Beard Necessities: Winston Brothers Book #7

by Penny Reid

  It wasn’t just indecision keeping me up at night.

  Though I hadn’t touched her all week, she’d touched me plenty: brushing against me as she skootched past in a tight space; laying her hand on my shoulder as she stood behind my chair and bent to my ear to ask a question; feeding me whatever she was cooking, whether it be cookies or soup or bread with melted butter. The worst/best was when she’d stepped forward to thread her fingers through my beard and tease me about how unkempt it was.

  She’d even offered to trim it for me. Not a good idea.

  Wrestling with the beast called anticipation, I searched the shared living spaces on the main floor for her. Coming up empty, I took the stairs to the basement and headed straight for the kitchen, her favorite place to be.

  She wasn’t there either, but Jethro was. Standing at the big table, he appeared to be sorting laundry, and he looked up as I entered the room.

  “Hey,” he said, distracted. “Claire checked on you earlier, said you were asleep. Are you feeling okay?”

  I nodded, peering down hallways and into the dining room. “Where is everyone?”

  “Out.”

  “Out.”

  “That’s right.” Jethro picked up a tiny T-shirt with a dinosaur on it and folded it into a tiny square. “Swimming, picnicking, and the like.”

  “Where are they swimming?”

  “Here.”

  “Here?” I set my hand on my hips. “This place has a pool?” I thought Roscoe was joking.

  “It sure does. That’s were most everybody is now. Why do you think it’s been so quiet in the house during the day? The boys have been in the pool with Maya from dawn ’til dusk, passing out like drunk sailors every night.”

  Convinced Scarlet wasn’t in the house, I searched the counter for the coffee machine. “Where’s the pool?”

  “Up on top of the hill,” he said conversationally, picking up another miniature-sized piece of clothing. “And beyond that is a stretch of land we’ve been using to play soccer, and a playground for the kids. This place is great.”

  “Yeah. It is. Any coffee left?”

  Jethro gestured to an alcove behind me. “It’s just there, behind the little wooden door. And don’t worry. It hasn’t been Cletus-fied. We dumped that pot out after he left the room and we hide the good stuff back there.”

  Sharing a commiserating glance with my brother, I opened the cabinet where I was pretty sure the mugs were kept and crossed to the alcove. Sure enough, behind a little wooden door sat a counter, and on the counter sat a drip coffee maker with half a pot of hot coffee.

  “Hey, so, by the way . . .” Jethro began.

  I poured myself a cup and glanced at him. “What?”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask. How are things going with Dani?” Jethro had that same pointed look in his eyes from over a week ago when he’d told me Scarlet had been the one cooking all my food. “We saw her a couple weeks ago; she’s looking good.”

  Shutting the alcove door, I said, “We broke up.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” I peered at my brother over the rim of my coffee cup, taking my first sip. Given the fact that Roscoe—who’d been recovering from a near fatal stab wound—had been roped into Cletus’s scheming, I had to suspect Jethro was playing a part as well.

  “All right, I gotta confess something.” He grinned, setting down the pair of little boy socks he’d just fitted together. “I already knew y’all broke up, Cletus told us. But you don’t seem cut up about it.”

  “I had some other things going on, Jet,” I said coolly, my irritation with Cletus spiking anew. It was one thing to tell Duane, Beau, Ash, and Roscoe about my past with Scarlet. It was quite another to tell Jethro.

  “Yes, I know, William.” Jethro mimicked my tone, crossing his arms. “Your social calendar has been quite busy, all that donating of bone marrow and whatnot.”

  I glared at him while he stared at me, and, after about ten seconds, he blurted, “I’m sorry.”

  I blinked, frowning, suspicion edging out surprise. “What for?”

  “The usual. I haven’t apologized to you in a while, so I suspect it’s due.” My brother shrugged and smiled, like the futility of his constant apologizing had become an inside joke between us.

  I studied him, taking a good, hard look. Perhaps I’d finally gotten a solid block of sleep because this time his painted-on smile did nothing to disguise the sadness lurking behind the surface. I bit the inside of my lip, battling with myself.

  Habit and history told me 50 percent of what Jethro said was bullshit. And yet . . . Is it even history at this point? Or ancient history?

  “You’re forgiven, Jethro,” I said and decided at the same time.

  His eyes widened and he stood straighter. “What? Just like that?”

  “You’ve been saying sorry for going on ten years now. Even if you don’t mean it, your persistence alone deserves to be rewarded.”

  His smile flattened and his gaze narrowed on me. “Well, I think I’ll keep apologizing, just in case you change your mind.”

  “Don’t. Don’t do that.” I waved away his words. “I mean it. And, I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like . . .”

  “Like what? Like I wasn’t welcomed?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded, a spear of regret lancing me, making it so I had to clear my throat. “I’m sorry. That was wrong of me and I hope you can forgive me.”

  Lifting his chin, as though he was considering me and my request, he said suddenly, “You’re forgiven.”

  I huffed a disbelieving laugh. “What? Just like that?”

  “Are you kidding?” Uncrossing his arms, Jethro picked up another piece of laundry, grinning for real this time. “I’ve been waiting my whole life to forgive you for something, just lying in wait for you to do something wrong. This might be the only time I get a chance.”

  I knew he was joking, trying to lighten the somber mood, but all I felt was a sense of despairing frustration at his words. “This is your problem, Jet. You’re too much like our momma, you forgive folks too easy. You think the best of people, even when they don’t deserve it. I just spent ten years rejecting every single one of your attempts to make things right. I say sorry once—just once—and I’m forgiven?” I did my best to keep my volume under control, but with every word I spoke I felt myself losing the battle.

  But it pissed me off. Time and time again, our mother forgave our father. And time and time again, so had Jethro.

  “What do you want me to do, Billy?” Jethro threw down the laundry he’d been folding, crossing the length of the kitchen to stand in front of me. “Make you walk through hot coals? Make you suffer? Why would I do that?”

  “You don’t have to make everything so easy for everybody all the time!”

  “And you don’t have to make everything so hard!”

  My mouth snapped shut at that and I took a step back, glaring at him, working to shackle this directionless fury. I didn’t know why I was so angry, but I wasn’t mad at Jethro, not anymore.

  I loved him. I loved his two boys and his charming, gregarious wife, and her family. I wanted us to be close, I’d never stopped wanting that. And I was tired of this chasm between us, one that I’d helped create with every biting word and cold shoulder.

  Meanwhile, my brother sighed, looking older than me—for once—as he rubbed his face. “If I’m so much like our mother, then let me tell you what I think she’d say right now.”

  Opening his eyes, he gave them to me and I had to swallow around a stone of grief. Jethro and our mother had the same eyes. The same shade. The same shape. The same guileless gleam of unconditional and loving patience.

  “She’d tell you, ‘People only hold grudges when they can’t forgive themselves.’”

  I blinked against the sting behind my eyes and nose, glancing away and shaking my head. How many times had my mother said this to me and my siblings when we would fight? I’d lost count.

  “Billy. You’
re my brother.”

  I exhaled another laugh. “Am I?”

  “You’ve always been my brother,” he continued patiently, undeterred. “Now, sometimes I’ve been a shitty brother. And sometimes, yeah, you haven’t made it easy for me to make amends. But I honestly wouldn’t’ve had it any other way.”

  My jaw working, I glanced at him. “Why?”

  “Because I knew the day I had your respect again, well, I would’ve earned it. I’d deserve it.”

  A rising wave of sadness and regret finally snuffed out the last of the anger. “I shouldn’t have withheld it in the first place, Jet.”

  “No. No, you definitely should have,” he said quietly, his gaze sober. “Your intolerance for my bullshit was a great motivator.”

  I kept shaking my head. “I was too harsh.”

  “Maybe, sometimes.” He shrugged. “But your unwillingness to compromise your principles, your expectations for all of us, and your example—to reach our potential, to be better, to be good—gave us all something to strive for, to live up to. Especially me.”

  Jethro made me sit at the kitchen table and eat something. And then, both of us carrying a load of towels, we’d walked up the hill toward the sound of kids and adults splashing in water, soaking up the summer sun.

  As we walked through the gate surrounding the pool, I scanned the crowd searching for Scarlet and halting abruptly when I found her. Sitting at the edge of the pool, dressed in a long sleeve swim shirt, bikini bottoms, and nothing else, I was both rewarded and punished for waiting so long to seek her out.

  “Okay, everyone out of the pool. Time to clean up for supper. That means you, Ben! Put down that pool noodle and stop splashing your brother.” Jethro grabbed my load of towels and walked on ahead, distributing towels to Ash, Drew, and Bethany, Beau and Shelly, Duane and Jess—though Jess didn’t need one, she was in the shade with Liam—and Sienna, Maya, Ben and Andy. According to Jethro, Cletus and Jenn as well as the Sheriff and Janet were off premises, sightseeing.

  When my brother got to Scarlet, he shrugged. “Sorry, Red. I ran out of towels. But, hey, do you mind helping Billy get all these pool toys and such stacked up? We’re not supposed to leave them in the water.”

  “Not a problem,” she said, sounding out of breath as her gaze searched for and then found mine.

  She smiled from her side of the pool, giving me a little wave.

  I waved from my side of the pool, giving her a little smile.

  My family cleared out slowly while Scarlet and I—given our marching orders—picked up the patio area. At one point, she jumped into the pool to grab a few diving sticks at the bottom and I physically could not tear my eyes from the sight of her gliding through the water, her red hair flowing behind her like a mermaid.

  I swallowed my lust as she resurfaced, wading through the shallow end until she made it to the corner with the steps. As she climbed them, I stared at the droplets of water rolling down the bare skin of her back and legs until she twisted at the waist, and I had the presence of mind to tear my eyes away.

  God. Damn.

  “It’s hot,” she said.

  I nodded, needing a cold shower. Searching frantically for something I could pick up and organize, I tugged my fingers through my hair.

  “You should come swimming next time,” her voice continued. “It feels good.”

  Keeping my brain focused on the task at hand was a struggle, therefore speech wasn’t presently an option. So, again, I nodded.

  “Did you have a good nap? When did you wake up?” Her voice was closer.

  I shrugged, bending to retrieve the pool noodle Ben had been whacking his little brother with and added it to the pile, standing and turning, and coming face-to-face with Scarlet.

  Stiffening, I took a step back. I had not expected her to be so close.

  “Watch out,” she said, her hands balled into fists and set on the dip of her waist. “If you take another step back, you’ll fall in the pool.”

  I glanced behind me, seeing she was right, and turned back with the intention of extending my gratitude.

  But before I could say thanks, she demanded, “Why are you being so quiet all the time?”

  Startled, I stared at her and her flashing eyes. “I, uh—”

  “You’ve barely spoken to me since last Wednesday.”

  Sputtering and fighting a flare of panic, I asked a stupid question, “What do you want me to say?” and then I fought a cringe.

  “I don’t know.” She threw her hands up, sending drops of water through the air like a fairy with pixie dust. “You might start by explaining yourself.”

  “Explaining myself?”

  “Yes. You may not like it, but we’re not going to have a future if we don’t talk about the past.”

  I searched my monumentally confused brain. What else was there to discuss in our past? Ben was a selfish asshat, the end. Hadn’t we worked through everything already?

  So I asked, “Explain myself about what?”

  “How about why you kept the fact that Duane and Beau are my half-brothers a secret.” Scarlet’s chin jutted out. “Why’d you do that? Don’t you think I had a right to know?”

  Ah. My smile was apologetic. “I do think you had a right to know, but I swore I’d never tell anyone. My mother was worried what your—” I lifted my attention to the horizon, stopping myself from calling that monster her father. I didn’t want to link her identity to his, she deserved so much better. Rearranging my thoughts and picking my words more carefully, I tried again, “My mother was afraid what Razor would do, if he found out Beau and Duane were Christine’s. She was worried—she was terrified—he’d make them disappear. I never told you out of respect to her, and for their continued safety.”

  Scarlet’s mouth curved in a rueful line. As she processed my words, some of her irritation appeared to diminish, but it seemed to be replaced with a hint of melancholy.

  “I understand keeping a secret out of respect for Bethany. I’m sure you’re aware, but not many people know the truth even now. Duane, Beau, and I haven’t made our relationship widely known. None of us want to embarrass your momma or disrespect her memory.”

  “Yes. I’m aware y’all decided to keep it private.”

  “And protecting them from Razor also makes sense. I had similar worries. So, I guess I understand why you didn’t tell me.” Even though she’d conceded my point, she still didn’t look too happy about it. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re being so quiet all the time.”

  “Maybe I just miss listening to you talk.”

  I realized immediately this statement was the wrong thing to say because Scarlet’s irritation flared anew. “Now that’s terrible reasoning. You think I want to carry every conversation? You think I don’t want to know about you? What’s going on inside that abnormally gorgeous head of yours? Say something. Anything. Talk about the weather.”

  My lips tugged to the side. “The weather.”

  “Honestly, Billy, I just want you to talk. Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “Then—” Making wild hand gestures, she huffed, then yelled, “Participate!”

  I glanced over her head at the horizon again, hoping to find some answers there, endeavoring to discover a path forward. She was right. I wasn’t talking. I didn’t want to ruin a single moment with her, send her running and lose her again. So I’d been silent.

  “Okay, fine.” Her words clipped, as though she’d just decided something. I sensed her advance on me, lift her hands just before they made contact with my chest. “Then, how about this—”

  One second I was standing at the edge of the pool, and in the next I’d been shoved backward, free falling. The last thing I saw before being submerged was her determined yet satisfied smirk.

  It wasn’t cold, but it was a surprise. Nevertheless, I quickly found my bearings and shot upward. Breaking the surface, I wiped my eyes in time to catch hers move over my soak
ing torso with a fair amount of appreciation.

  “You feel better now?” I asked, looking my fill as well. Toned legs in bikini bottoms, the flare of her hips, the indent of her waist, the luscious curves of her breasts in that thin swim shirt. I could’ve looked all day except now my sense of justice demanded she end up in the pool with me.

  “A little.” She crossed her arms, making no effort to disguise her admiration for my body. “You should take off your shirt. It’s wet.”

  My jaw working, I ignored her last comment as I made for the stairs, climbed them, and wrung out my T-shirt at my stomach. Her eyes dropped to the exposed skin.

  “You want to push me in the pool again? Would that help?” I toed off my shoes. I couldn’t chase her in wet shoes.

  “It might.” She shrugged, her eyes sparkling like sapphires. “You offering?”

  I made a beeline for her.

  She must’ve read my intentions because her grin faltered. “Wait a minute.” She lifted her hand, like that would stop me. “Wait, what are you doing?”

  “Come here.”

  “Why?” She backed up.

  “You push me in, I push you in. That’s how things work with us, right?”

  “Oh, no. No, I’m good.” She turned and power-walked away, glancing over her shoulder as I advanced. “You can—uh—just give me that one for free.”

  I jogged after her, making no attempt to look anywhere but at her backside. “There you go, changing the rules in the middle of the game.” I wanted to squeeze it, bite it.

  “Is this a game?” She was full-on running now, like a damn gazelle.

  “It is now.”

  “Really?” she asked, then squealed, dodging me and turning just as I grabbed for her. “Well, if it’s a game,” she hollered as she ran, “then we should even the odds a little. It’s not fair. The odds favor you.”

  “They favor me?” My hip didn’t like the sprinting, so I slowed to a jog again. Man, I’d forgotten how fast she was. “How do they favor me?”