Soft Wild Ache (Crown Creek)

by Theresa Leigh

  "Did she slap you?"

  "No."

  "Then you're fine. You and Finn, I swear, it's like mirror images. He doesn't feel bad about anything, you feel bad about everything. Oh, it's right up on the right." She pointed at the last second and the Crown Vic sent up a shower of dust when I yanked the wheel to the right, narrowly missing the nearly hidden drive. "Oh shit," Claire breathed reverently as we rolled to a stop.

  I sat back heavily in my seat. "Yeah, you can say that again."

  It was perfect. Set back against a stand of pines, the timber-framed house resembled a log cabin on steroids. A huge deck wrapped around the front, overlooking a sloping lawn that led down to a picturesque little pond. I stepped out to inhale the smell of pine tree warmed in the sun. Dragonflies hovered over the water and a single noisy frog was piping up quite a melodic little racket, but otherwise, the only sound was the slight rustle of the wind through the cattails that ringed the banks. There was no sound of passing traffic and no sign of any neighbors except the slight hint of wood smoke that spiced the air.

  It was exactly what Finn wanted.

  "This is it, yes, yes," Claire danced over to me and excitedly shoved her phone under my nose to show me the listing. "And it has enough bedrooms that like, you could have us over for dinner and to crash for once.”

  "Us?" I teased, even as I took the phone from her and scrolled through the listing.

  And then sighed.

  I'd put this house down on our list for, well I wasn't exactly sure why I thought we needed to see it, other than catch a glimpse of what we could never have. "It's too expensive."

  "Seriously?" She snatched her phone away and squinted at the screen. Then whistled. "Yeah okay, that's a lot, but you have it, right?"

  "I have half of it."

  "Okay, but isn't that all you need?"

  "Do you really think Finn has his half?" It was impossible to keep the edge out of my voice when I asked that question. Claire knew all about how I'd covered him when the four King brothers gave a portion of our earnings to our parents so they could retire. After all, we owed the band's success to them running us to a million far-flung festivals and appearances when we were first starting out. "Maybe back when we were touring," I went on. "But you know it's gone now."

  Claire fell silent - for once - and lifted her face to the sun and closed her eyes. "You know he's spiraling, right?"

  "’Course I do."

  "His demons are getting to him again."

  "I can see that." The sarcasm, the bitterness. I knew what that meant. "And there isn't much we can do except—"

  "Head him off at the pass with a giant change," Claire interrupted me. "He's going to start picking fights again if he doesn't find something to distract him."

  I looked back up at the house. "This would be a distraction."

  "It would."

  "But he needs money. Or hell, the both of us do."

  "Yeah, too bad you are both completely unqualified for anything resembling a job." Claire loved getting in those little jabs.

  "We're qualified to play music." An idea was starting to snowball in my head. "Hey, come on. Let's go let him know we found the perfect fucking house and we're gonna drag him to a showing if it kills him." My sister was already nodding and getting back into the car when another idea piggybacked onto the first. "But can we make one stop beforehand?"

  Chapter Eleven

  Rachel

  I spend all day cleaning up other people's messes so usually I left mine alone.

  Not today.

  "Come on," I mumbled as I turned the sponge over and attacked the stain with the scouring side. "I'll get out the bleach if I have to." The pink ring had lived happily in the bathroom sink since Everly and I had moved into the place, but not anymore.

  The mysterious fluorescent mold around the drain was not the first casualty this morning. I'd been at it since I woke, flustered and breathless after some very confusing dreams, at five AM. On my day off. Lying in bed and trying to go back to sleep had only brought frustration, and the third time Beau's hazel eyes popped unbidden into my head was when I finally propelled myself out of bed and right to the cleaning supplies.

  Hard labor was part of the penance for fornication. There was no one here to flog me - except myself, with my own mind - but maybe if I cleaned my house, I could clean my soul in the process. First I'd opened all the windows and doors, letting in the fresh smell of early summer. But the fresh air wasn't enough to blow away the thoughts of Beau from my mind.

  What would my parents say if they knew that I had kissed him? A debauched rockstar, the very definition of a worldly sinner? "Come on," I snarled at the stain, ignoring the way the cleaner burned my hand. I scrubbed so hard that my finger knocked against the faucet, opening a scrape on my knuckle. I ran the water and let the tinge of pink swirl down the now sparkling drain. The sink was whiter than it had ever been, and all the battered nickel fixtures gleamed like they were new. I lifted my knuckle to my lips and absently sucked on my knuckle then spat into the sink. "Guess I need gloves now."

  I padded out into the kitchen and was pulling on the bright yellow dishwashing gloves that lived under the sink when a sharp rat-a-tat-tat jolted me out of my mumbling-to-stains reverie. "Oh!"

  Beau was there on my sunken porch, just on the other side of the screen door. I blushed in immediate guilt, certain that I had somehow managed to conjure him from thin air just by thinking about him non-stop.

  "Sorry, are you busy?" He was looking right at the bright yellow gloves.

  "Uh." For some reason, my fingers went right to my lips. Where his kiss still lingered.

  The dreams I'd had last night came flooding back, overloading my senses and heating my cheeks. As my heart rate sped up, I ducked away from his hazel eyes, wanting to feel anything but delight at seeing him here. Even though I was wearing one of my old Chosen undergarments, loose and shapeless, tucked into a pair of ripped and paint-spattered jeans, I still felt beautiful the second his gaze heated my skin.

  And that's when I knew that my cleaning had done nothing. My soul was still tainted with the memory of his kiss. And what's more, I liked it.

  "I just wanted to ask you something." He was still on the other side of the door, unaware of the turmoil he'd unleashed inside of me.

  "We wanted to ask you something." Claire popped out from behind her brother, startling me out of my introspection, and opened the door to let herself in. "It was my idea in the first place, wasn't it?"

  Beau followed her in with his lips screwed up like he was trying not to smile. "Sorry." He glared pointedly at Claire. "We probably could have called but—"

  "Man, this place looks fantastic!" Claire looked around appreciatively and took a deep breath. "Smells amazing too. Like... bleach and pine trees."

  "I was cleaning." I held up my gloves as if they needed a deeper explanation as if they couldn't see that every cupboard was open, every dish was out on the counter and the floor was still wet in some places. "So, um..."

  Beau picked up on my confusion immediately. "Claire and I were out looking for houses when I had an idea."

  "It was my idea!" Claire stepped in front of him. "So I want to say it. Rachel?" All that brash, little-sister confidence drained from her face and she looked suddenly shy. "You have such a pretty voice. Can I give you voice lessons?"

  I dropped my sponge. "What?" Crouching down to grab it again hid my blush of pleasure. At least I hoped it did. I was suddenly reminded of the time our barn dog had puppies, and the way they'd tumble around, tails wagging, basking in the pleasure of being loved and petted. If I had a tail right now, it would be wagging just like that. "You want to teach me?" I repeated.

  "I'm not a professional like my brothers." She punctuated that statement with a hefty eyeroll. "But I helped my friend Ruby with the school play last spring and I really enjoyed teaching those kids how to sing."

  "My sister was in that." At their shocked expressions, I straightened a little and to
ok off my gloves. "My parents started sending her to secular school this past fall." And I had been more jealous than I wanted to admit, that she'd been given the opportunity to do something I'd so desperately wanted for myself. Those same bad feelings had sent me into a cleaning spree at the hotel I'd been living at when I heard the news. "She loved being in the play."

  At least I thought she had. Lydia hadn't been allowed to contact me since I left the compound. My mother's last letter had mentioned it in passing, buried in news about the children being born or fostered in the community and a whole paragraph about one of the cows getting stuck in the mud by the creek. I'd had to read between the lines.

  Claire's eyes had widened into saucers. Then she snapped her fingers. "Little Lydia!" I smiled when I heard my little sister's name and Claire nodded. "Oh my God! It makes so much sense now! You guys have the same color hair, like, exactly. She's a mini-you, why the hell didn't I see that? Anyway," she grabbed my ungloved hand and squeezed. "That means it’s fate. You have to let me teach you. You have such a talent."

  I half-nodded before I even thought to distractedly worry about the vanity laced in that statement. My sister had been allowed to sing in a play and bow to the audience's applause.

  Why not me?

  I wanted it. I wanted to learn, to get better. I wanted to do something I was good at, something I loved, and I didn't want to feel bad about it.

  "Yes."

  She and Beau froze in place and looked at each other. I took a deep breath. "Okay yeah, that sounds great." As soon as I said it, I felt a spark inside of me. Like a match struck and held to a wick, it flickered and then burned bright to life. I squeezed my sponge and then set it deliberately on the counter, then blinked confusedly at the fury of bleach and scrubbing that surrounded me, as if it had been done by someone else. The only connection I felt to the penance I'd designed for myself was the way my knuckle throbbed dully. Distracted, I exhaled. "I think I'm done cleaning."

  The Kings sprang into action. "Here." Beau grabbed a stack of plates. "Where do these go? I'll help you put them away."

  "Singing while you work helps pass the time, you know." Claire was shoving my colander into the wrong drawer, but I didn't stop her. I just cleared my throat and started humming the melody of an old hymn that was as familiar to me as the lines on my palm. "Breathe from your diaphragm," Claire said idly. Then reached out and pressed the flat of her hand just below my ribcage. "Make my hand go up when you breathe, in. See? See how that brings the tone down from your head? Yes!" Her smile was wide and proud. "Listen to you!"

  "Listen to you," Beau echoed. His fingertips were pressed to his lips. I'd only glanced over at him for a second, but his hazel gaze seemed to trap mine in a snare and suddenly I was singing right to him as I watched his face transform into wonder. "You have to do this," he said. "You have such a beautiful voice."

  I closed my eyes. I could feel it, the compliment, how it traveled through my body right to my tingling fingers and curling toes. This flush of pride was something I had never allowed myself before because it was a full-on, open defiance of the way I'd been raised.

  Rebellion.

  It was seductive and sudden, and I knew I should fear it, but I was too busy smiling proudly. I opened my eyes again. "When can I start?"

  Chapter Twelve

  Beau

  It felt like there was a balloon in my chest. It inflated every time I was within fifty feet of Rachel and I was practically floating now.

  But when we walked back into my parents' empty house, it popped. "Where is he?" Claire spoke my thoughts aloud.

  "Bed," I grumbled, not even needing what Jonah and Gabe called my "scary twin sixth sense" to know that that was where my brother was now. Wrapped in a blanket - in spite of the warm June afternoon - and staring at the wall.

  Claire turned to look at me, cheeks white, "You want me to go?"

  "I've got it." I was already climbing the stairs.

  His door was shut all the way, latch though hopefully not locked. I knocked hesitantly, then called myself a pussy and knocked louder. "Yo, Finnegan. I've got news."

  There was no reply, but I heard the sound of his bed creak, so I knew he was awake. "Hey, I'm coming in." I tested the handle. Not locked. I opened it slowly, giving him time to get used to the idea of me intruding. "How are you doing in here? Jesus." I paused and fanned the door. "It's hot as balls in here, how are you not sweating to death under those blankets like that?" I strode to the window and made to open it, but it was stuck. "Jeez, this is bad, why didn't you tell me? I could have fixed this for you, I think the wood must have swelled or something. All that rain last month." I couldn't seem to stop making stupid observations. He was my own twin brother, but his silence made me feel awkward as hell. "Hey, you know, when we have our own place, we can turn on the A/C without Dad having a coronary, wouldn't that be awesome?"

  Finn gave me no sign that he was listening. His dull eyes were fixed intently - but disinterestedly - on the ceiling.

  His room it smelled... sad. The air was heavy and stale, and the faintly acrid odor let me know that he'd stopped showering, probably days ago. It hit me all at once that him coming downstairs and having breakfast with us was just him going through the motions. His laughter was false, his participation was just for show. Nothing was reaching him anymore, except...

  I could. "Speaking of which. We found a house," I said, plopping myself at the foot of his bed. He obligingly shifted his feet to give me space, but he didn't say anything, not even when I started telling him all about the secluded place Claire and I had found. "It's so quiet there, Finnasaurus Rex. Exactly what you're looking for. It's even got this little fishing pond and I think we scared some ducks. There's definitely a frog, a loud little fucker too, so you most likely could hear him from the big wrap-around deck that overlooks his habitat."

  "Cool."

  One word. He didn't even lift his head. Gritting my teeth, I pressed on. "We can schedule a showing, but we should do it soon. I doubt a place like that is going to stay on the market for long. You're probably not the only pseudo-hermit in the Crown Creek area." I waited, giving him time to collect his thoughts, and as I did, I couldn't help but do a sweep of the room. Was he taking his meds and this was just a normal downturn? Did he need a higher dose? Should I be badgering him to go see his shrink? Oh Christ, there was another fight I'd have to gear up for. "Finn?" My brother was still silent, but I knew he was listening, I could feel his tension and knew that the only thing that was keeping him from bolting from this room was the heavy weight of his depression that kept him lying down. "So the only problem is that it's a bit out of our price range, but that's to be expected since it's a pretty kick-ass house." I swallowed and then nodded to myself. Yes. This was the right move. "But I know where we can get the money, man. Easy-peasy. I just have to make some phone calls. Sounds good, right?"

  I waited in the deafening silence for him to give me something. Anything. Hell, even a sarcastic comment shooting me down would be preferable to this apathetic silence. "Finn, where are your meds?"

  "Fuck off." My brother rolled back to the wall.

  I stood up. "You're taking them, right?"

  "Fuck off, I said."

  My chest tightened in a snarl of anger. I tried to push it back down again. This isn't him. "I'm going to schedule the showing though. So is there a time that's bad for you? Like maybe you have a doctor's appointment coming up?"

  "Beau, I swear to God if you don't leave me the fuck alone I'm going to..."

  He drifted off in mid-sentence, already bored with threatening me. I would have taken it. I was used to Finn's temper but this apathy...

  I couldn't take it. I turned on my heel and stalked out of the room, burning with the need to move, to run. The tight bud of anger was blooming, and the rushing heat of my blood thudded in my ears. "So?" Claire was right in my path as I stomped into the kitchen, but I veered around her and made a beeline straight for the door off the kitchen that led into th
e garage.

  I wasn't even fully aware of what I was doing or why I was grabbing the hand-axe until I was running full tilt through the yard and straight down to the creek.

  Last month's flood had left our yard a mess that my father was only just starting to tackle. The tangled mass of branches and debris was dry now thanks to the string of warm, sunny June days.

  And that made it easy to start hacking.

  The first thud of the axe into one of the branches unleashed something. I blinked away the sudden blurriness in my eyes and then grunted as I split the log in two. "Fuck!" Yanking and heaving, I wrestled the unruly mass back up the hill to the fire pit. I wiped the sweat out of my eye and then went back in again.

  Thunk. Yank. Thunk. Yank. The rhythmic sound of the axe and the hard labor went a long way toward soothing my soul and letting me think clearly again. Clearly enough for the both of us since my brother was in no shape to be making decisions at the moment. It would be up to me to find a way to get the money together. I could do it.

  I just had to make a few phone calls.

  As I hacked away at the fallen underbrush, the plan solidified in my brain. One appearance. That was all we needed. Call it a King Brothers Family Reunion, yeah, that had a nice ring to it. Maybe a festival or a one-night only event down in New York City. That was all we needed. It would kickstart our sales, start the royalties flowing again.

  Re-fill Finn's checking account and get him on his feet again.

  The pile in the fire-pit was getting bigger now. I paused, and wiped my forehead again, wishing I had thought to bring out a glass of water. The brush was nearly clear, and the banks of the creek were visible again. I only needed to cut up a few more branches.

  As I split the last big, sprawling oak branch, I tried to keep my misgivings away. This was a good plan, a solid one. And it didn't matter if I actually hated playing pop music.