Whiskey and Serendipity (Hemlock Creek Book 1)

by Josie Kerr

  “Yeah, he’s my brother.” Cal cleared his throat. “So that’s a bit of background as to what’s going on with me. I wanna know what really happened with your job, but I’ll wait for Bridget to interrogate you so you don’t have to repeat the same story.”

  Kat laughed because her best friend would definitely be interrogating her and most likely wanting to go to Boston and kick everyone in the balls, which was a formidable threat, seeing as she was the women’s featherweight champion.

  Cal turned off the interstate and ventured to Intown Atlanta, again sharing tidbits about the local history.

  “It started as a factory town around the textile mills. In fact, the building that houses the gym where Bridget trains was once one of the smaller mill buildings,” Cal explained as he turned the corner. “And the row of houses were built for the workers to live in. Now, it’s mostly gentrified.” He swallowed hard. “Pickett and Spence is not far at all, right in the thick of the new development.”

  Kat gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as Cal pulled into the driveway of a small Craftsman. He turned off the engine but didn’t make a move to get out.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “It’s going to be good. And if it’s not, well, it’s not.” Kat peered at the cheerful yellow house. “It won’t be the end of the world.”

  Cal stroked her hair and let his hand rest on the back of her neck. “You ready?” he asked again.

  She turned and flashed a timid smile at him. “Maybe. Maybe not. But we’ll get through it, right?”

  Cal seemed to fully exhale for the first time since they’d gotten into the car. He leaned over, cupped her face in his hands, and pressed his lips to hers. When he broke the kiss, Kat pulled him back to her to avoid saying the words she wasn’t quite sure that she was ready to say nor that he was ready to hear. They were still lip-locked when she heard her best friend bray her name.

  “Fahey, get your ass in this house, and bring Harper.” Bridget was hanging out the door, leering at them. Then Nolan came out to the front porch and added to the catcalling.

  “Feeling special yet?” Kat said with a wink, which prompted a full-blown fit of guffaws from Cal.

  “Hey, girl.” Nolan gave Kat a bear hug that lifted her off her feet.

  “Oof! What is it with you Harpers that makes you want to pick me up?” Kat mock-groused. In reality, she was delighted for them to throw her around like some petite thing, which she most certainly wasn’t. “And I’m glad to see you, too, Nolan,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Let’s get inside. I need to know what the hell is going on.” Bridget shooed them into the house, and after a few more moments of small talk, they drifted toward the dining area, with Cal, Kat, and Bridget having a seat at the small dining room table and Nolan heading into the kitchen.

  “Need any help?” Cal asked.

  Nolan poked his head around the corner. “Did you just ask if I need help?” He came out of the kitchen and placed three plates of hors d’oeuvres in the center of the table before taking one of the two empty seats. “Kat, what the hell did you do to him? He’s almost . . . pleasant.”

  Cal flipped Nolan off. “Better?”

  Nolan snorted. “No, not better, but expected. Welcome back, asshole.” He fussed with the plate a bit until Bridget playfully slapped at his hand. “Toby’s coming from the studio, and you know how he and Mick lose track of time when they’re mixing, so I made up some small plates.”

  “Okay, girlie. Spill it.” Bridget grabbed a canapé from a plate. “What did Toe Jam do?”

  Cal choked on a cracker, and Kat pounded him on the back until he could speak. “ ‘Toe Jam’? That’s hilarious. Immature, but hilarious.”

  Bridget shrugged a shoulder. “What can I say? He brings out the twelve-year-old hooligan in me.”

  Kat sighed, feeling the creep of a headache coming on, though she didn’t know if stress or Gentleman Jack was the cause. Nevertheless, she told the group what had transpired since she’d returned to Boston from Ireland. Carefully avoiding Cal’s eyes, she recounted the jabs, the nastiness, and the increased physical hostility that she’d endured during the previous weeks.

  “I’m calling Uncle Danny.” Bridget sat up straight in her chair, hands clenched into fists, looking every inch the fighter that she was. “That ass Reynolds needs a good talking-to.”

  Kat groaned. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you two what was going on earlier.” She did not need Bridget’s thug of an uncle confronting Topher. “At least I don’t have to see him at work anymore, right?” She gave the table a weak grin, hoping they’d finished the discussion. Unfortunately, Bridget didn’t seem ready to drop it.

  “You got passed over, year after year, while that fuck sat in the office you should have gotten.” Bridget nailed Kat with a pointed glare so strong that Kat thought she could physically feel it. “Good riddance to old rubbish,” Bridget exclaimed with a flourish, rolling her Rs in an exaggerated brogue. “You know damn well you should have reported all this shit years ago, Katleen.”

  Kat groaned. When Bridget lost her th’s, someone was getting ready to get a beating, usually verbal, but sometimes physical.

  “Calhoun, what do you have to say about this fuckwad’s treatment of your girlfriend, hmm?” Bridget’s eyes blazed at Cal. Kat turned to look at him because his silence worried her. They’d only been together a few months, and physically in each other’s presence for just a scant ten days, but Kat was pretty sure that Cal was the type of man who was of the “silent and deadly” variety.

  Cal cracked his neck. “Did he put his hands on you?” His voice was soft and scary.

  “He grabbed me a few times, but that was pretty par for the course.”

  “Like that time in Ireland?”

  Kat squeezed her eyes shut. “Yes,” she whispered.

  ´*•.¸(*•.¸ *¸.•*´)¸.•*´

  Cal was furious. No, he was enraged, or some similarly strong word that meant he was about to lose his damn mind.

  “Cal . . .”

  “Can it, Nolan.” Cal shifted in his seat, tapped his foot, ran his hands through his hair—anything to not blow up. When he was finally calm enough to speak, he whispered, “That motherfucker better pray that he doesn’t need to come to Atlanta.” He turned to Kat and took her hand. “Darlin’, I wish you would have said something.”

  “I know I should have. I did say something in my exit interview. I know it probably won’t matter because I was married to him and continued working with him for so many years after we divorced, but at least I said something, finally. God, I have a headache.”

  Bridget patted her hand and got up from the table, and Nolan ducked into the kitchen with an excuse of checking on the dinner, leaving Kat and Cal alone.

  “I meant what I said earlier.” Cal gathered up her hands in his, pressing his lips to them.

  “I know, but what could you do?” Kat shrugged a shoulder.

  Cal sighed and considered what he could have done if he had known. Gone to Boston to physically beat the shit out of Toe Jam? He wouldn’t be able to be supportive if he was locked up by Boston’s finest. Mount a smear campaign about what a pig Topher was? Unfortunately, the restaurant business was full of pigs, and some ousted bartender wasn’t going to make a difference. No, ultimately, he wouldn’t be able to do much.

  “I could have supported you, even though I would have wanted to come to Boston and jerk a knot in that son of a bitch,” Cal confessed.

  Kat laughed. “I know.” Kat leaned her forehead on Cal’s shoulder. “And I appreciate it—even the sentiment of you throwing Topher a beating.” She sighed, and Cal rubbed her back until her stomach rumbled. “Oh God, how embarrassing,” she groaned.

  Bridget and Nolan came back to the table, Bridget bearing a headache remedy and a glass of water and Nolan carrying three more plates.

  “Toby just texted me and said to start without him and that he’d catch up with us in a bit.” He set
the plates down in the center of the table and replaced the small plates with dinner plates. “So I’m going to take him at his word.”

  Cal clucked his tongue. “Brave man, but then again, you could always get away with more than I could.”

  “Because you two are too much alike,” Nolan stated, and Bridget nodded.

  Cal considered Nolan’s words and realized they were true, in more ways than one. Between the cheating wives and their less-than-sparkling personalities, Cal and Toby had more in common than not.

  Huh.

  “So what is he working on? Something new? He didn’t talk much about what he’s doing in the studio.” Cal didn’t like to think about that either. He should have been more open to his older brother instead of wallowing like some poor sack of shit.

  “Hey, man. That’s on Toby, not you.” Nolan shook his head. “Like I said, you two are exactly the same, exactly.” He chewed a little bit more. “I do know She showed up at the studio a few nights ago, drunk and tearful about Chet.”

  Cal groaned. “Motherfuck.” He turned toward Kat and Bridget, who were having some sort of silent female conversation that consisted of grimaces and eye rolls. “I’m going to apologize in advance for my big brother, Kat. He’s going to be in a shit mood and will most likely be a royal jackass.”

  “Oh, o . . . kay?”

  “It’s not okay, but that’s what he does: acts like a jerk to everyone except the person who deserves it.” Kat arched an eyebrow at Cal, who just grunted again and pointedly ignored the hypocrisy of his statement. “So, yeah.”

  “I’m assuming this She is his ex-wife?” Kat quirked an eyebrow at Cal. He’d told her Tobias was divorced, but he hadn’t gone into the details of exactly how fucked up the whole situation was.

  “Yes, She is his ex-wife—”

  “And also Chet’s kind-of wife,” Nolan interjected.

  Cal sighed. “Yes, and also Chet’s common-law wife.”

  “Oh, wow.” Kat’s eyes were huge. “Wow. Uh, so, holidays were interesting?”

  Cal and Nolan looked at each other, and then both cracked up.

  “Oh, man. I like you a lot, Kat. Big Brother, you’d better not fuck this up,” Nolan chortled and snapped a carrot with his teeth.

  Kat squeezed Cal’s knee under the table, and he gave her a wink and then leaned over for a kiss. As she pressed her lips against his, Cal was both elated and worried, and he hoped like hell this wasn’t going to be as much of a disaster as it had the potential to be.

  Tobias had stomped into Bridget and Nolan’s little Craftsman and walked right past Kat without a glance. When Cal had joined him in the kitchen to have a friendly chat, warning his brother that he was not going to put up with his pissy mood, Cal’s stern warning died in his throat at Toby’s tortured expression. Toby had held up a hand, turned his back on Cal, and drained his beer before he said, “Let’s fucking get this over with so I can get the fuck home. I have a long-ass drive.”

  Yeah. This was going to be awesome.

  Now they were all sitting in the living room—Nolan and Bridget on one end of the sectional, Tobias in the lone occasional chair, and Cal and Kat on the other end of the sectional. Though, the way Kat was perched on the end, she seemed liable to run screaming out the front door.

  “So let me get this straight: you just happened to meet Calhoun on the plane, and it was basically some giant coincidence that his brother was dating your best friend?”

  At hearing Toby’s pointed but expected question, Cal closed his eyes and exhaled a quiet groan, which got him a sharp poke in the thigh with Kat’s pointy knuckle.

  “Weirder things have happened. And I don’t think it was a coincidence; I think it was serendipity,” Kat replied. She’d stilled her jostling leg and laid her hand protectively on Cal’s thigh. Then she gave him a little squeeze after she’d answered, and he’d laid his hand over hers, hoping she’d realize his touch wasn’t to reassure her, but in thanks for reassuring him. She had this, and he wondered again what force brought her into his life.

  “Serendipity?”

  “Yes, it means ‘the occurrence and development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.’ ”

  “I know what the hell serendipity means. I might have a ninth-grade education, but I’m not a moron.”

  Cal dared to glance over to the other side of the sectional. Bridget was tensed, her eyes darting from Kat to Toby and back. Nolan looked like he was getting ready . . . to laugh? Then Cal looked at Kat, who had her head cocked to the side.

  “I’m sorry, Tobias. That was snotty—of me, not you. It was uncalled for. But so was your insinuation that I’m some sort of conniving mastermind. Believe me, I’m not that organized. At least, not in my private life.”

  Bridget piped up. “Man, she is a fuckin’ nightmare outside the office—”

  “Birdie, you don’t have to agree so—” Kat interjected.

  “Vociferously?” Tobias interjected.

  Kat shot him a withering look. “Now you’re just showing off.”

  Tobias shrugged, his face a sullen mask that would be recognizable on their father. Tobias might be a cranky bastard, but Cal had never known him to be downright mean. But from the way his bulk was sitting there in a cheery yellow chair, Tobias looked every inch his sour, bitter father’s son, and it both saddened and angered Cal.

  “Toby, don’t.” Cal shook his head. “Just . . . don’t.”

  Tobias ignored him and continued talking. “At least this one’s not half your age.”

  Cal saw the almost imperceptible narrowing of Kat’s eyes as she tried to figure out exactly who Tobias was insulting. “I prefer to think that I’m twice as good as these young chippies,” she retorted.

  Tobias stroked his beard, his eyes twinkling with something akin to respect, but not quite. “Fair enough, though I’m not sure what your angle is, girl.”

  “My angle? What makes you think I even have an angle? Like I said, and Bridget confirmed: I’m no mastermind of anything.”

  “Cal, you’d better watch this one.” Tobias kept his gaze pinned on Kat. “Because the ones who always insist on not being up to anything are the ones who are the biggest schemers.”

  Before Cal could intercede, Kat leapt up and got in Tobias’s face. “What is your friggin’ problem? I am not your ex-wife. I am not Cal’s ex. I’m just me, and I’m trying to figure out what I’m doing, just like everyone else. I used to feel sorry for you, but you know what? Life is too damn short to put up with a bitter, nasty man who would rather wallow than be thankful that he has two brothers who care about him enough to tolerate this crap.” She flopped back onto the couch with her arms crossed over her body and her eyes blazing, and she was finished. “My God, you’re just as bad as your father.” Then she looked from Cal to Nolan and shook her head. “And you two?” She shook her fingers at the two younger Harpers. “You two are you just enabling him. The three of you are so flipping codependent that you can’t even see it. You all need to get a grip. Cal, are you ready to go?”

  Cal was so in awe at Kat’s tirade that he didn’t realize she’d asked him a question, though it wasn’t really a question; it was more like an order disguised as a question. He scrubbed his face with his hands and nodded. “Sure, darlin’. I am more than ready.”

  ´*•.¸(*•.¸ *¸.•*´)¸.•*´

  Kat had given Cal a bit of side-eye when they’d gotten to the apartment and he’d gone straight to the kitchen and she’d heard him fixing a drink, but then he’d appeared back in the living room with two glasses and the bottle of homemade soda. Now, they were on the couch, Cal with his feet on the coffee table and a glass of ginger ale, and Kat nestled into his side with her feet tucked under her. Kat had taken her hair down from her ponytail, and Cal had a strand of hair wrapped around his fingers.

  “Well, that went in a whole different direction than I expected,” he murmured against her hair. “I’ll tell you what: you Southie women know how to put an obnoxious Harper in
his place.” Kat raised her eyebrow in question, and Cal answered. “Bridget didn’t tell you about that?”

  She turned to look at him. “No. What happened?”

  “I wasn’t there—I was working—but apparently, Bridget stared Chet down within about five minutes of meeting him.” Cal snorted. “Our old man had this intense fire-and-brimstone preacher-man stare, like he was seeing your soul and every little transgression written on it, and your girl Birdie just dealt it right back at the bastard.” He huffed another laugh. “Damn, I wish I had been there.”

  Kat chuckled. “Sounds like Birdie. All I can say is that we don’t like to be bullied.” Kat nuzzled deeper into Cal’s embrace, where she could hear his heart thumping under her ear. “Though, I have to say I wasn’t exactly fair tonight.”

  “How so?”

  “I could see his face reflected in the sliding glass door. He’s hurting, Cal. I mean, like a deep-down-to-your-core kind of hurt. It doesn’t give him an excuse to be a dick—and there is no way to describe his behavior tonight other than ‘dick-ish’—but maybe it’s an explanation?”

  “Maybe.” Cal shrugged. “But maybe the old man finally poisoned him enough that Toby’s permanently damaged now. He didn’t use to be like this. I mean, he was always kind of an ass, but, hell, he was fifteen and had free rein to do whatever he wanted. And Lord knows what Chet was up to. Actually, no—Toby knew what he was up to. That’s why he hated him so much.”

  Kat blinked. “So he really made him quit school at fifteen?”

  “Yep.” Cal took a sip from his glass of ginger ale. “Man, I remember that day, too. I was twelve, and the two of us had been taking Nolan to choir practice at the church. I’m not musically inclined at all, so basically, I just flirted with all the girls in the choir. Nolan was the littlest angel because he was the small one, but he could remember all the lines. And Toby had a solo and played the organ.”

  Kat watched Cal, his eyes far away, deep in his memories. “What happened, Cal?”

  He shook his head like he was clearing a fog from his vision. “Oh, Chet found out and decided that he just had to pick up a last-minute Christmas show in Nashville. We were about to walk into the chapel, and Chet met us at the door. Told me and Nolan to go on in, and when we came home, Toby and Chet were gone. We didn’t see either of them until the day after Christmas. Chet spent the next week piss-ass drunk, and Toby spent the next week pissing blood. Merry fucking Christmas from the Harpers.”