Hard Edge

by Tess Oliver

  Chapter 2

  Caden

  I let the phone call go to voicemail. It was just too damn early in the morning for a Mom interrogation session, and since my prospects for what she considered a respectable future were no closer than the last time we spoke, I figured I’d made the right decision to ignore the call.

  “How were the waves?” Mindy asked as she came out of the bedroom.

  “Flat. Should have stayed in bed where things were anything but flat.” I leaned against the kitchen counter and watched, with keen interest, as Mindy sashayed into the kitchen wearing only her watch and diamond stud earrings.

  She pressed her hand against her stomach. “I’m starved.” She went straight to the refrigerator and opened it. “Do you have anything but beer in here?”

  She held the door open and stared inside. I took my time gazing at her very bitable ass as she shifted from bare foot to bare foot on the cold tile floor. “How about some yogurt?”

  “Yogurt? Yeah, right. I think it’s on the bottom shelf behind the six packs.”

  She leaned down lower, jutting her perfectly sculpted, bathing suit model ass up higher, causing my cock to push higher along with it.

  “I think you have to lean down lower because it’s way in the back.” I was a damn fiend, but I was having a good time with it.

  Mindy was leaning so far into the refrigerator, I could see every inch of her. I couldn’t hold back a groan.

  She straightened with a gasp. Her long, brown hair swept around as she spun toward me trying to look shocked and angry. “You pervert.”

  I held out my arms. “Guilty as charged. You didn’t actually think I’d have yogurt in my fridge?”

  “Real men eat yogurt . . . sometimes.”

  “Probably. But not this real man.”

  She exaggerated the sway of her hips as she walked toward me and pressed her naked body against mine. “You are a scoundrel. Of course, as you know, I only hang around you because you are so fucking good in bed.” She kissed me. My cock pressed against the fly of my still damp board shorts.

  “When do you leave for the photo shoot?” I ran my palm over her naked back and stopped on her ass.

  “I’ve got to be at the airport by noon.” She ran her fingers along my chest. “I don’t know why you decided to come here instead of flying to Paris with me. We could have a lot of fun.”

  Mindy and I had dated seriously for a few months, after my years in the army and just before my budding career in MotoGP came to a crashing, bone-busting end. She’d moved on with her modeling career and other men, while I recuperated from a gnarly broken femur. Her last boyfriend had proved such an asshole, she’d come back to me, hoping for a friends with benefits type of relationship. I was all for it. Neither of us had ever been good at the tied down to one person thing. The new arrangement was working out just fine. Now we met up whenever we had time just to hang out and fuck. Mostly fuck.

  “I have no doubt that you and I would have a blast in Paris, but the California coast was calling to me, and my surfboard was getting bored. Besides, later this week, I’m heading up to Mayfair to meet up with Grady. He’s driving down from Wisconsin. Haven’t seen him in six months. After we put in our required time with the parents, we’re going to head back here for some serious surfing, beer drinking and bikini watching. Then I’ve got to get serious about finding work and a permanent place to stay. I’ve almost blown through the money I earned racing.”

  “Ooh, a permanent place to stay— that sounds so unlike you. I guess it’s good I’m leaving. I don’t want to get in the way of your ‘boys of summer’ fun.” She squirmed out of my arms and headed for the coffee pot. “Now, Grady is your stepbrother, right?”

  “No, that’s Jack. Jack is Walt’s son. Grady is my half-brother.”

  “Right. You share a dad, and you grew up on the same block, but not in the same house.” She laughed and put her coffee on the counter before once again pressing herself into my arms. “No wonder you’re such a basket case.”

  “Yep, I’ve got plenty of shit to unload on a shrink if I ever feel the need to see one.”

  My phone buzzed on the counter behind me. I glanced back at the text. It was from my mom telling me to call her. I turned back to Mindy, kissed her and gave her a quick spank. “I’ve got to call my mom. Apparently she’s anxious to give me her opinion on something . . . again. In the meantime, why don’t you climb back in bed and wait for me.”

  Mindy brushed the hair off my forehead. “Nope, I’m going to get dressed and get something to eat.” She left my grasp and headed to the bedroom. I put off the inevitable conversation with my mom and followed the naked beauty to the bedroom, hoping I could coax her into a quickie.

  Mindy grabbed her panties and shorts off the floor and pulled them on.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do with my morning with you out eating breakfast? Now I wish I’d had that damn yogurt.” I walked toward her. My hands went to the button she’d just fastened on her shorts.

  She pushed my hands away and kissed me. “I’ve got to get going anyhow. I need to buy a few things before I get on the plane.” She pulled on her bra and shirt. “I left the name of the Paris hotel on my business card in case you get horny enough to jump on a plane and come see me. The photo shoot will take a few weeks. Then I’ll probably bum around Europe for awhile. Could be really fun.”

  I nodded. “I might visit.”

  She laughed. “Right. I figure you are going to pick up that phone and start calling numbers to fill my side of the bed the second I walk out of here.” She swung her purse onto her shoulder. I followed her out of the bedroom.

  “Now would I do that, Min?”

  She smiled back at me as she reached the front door. “Yes, you would. And, Cade—”

  “Yeah?”

  “Try and stay out of trouble.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  She shook her head, blew me a kiss and walked out the door.

  I walked to the kitchen and picked up my phone just as it rang. It seemed my mom was on some kind of a mission this morning. “Hey, Mom, I was just going to call—”

  “Caden.” Her voice sounded distant, not at all her usual tone. “Caden, I’m afraid I have some terrible news.” She sucked in a sniffle. “Oh, Cade,” she sobbed, “Grady was in a bad accident.”

  “What?” I found myself gripping the counter and didn’t remember wrapping my fingers around it. “What happened? Where is he?”

  “He’s gone.”

  “What do you mean? Mom, where the fuck is Grady?”

  “I’m sorry, baby.” I hadn’t heard my mom refer to me as baby since they’d rolled me out of the ambulance with a compound fracture. “Grady didn’t survive the crash.”

  The small front room of the beach rental was closing in on me. It felt as if someone had drained the place of oxygen. “That can’t be.”

  “Caden—”

  “That can’t fucking be. We were going to meet up in Mayfair this week. Mom, what the fuck? How the fuck?” I squeezed the phone hard as if I could crumble it in my hand and wipe away the conversation completely. My throat tied into a knot and a lead weight pressed on my chest, making it even harder to breathe. “I just talked to him two days ago.”

  “The police think he fell asleep at the wheel. His car hit the center divider before rolling across the highway and off the embankment.”

  I closed my eyes and swallowed back the bitterness that had crept into my throat.

  “Caden, you need to come home. Your dad needs you.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time tears had burned my eyes. “Yeah. I’ll be home soon, Mom.” I hung up and stared down at the phone as I swept my thumb over my contacts.

  Grady’s last text stared back at me. “Hey, numb nuts,
see you in a few days.”

  It was too fucking impossible.

  Nausea swept through me. I threw my phone at the wall. It broke into pieces and slid to the floor, but I couldn’t erase the conversation. The room spun like a tornado as I turned around to the sink and puked.

  Chapter 3

  Kenna

  A thin stream of sunlight glinted off the array of swim team medals strung along the wall. My mom, who was always hopelessly sentimental, had left my bedroom exactly the same . . . ‘just in case’. Apparently she thought that if I ever did decide to move back home, I’d be blissfully content in a room surrounded by school awards and Nirvana and Pearl Jam posters. Actually, she wasn’t too far off with that notion. It was always easier to think about my wonderful past than the stressful present. Especially now.

  The news of Grady’s death had made it nearly impossible to study or concentrate. I’d muddled my way through finals and somehow managed to pass all my classes. Sadly, I couldn’t have cared less. Throughout my school years, I’d always been one of those students who strived for the best grades. Anything less than an A was devastating, and that same work ethic had followed me through years of college. Until now. It had occurred to me in the middle of my law school years that I was working hard for a goal, but I wasn’t completely sure why. None of it seemed worthwhile to me.

  I’d gone straight from my last class to the airport, by taxi. Jeremy and I had said our rather strained good-byes that morning. His expression as he looked back at me before walking out the door had been one of confusion and hurt. And there had been nothing I could do to ease those feelings because I was feeling plenty confused myself. But hurt wasn’t part of the emotional package for me and that worried me the most.

  I turned over and reached around on the floor for the Scooby Doo stuffed toy that had fallen off the narrow twin bed some time during the night. My fingers brushed over the soft fur, and I plucked the dog up.

  Scooby had been the first thing I’d gone to when I stepped into my bedroom after the long airplane flight. It had been sitting on my pillow just like it had every day since Grady had given it to me. We’d gone through a patch of time during our preteens when we’d decided we were going to be ghost hunters. And we were serious. We’d even come up with nicknames. He was Shaggy, but I couldn’t decide on one. I thought the character of Daphne was too shallow, and I hated the name Velma. So, without further consideration, Grady told me Scooby was the coolest way to go. So I became Scooby to his Shaggy. Our first official ghost hunt started at an abandoned house at the corner of our street and ended just fifteen minutes and two scary unexplained sounds later in front of my television watching cartoon reruns and eating popcorn.

  I hugged the brown toy dog and took a deep breath, trying hard to catch a tiny whiff of those days when stressful relationships and college tests didn’t exist and my biggest problem was deciding who to eat lunch with at school. Most of the time, it had been Grady. I’d always preferred spending time with him than with any of my girlfriends.

  I could hear Dad’s deep voice in the kitchen. As I sat up, the aroma of chocolate, brown sugar, and oddly enough, garlic, wafted into the room. My mom’s on-line business was booming, and even though she’d posted on her candy shop blog that orders might be delayed due to a friend’s death, she still had plenty to do. I’d promised to help her. I badly needed something to distract me.

  I got up and walked to the window. I pulled open the blinds. It was a bright, sunny day, but it might just as well have been cold and gloomy. The entire town seemed stunned into a darkly quiet lull. News of Grady’s death had, as I’d predicted, hit the town hard. My parents had both looked nearly gray with sorrow as they stood outside the airport terminal waiting for me to retrieve my luggage.

  I had a hard time directing my gaze toward the house across the street. It seemed the buttery yellow facade, the slate colored roof and the blue flower boxes that had always made Grady’s house vibrate with life, looked grim, overshadowed by the heartbreak pulsating from within.

  I wondered if Caden was there, inside, sitting in that tiny den slash bedroom, the sleeping space the Strattons had carved out for him when he stayed over. He hated that pretend bedroom almost as much as he hated being tossed back and forth between houses for holidays. I briefly imagined him sitting in the family room where Grady and I had always done homework, consoling his Dad and, himself, deep in anguish, trying to come to grips with how something like this could have happened to his brother. Of all the people I would be facing, in the next few days, all the people who knew and loved Grady, facing Caden would be the hardest of all. I’d been holding myself together amazingly well, even after seeing the grief on my parents’ faces, but something told me that those invisible bindings, those tenuous strings that were keeping me from falling apart, would break the moment I saw Caden.

  Dad knocked and spoke through the door. “Kenna?”

  “Come in, Dad.”

  He opened the door and poked his head inside. “I bought some donuts, kiddo. Why don’t you come out? Your mom could use some help. She told me I was more of a nuisance than an asset in the kitchen.”

  “Uh huh,” I said with a smile. “Drop the pretense, Dad. I already know you go out of your way to pretend as if you have lobster claws instead of hands when you’re in the kitchen, just so you don’t have to help with the candy.”

  He stepped inside and patted his round stomach. “Can you blame me? Look at this. It’s like I’m going to hatch my own twin one of these days.”

  Dad had grown older and paunchier, but he still had that Robert Redford smile, or at least that’s what my mom had named it. I’d inherited his blonde hair, but, much to my chagrin, not his blue eyes. My mom’s brown eye genes had won on that front.

  Our brief, much needed, moment of levity vanished. Dad opened his arms for yet another hug, one of at least thirty since I’d gotten back to Mayfair. I wasn’t a parent, but it seemed instinctual—that need to hug your own child when someone you knew had lost theirs.

  I walked into his arms and realized how much I’d missed his comforting embrace. We stood that way until Mom’s smacking of pots and pans in the kitchen jarred us from the quiet moment. Dad kissed my forehead and reluctantly lowered his arms.

  I raised my brow at him. “You mentioned donuts? Chocolate devil’s food with nuts?”

  “Would I forget my little Kenny’s favorite donut? I think your mom has a few tasks lined up for you, so get dressed and I’ll see you in the kitchen.” He walked out.

  The warmth in my room assured me that the sun outside was hot. I pulled on a pair of shorts and a tank shirt and dragged a brush through my hair. I placed Scooby back on my pillow and patted his brown head.

  Mom was at the stove standing in a swirl of sugar scented steam as I walked into the kitchen. With the candy business booming, Dad had hired a contractor to knock out the room dividing the kitchen from the dining room. It was now one giant kitchen with an eight burner professional stove and a massive granite island for candy making.

  Long strips of buttered parchment paper lined the granite, and perfectly straight rows of white chocolate truffles stretched over the paper like small white mountains.

  “There you are, Kenny,” Mom said with only a momentary glimpse away from the candy thermometer in the pot. “Did you sleep well?”

  “The mattress is a little more lumpy than I remembered, but I guess that’s because my bones are older.” I took a deep whiff. “Mom, did you taste these truffles? I think you might have accidentally put garlic in them.”

  Her eyes widened, then her shoulders dropped in relief. “I’m not that scatterbrained, Kenna.” She used her forearm to push an errant strand of hair off her forehead. “But I sure wish I didn’t have all these orders to fill this week. The garlic is from the lasagna.” She took the pot she was stirring off the heat and walked over to me
for a quick hug. Her apron smelled of a mix of caramel and onions. “A group of us got together and started a list of casseroles to make for the Strattons. It’s just a way of relieving some of the terrible stress and making sure they keep up their strength with home-cooked food.”

  “That’s nice, Mom. What can I do to help you?”

  “Actually, that’s what I was just about to ask you. Could you be a dear and take the lasagna across the street?”

  “What? Me? I’m not sure if I’m ready to see them yet. Couldn’t Dad take it?”

  Mom reached up and pushed my bra strap beneath the thin strap on my shirt. “Kenny, they’ve been asking about you. You and Grady were always so close. I think it would give them comfort to see you.”

  I glanced through the kitchen window to the house across the street. “Is Caden home already?”

  “Yes, poor guy. He got in a few days ago, just after the accident. It seemed he and Grady were planning to meet here in Mayfair this week to catch up on things. He looks completely bereft, of course. And a little wild looking with all sorts of tattoos,” she added unnecessarily and in a lower voice as if they might be able to hear her across the street. She took a deep breath and raised the volume again. “I always felt so sorry for Caden, bouncing back and forth between homes and never really belonging well in either. It’s no wonder that he was always in so much trouble.” It was amusing to think that she’d hushed herself about the tattoos but spoke quite freely about the Strattons never really treating Caden like part of the family, as if anyone could hear her opinion about that. “I think his parents thought four years as a soldier would straighten him up, but it seems, especially with what happened with his motorcycle racing career, that he is just as lost and shiftless as always.”