Hot Moves

by Kristin Hardy

  “In a weird way, I’m not sure I care anymore. So what happens with you and Tom now?”

  Lauren’s hand tightened on her coffee cup. “I’m not sure. I guess we sell the house. I’ll need to get a condo somewhere. Maybe take up tap dancing, who knows.” She smiled faintly.

  “You think?”

  “Or tango.”

  Or tango. And Thea was back under the trees in the park, feeling Brady holding her, laughing into his eyes. And the longing sliced through her. It couldn’t keep happening, she thought rather desperately. It had to start getting easier.

  Deep breath, she ordered herself, in and out. She’d made the right choice, the only choice she could have. The phrase had become her mantra. And if she repeated it enough times and stayed calm, everything would be all right.

  But the mantra wasn’t working so well anymore. “Do you think our lives would have been different if we’d grown up in a different house?” she asked Lauren abruptly.

  Her sister looked over at her. “You mean if Dad hadn’t been such a miserable sonofabitch, would we have been able to have normal relationships? I don’t know. I think about that a lot. I wouldn’t have three divorces under my belt, that’s for sure.”

  “Are you positive you’re going to have a third one?” Thea asked. “What about giving yourselves some time?”

  The gate agent walked briskly into the terminal and closed the boarding door, shutting out the morning heat and the whine of the mini jet engines.

  “Possibly,” Lauren said. “The problem is what I was talking to you about last week, about being broken somehow.”

  “Do you really think that’s true?”

  “I don’t know, now. Maybe I’ve had too much time to think about it the last couple of days, between airports and the hospital. It kind of seems to me, though, that sooner or later you have to stop pointing the finger at other people and start pointing it at yourself.”

  “Meaning we shouldn’t have let Dad get to us?” Thea asked.

  “Meaning we should let go of it and live our lives. Just because he gave it to us doesn’t mean we have to keep it.”

  Thea blinked. Robyn, cleaning her closet.

  Sometimes you’ve got to throw the stuff out that doesn’t fit anymore.

  The words shivered through her. Her father. Derek. All the old boyfriends. Baggage, the old familiar baggage she’d carried around far too long. Baggage that had nearly crippled her. Baggage that was destroying her life.

  “Do you think it’s as easy as that?”

  Lauren’s eyes softened. “I don’t think it’s ever easy, T. But maybe it’s worth it. If staying with Tom means I have to work every day to avoid reacting to something because of the crap I got from Dad, then maybe that’s what I do.”

  A choice, Thea realized abruptly. She could go on as she had or she could make a choice, let it go. She could toss back what she’d learned growing up and say no thanks, don’t want it anymore. Take a chance on Brady.

  Take a chance, finally, on herself.

  The microphone clicked and the gate agent made a departure announcement for Thea’s flight. Portland, Thea thought. Brady. Home. She looked at Lauren. “I guess I should start thinking about getting on board.”

  Lauren gave her a hug. “Maybe we both should.”

  BRADY STOOD in the cold room, monitoring the gauge on the big white storage tank as beer flowed through tubes from the aging tank above. He’d grown accustomed to the refrigeration over the years and rarely noticed it. He noticed it, though, when the door opened and out of the corner of his eye he saw Michael walk in.

  He didn’t say anything. The better part of a week had gone by and he was still ticked. Maybe it was just the Irish in him, maybe it was that being hacked off at Michael gave him one more thing to brood on besides Thea. Not entirely—nothing was going to do that, not Rocky, not even a drunken stupor, which he’d tried one night and discounted. Somehow, it wasn’t nearly as much fun as it had been at twenty-two, nor was standing in the theater the next morning listening to the pounding of hammers while he waited for his head to roll off his shoulders.

  “You used to follow me to Little League.” Michael’s voice came from behind him.

  Brady frowned over his shoulder. “Excuse me?”

  “When we were kids. You used to follow me to Little League, down at the school. You were maybe four.”

  Brady tapped the gauge with his fingernail to free up the needle. “How about that.”

  “Mom usually stopped you, but you were pretty slippery, even then. I remember one day you got past her. You were tagging after me. I yelled at you to go home and kept on walking. I didn’t want to get to practice late and I didn’t want to haul my kid brother all over the neighborhood and get crap about it from Freddy Medavoy and his buddies.”

  “Good old Freddy.”

  “’Course, it didn’t matter. Turned out, they cancelled practice because the coach got sick. Me and Richie Cameron were walking home when we came across Medavoy and his guys pounding on a neighborhood kid.”

  “That sounds like Freddy,” Brady said, “always pounding on someone.”

  “Yeah, except this time it was you.”

  Brady gave Michael a quick look. “Medavoy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He never bugged me.”

  “Not after that day, he didn’t,” Michael said with relish. “That day they roughed you up plenty. We showed ’em, though. Richie and I, we came up quiet. Got ’em when they weren’t looking and beat the snot out of them. Told Medavoy the next time he went after you, I’d use the baseball bat if I had to.”

  “Would you have?”

  “Never had to find out.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “The thing is, I kind of got used to watching out for you after that. It’s a hard habit to break.”

  “I started being able to beat the snot out of people on my own after a while.” Brady kept his voice neutral.

  “I know.”

  “Not to mention give myself a kick in the ass when I need it.”

  “I’m starting to see that. I’m just saying, it takes time for some of us to catch up.”

  Brady looked at him steadily. “I know.”

  Michael blew out a breath. “I screwed up, okay? I was out of line. I agreed to you taking on the theater and I should have left you to it.”

  For a moment, Brady stood, trying to detect a wobble of the earth on its axis. Michael McMillan wasn’t in the habit of admitting he was wrong. “It’s not the help and advice I minded. It was the way you handled it. Pushing me into things. Overriding me.”

  “I know,” Michael said. “You’re not my kid brother anymore.”

  “Yeah, I am. It’s just that I don’t follow you to Little League now. We’re always going to be brothers, Michael. But we’re partners, too. That’s a choice—your choice to treat me as an equal, my choice to step up and be one. And I’m taking it.”

  “I’ve noticed. It’s going to take me a while to get used to the new and improved Brady.”

  New? Maybe. Improved?

  That had been Thea. She’d been there, backing him in what he wanted to do, making him believe he could. Being with her had made him want to be the best version of who he was, all the time. Being without her? It was taking everything he had to hang in there.

  He checked the gauge on the tank. “The new beer’s in,” he said.

  “Oh yeah? What have you got up your sleeve?”

  “A raspberry ale. Something new. Maybe we should go upstairs and try it out.”

  “Maybe we should,” Michael said, nodding slowly, “maybe we should.”

  Upstairs, the lunch crowd was starting to arrive. The raspberry ale was a pale gold with a hint of blush. Brady raised his pint. “So here’s to you. I never realized how much work you put into these renovations until the theater. It’s been a real eye-opener.”

  “For both of us.”

  They tapped glasses and drank. Michael took a swallow, considered, took anoth
er. “Raspberry, huh?”

  “Yeah. What do you think?”

  “Not too hoppy, nice berry overtone, crisp finish.” Michael took another sip and grinned. “I think we’ve got a winner. What are you calling it?”

  “El Corazón Rojo.”

  “El Corazón Rojo?”

  “Red Heart. A tango. It’s for the opening of the theater.”

  The bartender stopped before them. “Oh, hey, Brady, I didn’t know you were around.” She slid beer mats under their glasses. “Someone called for you a while ago.”

  “I’ve been down in the cold room. What’d he want?”

  “She.”

  And the hairs rose on the back of his neck. “She?”

  Michael gave him a sharp look.

  “Yeah. She didn’t leave a number. Said you would know her. Funny name…Tanya? Tia?”

  “Thea?”

  “Yeah, Thea.”

  Okay, so he had sucked down some beer. That didn’t explain the sudden rush. “Did she say what she wanted?”

  Cassie glanced down the bar to where a customer was flagging her. “Uh, no. I assumed you’d know. Sorry.” She hustled away.

  She’d come looking for him. It could be about the theater. It could be about the tango lessons.

  It could be about them.

  And what if it was? Did he really want to hear it or was he walking into more drama? He’d known she had secrets, he’d known she was complicated. But there was such a thing as too complicated.

  So why did he still need her?

  He looked up to see Michael watching him closely. “Everything okay?”

  Brady nodded. “Yeah. You know, I think I’m going to go back downstairs. Got some stuff to do. We cool?”

  “We’re always cool, dude.”

  “All right. Give my best to Lindsay and the kids.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “And I’ve got a meeting with Dana Tuesday morning to talk about artwork for the rooms. Stop by if you want.”

  “I’ll let you know if I decide to,” Michael said.

  “Great.” Brady rose and headed toward the stairs to the basement, then stopped and turned back. “Hey, Michael?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for the Medavoy thing.”

  Michael’s eyes crinkled. “Any time, bro, any time.”

  THE DIRECT APPROACH was best, Thea decided as she walked into the Cascade Brewery. Find him, talk to him and hope that he’d give things another try. Give her another try.

  Lunch was over. Only a handful of patrons were still hanging around, either late lunchers or diehard beer hounds. Thea walked up to the bar. The wiry blonde behind it looked like she spent a lot of time on the climbing faces. A couple of seats down sat a burly, dark-haired guy with a binder and a beer in front of him; Thea could feel him staring.

  The bartender at last made it over to her and tossed down a beer mat. “What can I get for you?”

  “Try the raspberry ale,” said Binder Guy. “It’s a killer.”

  “Raspberry ale?”

  The bartender nodded. “Red Heart. It’s brand new. Want to try some?”

  Red heart, red tears. “Not right now, thanks. Is Brady McMillan here?”

  “I think he’s in the basement. Want me to call him up?”

  And have the conversation in front of God and everyone? Thea shook her head. “I’ll go down there if you tell me where?”

  “We don’t usually let people—”

  “It’s okay, Cassie,” Binder Guy interrupted. “I’ll take her down.”

  Cassie blinked. “All right. Whatever you say.” Thea blinked too, for that matter.

  He rose to walk Thea back to the brewing area. “Right over here,” he instructed. “I’m Brady’s brother Michael, by the way.” He stuck out his hand.

  “Thea Mitchell.”

  “Any friend of Brady’s…” Michael smiled broadly as they shook.

  Any friend of Brady’s? That was the question.

  Michael opened a door for her. “Go down those stairs and turn left. You’ll either find him at his bench or in the cold room.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  He tipped his cap. “My pleasure.”

  The wooden stairs cut down into the foundation of the building. Thea could feel the air cool as she descended. And she could feel her stomach tighten with nerves. He’d told her he loved her, she reminded herself. Surely there was some feeling left. Surely he’d at least hear her out.

  The space was more cellar than basement: stone walls, concrete floor, low ceiling. In the center stood a two-foot-high wooden platform piled with burlap sacks of what she assumed were brewing supplies. A combination workbench and desk ran along one wall, with record books stacked on a raised shelf. At the back of the area rose the steel walls of what she assumed was the cold room.

  Brady was nowhere in evidence.

  Thea stood indecisively. Unless Michael was wrong, there was only one place he might be. The cold room. She stepped toward the door as it opened and Brady stepped out. She jumped back, she couldn’t help it.

  And swallowed. “Hi, can I talk to you?”

  Brady just stared. He looked leaner than when she’d seen him last, his hair mussed as though he’d had his hands in it. He wore jeans and a T-shirt that said “I Need a Good Paddling” above the picture of a kayak. He hadn’t bothered to shave.

  And all she could feel was just stupidly grateful to see him again, to have a chance to set things straight. Whether he would listen, who knew? With the scene they’d been through after Powell’s, she wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d decided that she wasn’t worth it. All she really had was pure blind hope.

  But he nodded, at least he nodded and crossed over to lean against the worktable. “Want a seat?”

  “Here’s fine.” Thea perched on the edge of the wooden platform facing him. That was the easy part.

  Now that she was here, she didn’t know where to start. She twisted her fingers together. It took clearing her throat twice to speak. “How have you been?”

  “Okay. How about you?”

  “The same.” Thea wet her lips. “Look, Brady, I wanted to talk with you about the other night.”

  He didn’t answer, just looked at her impassively, arms folded loosely over his chest, one ankle crossed over the other.

  She took a breath. Just dive in. “I said a lot of things. Things I probably shouldn’t have. I was pretty upset.”

  “I noticed.”

  She raised her chin. “You know about New York. I left there that night, after Derek…finished with me. Robyn helped me get away. I’ve been on my own ever since and I liked it that way. It was safe. It was comfortable.” Her gaze met his. “And then you came along.

  “You were supposed to be safe, too. Just for fun, but it turned into way more than that. I wasn’t ready and when things heated up with my family and then I saw that book, I…flipped.” She looked down at her hands, then up at him again. “But you know that. It was a bad reminder of a really awful time, a feeling I never want to go back to.

  “And I said a lot of things that night but I didn’t say the one thing I really should have, the important thing. And that’s that I love you.” Her eyes stung and she blinked furiously. “I wouldn’t blame you if you think I’m a head case after all that’s happened, but I wanted to tell you. You said you cared for me, that you wanted something more for us. And so I thought—I hoped—that maybe you still might.” The words tumbled out. “Because I really want you to be part of my life, some way, some how. So I came here to tell you…”

  Why didn’t he say something, she wondered desperately. Give her some clue? Was she getting through or was he just enjoying listening to her beg? Because if that was what it took…“Just try,” she whispered, “that’s all I ask. Just give us a try.”

  She waited, watched. Nothing. Finally, she moved to rise. “I should go.” She had to go because her heart was breaking. She could hear it splinter into separate bits. “
I’ll see you around.”

  Brady stirred. “What’s changed?”

  It was the last thing she’d expected. “What?”

  “What’s changed?” He dropped his hands down to rest on the bench. “Five days ago, you were telling me that I was the same as that sick bastard in New York. Now you want me in your life. I’m just trying to figure out what’s changed here.”

  It was a wicked jab that took away her breath. But she’d started this thing and she’d finish it. She squared her shoulders. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was unfair and I’m sorry,” she said, her voice consciously scrubbed of emotion. “I spent a lot of years telling myself that I’d never let it happen again. When I thought I saw it, I overreacted.” And yet…“I do think—”

  “Yeah.” He glanced over at the cold room. “I’ve been thinking, too. You were wrong but you did have a point—to a point, anyway. I’ll cop to it. I get psyched about things and I push. And I’m not always subtle. But it’s not all part of some master plot.” His gaze came back to hers. “I don’t go into it thinking I’m going to bend you to my will or something. I’m not trying to steamroll you. It’s just the way I am, no more no less.”

  His voice was matter of fact, as though he were reciting house rules. Thea frowned. “So what are you telling me, my way or the highway?”

  Brady looked at her steadily. “I think that’s pretty much a recipe for disaster, don’t you? If we’re going to try this it can’t be anybody’s way. It’s got to be our way.”

  She fought down the leap of hope. “Are we going to try this?” she asked.

  “Maybe.” A smile hovered around the corners of his mouth. “I think it could be worthwhile, don’t you?”

  And it was like a great bubble of joy began to swell in her chest. “I think you’re right.”

  “So we try it out,” Brady said. “I’ll try to listen better and you’ll try to get to the point that you’re not freaked out by my, uh, enthusiasm. Just smack me and tell me to back off if it bugs you. I don’t want to always be walking on eggshells.”

  Her lips twitched. “Sounds good.” She stepped over and hooked her fingers in his front belt loops. “Smack you, huh? Can I get that in writing?”

  He slipped his hands up to her hips. “Yeah. Me, I just want one thing and one thing only.”