The First Time Again: The Braddock Brotherhood, Book 3

by Barbara Meyers

  In her sunny yellow kitchen with its bank of windows looking out over the backyard, Jenny poured iced tea into two glasses. She handed one to Baylee. “I’m glad you came over. Ryan has that monthly bar association meeting. Seth’s finally in bed. I’m ready for some girl talk.”

  Baylee followed Jenny outside to the back deck. Jenny and Ryan had bought their house shortly after they married, and they’d worked hard to make it their own. In fact, there was always some new project ready to be tackled, from major renovations to minor stuff like painting the woodwork. They’d installed the wood deck last spring. Baylee had to admit it complemented the house perfectly, giving them extra space to entertain and overlooking the big backyard where soon, according to Jenny, there would be a swing set for Seth.

  “So what’s up with you?” Jenny asked, giving Baylee an assessing look as she took a sip of tea.

  Baylee rocked in the white wicker rocker. Of course she’d tell Jenny everything. They’d been telling each other secrets since the fifth grade. But she wasn’t sure how Jenny would take the news that she’d finally, blissfully, slept with a man.

  “There’s something going on. You’re different.”

  Baylee couldn’t help the knowing little smile. “Am I?”

  “Yeah. So spill.”

  “I slept with him.”

  Jenny spewed her sip of iced tea all over herself, the chair cushions and the deck below.

  “What? Him who? Oh, no. Don’t tell me.” She stared at Baylee in disbelief. “Trey? Are you serious?”

  Baylee nodded, unable to wipe the grin off her face.

  “Oh, Baylee,” Jenny moaned. “What were you thinking?”

  “I was thinking I’ve had the hots for him since I was fifteen, he’s unattached and willing. Can’t you be happy for me? Can you for once not lecture me?” Baylee set her glass of tea down on a nearby table and picked up the pace of her rocker.

  Chastened, Jenny backed off. “I’m sorry. I worry about you. You’ve been through so much. With Scott and everything—”

  “Exactly. And you know what happened in New York? I went out for a drink with a guy. I don’t know what was in them, but after two drinks I was so out of it I couldn’t have stopped whatever he had in mind. I wouldn’t even have remembered it probably. But Trey stopped him.”

  “That doesn’t mean you owe him—”

  “God, Jenny, it isn’t about me owing him. It’s about me, making my own decisions, making my own choices. I chose to sleep with Trey. And you want to know something? It was fantastic.”

  “Okay. Well, that’s good, but—”

  Baylee let out an exaggerated sigh. “Why does there always have to be a ‘but’? Why can’t anything good ever happen to me without you looking at the worst-case scenario?”

  Jenny seemed to consider the question. “I don’t know. Because I worry about you, I guess. I don’t want you to be hurt. You almost slept with Trey Christopher years ago, and then—”

  “I know my own history, Jen. You don’t have to remind me. After I didn’t sleep with Trey during our teenage drunken encounter, I scared myself into never sleeping with a guy outside of marriage. Except I went one better and married a guy who wouldn’t sleep with me in a million years.

  “It’s my life and my choices. My mistakes, too. If I get hurt, I get hurt. I’m not a child, Jen.”

  “I know.”

  “So stop treating me like one, okay?”

  “Okay. But a guy like Trey Christopher might not take you seriously after you jump into bed with him.”

  Baylee laughed and retrieved her glass of tea. “I don’t expect him to take me seriously. I don’t want him to. I was tied to a man for too long because I took everything too seriously, because I thought that’s what I had to do. I’m free now, and this is what I want. It’s all I want right now. My freedom. To do what I please, when I please, with whomever I please. I’m tired of being the serious girl, the good girl. I’m going to try being me for a while and see how it works.”

  “You’re happy,” Jenny stated.

  “I am,” Baylee agreed.

  “You don’t care if this, uh, situation with Trey turns into anything more than what it is?”

  “I haven’t given it a lot of thought, to be honest with you. I’m tired of trying to plan a future that doesn’t work out the way I thought it would. Right now, what I want to do is—I don’t know—live for the moment, I guess. Take whatever bit of joy and happiness that comes my way and go with it, you know? I want to be free.”

  “Along with freedom comes responsibility,” Jenny quipped in an ominous tone, both quoting and imitating her mother.

  “Jen.”

  Jenny stood. “Okay, Miss I-Can-Do-Anything-I-Want-To-Do-When-I-Want-To-Do-It. What do you think about ordering a pizza, getting whatever toppings we want on it and enjoying many moments of pigging out?”

  Baylee followed her into the house. They decided on the pizza and phoned the order in. Jenny opened a bottle of the inexpensive red wine they both liked and poured them each a glass. For all of Jenny’s mothering behavior, Baylee loved her like a sister. Luckily, when Jenny overdid her tsking and lecturing, Baylee could tell her to back off and she did.

  They took their glasses of wine out to the front porch to wait for the pizza.

  “So?” Jenny asked after a few minutes of companionable silence. “You said sleeping with Trey was fantastic, I believe?”

  Baylee nodded, knowing Jen was fishing for more details. Up until that moment, Baylee had thought she’d be unable to keep any of her encounter with Trey to herself. She’d planned to tell Jenny every last detail. But now she realized she didn’t want to share that kind of intimacy with anyone, not even her more knowledgeable and experienced best friend. She wanted to keep it all for herself, to take out every nuance, every touch, every memory and examine it or relive it whenever she wanted to. She didn’t want any of it watered down or judged by someone else.

  But she knew she had to give Jenny something. “It was so easy, Jen. So—I don’t know. Natural, maybe? He was there, I was there. I wanted him, and—” She stuttered to a halt.

  “He wanted you?” Jenny finished for her gently.

  A lump of emotion clogged her throat and brought tears to her eyes as she remembered her conversation with Trey about a man wanting her.

  She could only nod, afraid if she said anything the tears would spill over.

  Jenny reached over and covered Baylee’s hand with hers. “If he makes you happy, I’m happy for you.”

  Is this what happiness feels like? Baylee asked herself on the drive home. This buoyant sense of well-being? Of near giddiness? Is this all it took? Sleeping with Trey? Having sex? Finally.

  No. There had to be more to it than that. Sex did not equal happiness. Surely there were plenty of happy people out there in the world who weren’t having sex for one reason or another.

  Maybe it was the sense of connectedness that went beyond just physical? Baylee considered this as she parked in front of her house.

  Maybe it’s finally getting something you want.

  That thought slapped her upside the head as she unlocked the door. She closed and locked it behind her and leaned against it for a minute. Could it be that simple? Hadn’t she ever gone after what she wanted before? Hadn’t she ever felt this bone-deep sense of satisfaction? Ever?

  If the answer to that question was no, it was almost too depressing to think about. She went into her makeshift bedroom to get ready for bed.

  She tried to remember when she’d felt this way. The only moment that came to mind was Jimmy Macklehorn’s party. When they’d gathered around the bonfire and Trey dropped his arm over her shoulders. She’d loved the delicious feeling of being close to him, of him singling her out, zeroing in on her. Showing interest in her. Wanting her.

  If he hadn’t had so much to drink, what would have happened? She brushed her teeth, staring at herself in the mirror. Would he have remembered her the next day? Would she have
been his final high school conquest before he moved on to college girls?

  Why, she wondered, had she been ready to give herself to him then? Was it the influence of the alcohol? Or something more?

  Was it truly mere coincidence that all these years later, she’d chosen him for her long-awaited first time?

  Or had she simply been waiting for him?

  “You’re overthinking this, Baylee,” she told her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she patted her face dry. She smoothed on moisturizer and turned out the light.

  She crawled into bed and pulled her pillows around her. They were a poor substitute for a hard male body, but tonight they’d have to do. They didn’t stop her from thinking about Trey as she fell into a deep, satisfied slumber.

  When Matty woke it was almost one a.m. Most nights he left around nine thirty and was home by ten. But tonight Mama had been uncomfortable and restless, moaning and thrashing in her sleep until she’d finally settled down around eleven thirty.

  He peeked into her room to make sure she was okay before letting himself out and locking up.

  It had been warmer earlier in the day, but the night was cool and pleasant. There were hardly any cars on the road. He crossed the railroad tracks and coasted down Marshall Avenue where the pretty Victorian homes stood behind their tidily manicured lawns. Along Palmer Street, the porch lights glowed and the wide verandas of the B and Bs beckoned visitors to relax.

  Matty’d never been on vacation, never been anywhere really, except the occasional trip to Asheville and once a trip to Atlanta to see the Braves play the Yankees.

  Back when he’d first come to live with the Westrings, they’d signed him up for Little League. They’d come to every game. He and Dan played catch almost every night. Matty had no natural athletic ability, but he’d tried his hardest, sensing his success on the ball field was important to Dan. Perhaps Dan had appreciated the effort even if he’d been disappointed in the results, couching the trip to the Braves game as a reward of sorts.

  Matty took a right at the red light on Benson Street, pedaling easily past the hodgepodge of small businesses and residences before he became aware that lights were flashing behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see a sheriff’s department patrol car. He hadn’t done anything wrong as far as he knew. Except violate his probation. Again. He told himself the cops in Hendersonville couldn’t possibly care one way or the other about a kid like him breaking curfew. Maybe Jack Frost had them on the lookout for him.

  Maybe the cop wasn’t even after him, he told himself as he slowed and braked and came to a stop in front of a car parked on the street near the corner. No. He couldn’t be that lucky. The cop car pulled to a stop and the door opened.

  Matty crossed his arms and waited. He took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, but he had a sick feeling inside. Something bad was about to happen.

  “Out kind of late, aren’t you?” the deputy asked.

  Matty turned toward him. He knew enough to show respect whether it was genuine or not. Cops despised teenagers, and he’d never found mouthing off to one beneficial to his cause. “I’m heading home, sir.”

  “Got some ID on you?”

  Matty took a better look at the guy while he reached in his back pocket for his wallet. The cop was tall and looked like he was in fairly decent shape, but there was something about him Matty didn’t like. A meanness in the set of his mouth, that look of dissatisfaction or disgust with his lot in life. It wasn’t the first time Matty had seen that look.

  “Did I do something wrong, sir?” Matty inquired, forcing politeness into his tone as he handed over his driver’s license. He hardly ever got to use it, but his dad had taught him how to drive and taken him to get his license the day he’d turned sixteen. Matty thought he’d have a future as his dad’s designated driver, but Dan preferred to walk to the bar only a few blocks from home. He usually found a ride home with a drinking buddy or with the owner of the bar on the nights he closed the place down.

  Since Matty hardly ever had any cash, he couldn’t afford gas. He wasn’t allowed to hang out with the few friends he’d gotten into trouble with, so he had no reason to borrow his dad’s truck, and he hadn’t exactly proved himself trustworthy to use anyone else’s vehicle.

  “We’ll see,” the deputy said as he shone a flashlight on the license.

  J. Spoley his nameplate read. Matty filed that away in his memory.

  “Stay here,” the deputy told him. He returned to his car.

  Matty thought he knew what would happen next. He supposed his record and probation would show up on the cop’s dashboard computer. He’d get nailed for violating his curfew. The cop would take him down to the jail, inform Jack Frost, and call his dad to come get him. Matty would have to go before the judge again and explain himself. At the rate he was going, he’d be on probation until he was twenty.

  Straddling his bike, Matty realized how tired he was. He leaned over and rested his arms on the handlebars. If he hadn’t been stopped he’d be home by now. He’d have brushed his teeth, stripped down and fallen into bed. No one would have known or cared what time he got home. They only knew or cared when they were inconvenienced by him not coming home when he was supposed to.

  Although it was probably only a few minutes, it felt like half an hour before the cop exited his vehicle and came back with Matty’s license. He held it by two fingers and extended it to Matty. “You’re not by any chance related to Baylee Westring, are you, son?”

  It wasn’t what he’d expected the cop to say. “She’s my sister,” he answered cautiously.

  “Thought she might be. I s’pose you’re aware you’re violating your probation being out this time of night?”

  “Yes, sir. I was heading home. I know I’m late.” Matty made himself stop talking before he said any more. If he got in trouble, he might not be able to watch over Mamacita for Des.

  “I can take you in. Notify your probation officer. Your family.”

  Matty tried not to show his panic.

  “But I’m going to let you off with a warning this time. You go on home now, all right?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Matty slid the license back into his wallet and took off, desperate to put as much distance as he could between himself and Deputy J. Spoley. It wasn’t until he got home that he began to wonder why he’d been let off the hook. He was pretty sure it wasn’t because Deputy Spoley was a nice guy. Why had he asked about Baylee?

  The sick sense of dread returned.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Trey woke up viciously early the next morning with an excited, anticipatory kind of feeling that energized and unsettled him at the same time. He couldn’t wait to see Baylee again.

  One look at the clock told him he had a couple of hours before she’d arrive. She’d be there to work. She’d expect to work. Sort through the mail, balance the checkbooks, help him stay organized. She’d vacuum and do laundry and make the bed. He hated the idea of her cleaning up after him.

  Well, isn’t that what you’re paying her for? his brain inquired.

  Yes, but.

  But what? What do you want to do? Pay her to have sex with you instead?

  Yikes! He shied away from the thought. Maybe he could pay her not to clean. But to spend time with him instead.

  So she’s a paid escort?

  That wouldn’t work. She’d be insulted if he suggested such a thing, and he’d feel like a pimp sampling from his own stable. He’d hired Baylee to do a job. They had an agreement. He’d have to stick by it.

  He did his PT exercises followed by a light workout. His knee did seem to be responding to the PT. The swelling was down. The pain was manageable. Maybe he’d walk without a limp one day soon.

  In the kitchen he brewed coffee and retrieved his current journal from the dining room table. He’d take his coffee out to the back porch, journal and then meditate. Maybe today he’d find that elusive center, the calm he was always searching for.

  He’d rea
d the books and followed the practices. Maybe the breathing helped. The journaling. The meditation. But he never felt at peace. He was always chasing after…something. Something more. Something less. Something different. He didn’t even know what it was. But he had a feeling he’d know when he found it.

  Settling himself in the chair, propping his leg up on the one next to it, he took a deep, satisfying sip of coffee and opened his journal. He never read back through his entries. The one time he’d tried, it had been too depressing. Had he really felt that way? Had he been that miserable? He’d come a long way since and he didn’t plan on going back. Move forward. One day at a time. One step at a time. That was his mantra now. His new therapist agreed journaling was a helpful tool in recovery and had encouraged him to continue.

  He stared at the first word he’d written without even thinking about it. Baylee. What was there to say about Baylee? Hell, he could probably fill page after page about her. The scent of her skin, her direct manner, what it felt like being inside of her. Well, why not? The journals were to put down whatever was on his mind. Whatever was bothering him. Baylee bothered him a lot.

  Trey wrote. About all of it, starting with the Collin Cassidy in New York, about following Baylee, rescuing her from the apartment. How it felt to have her head on his shoulder on the plane, seeing her in his bed. He spilled his guts onto the page, knowing no one would ever see the pages but him.

  When he put the pen down and flexed his fingers to uncramp them, he thought maybe he’d discovered part of Baylee’s appeal. She renewed him.

  He went into the kitchen and tossed his cold coffee down the drain. He poured more and leaned against the counter to reanalyze the thoughts that had come to him during his journaling session.

  After leaving the NFL, surviving rehab, losing any chance he ever had of reconciling with Hayley, and then moving back here, he’d been like a blind man feeling his way along in unfamiliar territory.

  Living without the buffer zone created by booze and pills, dealing with physical and emotional pain, he had to face himself in the mirror every morning. There were too many days when he saw himself as a washed-up former pro athlete, alone and lonely with no one to blame but himself.