, frowned. “Johnson? We’re not doing any work for the Johnsons, are we?”
Fuck. They were all so screwed.
Five
Thea stared at the paper in front of her until her eyes unfocused and the black digits blurred into ants crawling across the page. No matter how many times she ran the numbers, they didn’t work. She slapped her hand on the center of the page, shifting her gaze to her ruby-red nails. She couldn’t afford a house, but she could afford a manicure. Time to try out a new color. Beige, maybe. Pale pink. Something safe and soothing.
The chirp of the phone jolted her out of her nail-care fugue, and she tapped her Bluetooth earpiece. “105.5 FM, how may I direct your call?
“You may direct yourself to the buzzer because I’m pulling in with your Monday pick-me-up lunch.”
Thea’s stomach growled in response. She hadn’t stopped for breakfast that morning, so Faith’s timing was perfect. “On it.”