A Perfect Dilemma

by Zoe Dawson

“I care. I think it’s amazing. You never seem to need to boast, Braxton. Because you’re confident in who you are.”

  “Oh, am I? You can read my mind now, River?” The truck bounced hard as he pulled out of the driveway onto the dirt and gravel road. I wanted to stay mad at him for his attitude and irritability. But it was an excuse to focus my frustration on him when it was more my fault. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to relax back against the seat. Getting worked up wasn’t going to help matters. Besides, I had gotten worked up enough for one day. My gaze slid sideways across the seat, to where Brax’s hand rested on the gear shift. His jeans-clad leg next to his hand.

  “I don’t have to read your mind. The way you stand up to people is part of who you are. I like that about you, Brax.”

  “Even when I’m doing it to you?”

  “Well, not so much then.”

  His hands were broad, flat, with wide, tapered fingers. A long reach for jamming on his fiddle. And there was nothing adolescent about his thighs; he, like his brothers had filled out. In fact, “the trips” were turning twenty the day of my Founder’s Day speech.

  “I bet,” he said.

  “When did you start boxing?”

  “In high school. I set up a bag outside because the place where we lived didn’t have much space. Back then I hurt my knuckles because I didn’t know the right technique.”

  “Did you take up boxing to defend yourself?”

  “What is this, huckleberry, fucking twenty questions? You interested in interviewing me?”

  Something funny jolted my stomach. It’s the first time he’d ever called me huckleberry, but it wasn’t the disdainful way he usually said it. His voice was gentle, and teasing. I got jittery all of a sudden. “I’m making conversation, Braxton. You know what conversation is, right? After all you were fourth in our class. But in case you don’t, it’s a dialogue between two people. It goes like this: I say something, then you say something…and before you know it, it’s a bona fide conversation.”

  He snorted and, miracles of miracles, he smiled again, with genuine, honest amusement. “Did they teach ‘snotty tone’ in Princess school, or is it a natural expression of your royal heritage?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. Dang it, I hated being called a princess, even if I was one. “No, it comes from dealing with you, Braxton.”

  “Touché, Princess” He sighed, his voice going weary.

  “You know I hate it.”

  “What?”

  “Princess. I truly, deeply hate the term.”

  “River, we’re the product of our past and who we’re related to. You’re a Princess. You’ll always be one. We both know what I am.”

  “Braxton.”

  “No.” He gave me a tight smile. “We both know what it was like in high school. I don’t have to spell it out for you.”

  “Yes, I know what it was like. Especially the summers at the country club.”

  “It wasn’t you.”

  “No. But Jake…” I trailed off. I shouldn’t feel sorry for him. He would hate it if he knew I’d felt an ounce of pity, even for a second.

  “Aw, don’t be too hard on him. Everyone has their cross to bear.”

  “Do you actually feel sorry for my brother?”

  “Let me just say I know what it’s like to labor under expectations, whether they’re good or bad. Jake’s not all bad. Although he definitely doesn’t like the one-finger salute.” He chuckled.

  Braxton might be laughing about my brother’s recent reaction, but I recalled a time when it hadn’t been the case.

  He was right—we were both products of our upbringing, but mostly as a measure of our ability to overcome some pretty serious obstacles. Mine might not have been so obvious, but his…his had been out there for all the town to see. And judge. Which had made his obstacles even more insurmountable. The townsfolk clung to the Outlaws’ past, and the trips had to contend with it every day of their lives. But they also had to contend with the loss of their daddy, plus the accusations that had run rampant after he’d up and run off after embezzling from my own daddy’s company.

  Mr. Outlaw had worked for us as a bookkeeper. My cousin Earl had given him the job. I’d only learned that last part recently. It seemed the Outlaws and the Suttons always ended up tangled up over a crime.

  Or something…else.

  All four summers in high school, Braxton had spent Memorial Day through Labor Day working as a waiter, catering to his peer group “from the better side of the tracks,” and so far beyond the Outlaws as to be in a different world.

  The Outlaws were always a target. Any one of them or all three together. It didn’t matter to some of the people who ran in my circle, because it was difficult to tell them apart. But not for me. I always knew which one of them was Braxton.

  Always.

  But to them, he was just the smart-ass son of a thieving, cowardly Outlaw descended from Duel, their ancestor who had murdered men for gold. My contemporaries took great pleasure in torturing him constantly, as far back as I could remember. Humiliating him—or trying to—had been one of their favorite sports. And the quarterback in the game of humiliating Outlaws had been Jake. My brother.

  But through it all Braxton never wavered in his confidence, the barbs seeming to bounce off him, but I knew better. It hadn’t been right. But I had known better than to interfere directly. I’d tried to talk to Jake about it, but he’d only sneered at me about how I had a soft spot for one particular Outlaw.

  He hadn’t been far off.

  It was a dark time among the three of us siblings, as Chase had gotten more and more withdrawn, and disappeared more and more, until one day right after his graduation he was just…gone.

  I’d watched from a distance while Braxton and his brothers handled the ribbing, the catcalls, the demands, the step and fetch, all with a seething grace. He’d never looked bowed, or beaten, which I was certain had been a big part of why they never left him alone. It irritated them when someone so obviously beneath them by every measurable standard managed to somehow maintain his dignity and integrity, no matter how boldly or viciously they tried to rob him of it.

  Worse by far was the way those very same girls chased him almost desperately. And he seemed rather nonchalant about it. I suspected he’d taken enormous pleasure in claiming what they saw as theirs. And claim them he had, I thought with a sigh. The girls all talked about the Outlaw trips, lusted after them, drooled over them…and found many an excuse to hang out wherever they were.

  Booker had been amused by the attention, but he’d only ever had eyes for Aubree. She had been, of course, clueless. He’d been flocked by girls until Aubree wised up recently, but he’d never let them get too close.

  Boone had been a lost soul. My heart often hurt for him as he sank deeper and deeper into his escape.

  But Braxton, he reveled in the tricks and the scorn and the women who chased him, and took every opportunity to indulge himself.

  I was the only one he shunned.

  When he called me a princess I always wondered if he resented my privileged lifestyle.

  If he only knew, I’d rarely felt like the pampered princess he believed I was. Okay…pampered, maybe. My life was vastly different from his in that regard. But princess? Hardly. Yes I knew then and I know now, I have a privileged lifestyle. I’ve always been surrounded by everything a girl could ever want. Except the one thing money couldn’t buy: love I didn’t have to earn by performing to the rigorous standards my parents insisted upon for their perfect princess.

  Yes, my lifestyle came with a cost, and I’d paid it and paid it until I was drained and simply didn’t know who I was anymore. Maybe it was what attracted me to Braxton. He always seemed to know exactly who he was and wasn’t afraid to let everyone know it.

  “River Pearl, don’t worry too much about me and your brother. Someday we’ll come to an agreement.”

  I looked at him while he pulled into the Outlaws parking lot and brought the truck to a hal
t. He’d sounded…ominous. “I hope it won’t involve blood and fists, Brax.”

  He shrugged. “It’ll involve what it involves. Why? You worried he’ll hurt my pretty face?”

  I heard what he silently said. It would involve me. “No. I’m worried you’ll hurt him.”

  He opened the door, giving me a serious look. “Then it’s best we never give him a reason to want to break my face,” he said.

  That hurt. But he had hurt me before and he probably would again.

  “Brax!”

  I stiffened and looked out his open door.

  Becky Howe.

  She strolled across the parking lot, her gait loose, hips swinging. She was dressed in a scandalously short, sleeveless, white dress with big red polka dots splashed across it, and it fit her like skin on boudin. Aside from her red stiletto heels, it was obvious the dress was the only article of clothing she wore. Besides the long strand of pearls she had looped carelessly around her neck. They weren’t real. I could tell.

  She walked right up to him, threw her arms around his neck, and started kissing him. Planted her way-too-much-lipstick mouth on him and kissed him.

  As I sat there in Braxton’s truck, an aura of silence enveloped me like a force field, traffic on the highway faded into the background, the music from Outlaws dulled and disappeared, engines turned over as people exited and started up their trucks, but none of it touched me. I hated her, the feeling too strong to keep bottled up. It was visceral and physical and mixed with the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach into a volatile Molotov cocktail of hot, bitter and acidic churning emotion.

  Braxton stepped back almost immediately, breaking off the kiss, much to her shock. I could see it in her eyes. Then she saw me and her eyes narrowed. Becky recognized the look in my eyes.

  “Hey, River Pearl.” It was a greeting, but it wasn’t affable. Becky Howe wasn’t happy to see me. She was most definitely not happy to see me in Braxton’s company.

  Becky and I weren’t exactly friends. She hadn’t run in my circle, but had been on the fringes. Middle-class and quite stunningly beautiful, with big, dark green eyes and long, wavy auburn hair. She was shorter than me, about five-five, and was full of curves.

  “Hey,” I said, my voice flat. I gave her my most fake princess smile.

  Her eyes widened when she noticed my nose. Oh, damn, it must have gone black and blue already.

  She looked up at Brax then with a speculative gaze. Geez, all I needed was for people to think he punched me in the nose. It was exactly how rumors got started, and, believe me, with the Outlaws, it wouldn’t take much.

  “I fell,” I blurted out. Brax turned to look at me, then back at Becky. He said absolutely nothing. He probably didn’t give a damn if rumors started, but I surely did.

  I opened the door and came around the truck bed. Braxton stepped around Becky and closed the door, locking the truck. I could tell she didn’t like how he was acting, and it filled me with…hope. But did nothing to douse my anger.

  Man, I was pathetic. And jealous. Jealous of Becky, because she could be so free and easy with how she touched and interacted with Braxton. Everything about my encounters with him were always so…intense.

  “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by,” she cooed, stroking his back.

  I snorted and she cut me a nasty look. Right. Just in the neighborhood. How lame.

  “You’re still coming by tonight, right?” Pouting her lower lip, she slid her sunglasses down her nose and stroked a gaze down Braxton’s body. Tension arced between us, and I now understood how Verity had gotten into a bar fight with Marcy. And it hadn’t been the first cat fight over an Outlaw.

  He looked down at Becky and gave her a lopsided grin. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

  Her tension evaporated. “Okay. Great. After the dinner rush, then?”

  “As usual,” he said, not looking at me.

  I simply couldn’t take it anymore. I walked away toward Outlaws. I had to find the bathroom, fast, because, for the second time in one day, I was on the verge of tears or murder. I wasn’t sure which.

  When I reached the front door, I couldn’t help but look back. I couldn’t help it.

  She’d grabbed the waistband of his jeans, sliding her hand up his chest, leaning close to whisper something in his ear, then throwing her head back and laughing while she slugged him on the shoulder.

  He had never whispered anything in my ear, damn his miserable hide. But he’d never shown any interest beyond the casual flirting he did with every female on the planet.

  Anger shimmered through me in a wave of heat, pushing me toward recklessness. I wanted him to look at me. I wanted to see the same hunger in him I felt every time I saw him, every time I thought of him. I wanted to see the same raw longing burning in his eyes. It was one thing to know Brax had women, but they’d been faceless and nameless. It was another to see one in the flesh and realize Brax hadn’t changed. Why had I thought he had? Or would?

  I’d been gone more than a year, and I certainly shouldn’t have expected him to be pining for me.

  But the truth was, I’d believed he would.

  Maybe I’d read him wrong.

  But, dammit, I still didn’t think I had.

  I moved fast, but didn’t make it to the bathroom. Brax caught me as I was crossing the floor. Damn the popularity of this place. I caught of glimpse of dark hair and a familiar tingle of wariness but when I search the crowd, I didn’t see anyone I recognized. It couldn’t have been Earl.

  Brax caught my arm and I forgot all about Earl. I went to twist away, but he wouldn’t let me.

  “See? That was the real me. Do you understand now? Do you get it? It’ll be her this month and someone else next month.

  “Yeah,” I said quietly. “I get it. You’re trying a bit too hard, sugar.”

  He released me and I went into the crowd. I’m not sure who he was trying to convince, me or him. But I was now determined to get the truth out of him before I left, regardless of what roadblocks he put in our way.

  Chapter Six

  Braxton

  I had felt despair. I had felt consuming desire, and I’d felt anger, frustration, and hopelessness. I had felt all those things around that girl. But desperation? Hard-core, aching desperation? No, desperation was new.

  But I was getting desperate. River Pearl usually got what she wanted. I’d watched her do it. Can’t say I didn’t admire it. She never seemed to need confirmation, validation, or affirmation. She took most things in stride.

  The problem was my attraction to her. Whenever I felt attraction, I followed through, then moved on. Why was River Pearl a different thing altogether? We would have hooked up a long time ago if I hadn’t insisted on closing it down. I created the distance between us.

  Yeah, there had been plenty of times I’d thought she would be the ultimate “fuck you” to Suttontowne. Taking the golden girl would be my coup de grȃce. Then, at sixteen, I’d been frogging with Book and Boone, and we’d come across the three of them drinking wine and swimming in the bayou, having a girls-only party.

  Booker had been sick in love with Aubree even then, but he acted like he couldn’t care less because he cared so much. Boone had no intention, or at least I thought he’d had no intention, of pursuing the preacher’s daughter. Me, I was looking at River Pearl wearing those tiny pieces of cloth covering absolutely nothing, hormones churning.

  Geezus, at sixteen I had almost a continual hard-on. It was a relief to either find a willing girl or get myself off. The need for sex then was relentless. Part and parcel of being an teenaged boy. But it wasn’t about sex that night when I’d stared and stared at her. It had been about attraction and the forbidden.

  She wanted me to kiss her, touch her. I could tell. It was the first time I realized it. I didn’t want to treat her like every other girl I’d fucked and forgot about. It was the moment I realized she was a threat to my oath. I didn’t want to get into her pants and then be done. I wanted t
o get to know her, date her, have a…relationship. I think it was always something I knew deep down. But I knew it for sure that sultry night.

  Now I just stood there, watching her walk away into Outlaws’ crowd, and I wanted to race after her. I wanted to drag her against me and hold her and tell her she could have me. Because I also knew she wanted me.

  As much as I wanted her.

  Impossible.

  I trembled and headed back to the kitchen and right into my office. I shut the door and leaned my back against it. How many women had I taken in here? Against the door. On the couch? Over my desk? How many? Becky hadn’t been in the neighborhood. Out in the parking lot she’d whispered she had nothing on under her dress and was hoping for a quick fuck. Before River Pearl’s return, I would have taken her hand and dragged her back here and given her what she wanted. So why was anything different now?

  Because I couldn’t get our kiss out of my head. The one she’d planted on me at the barbeque. That kiss hadn’t been about sex. If only it had been, then this would all be over and done with. That kiss had been deeper and wilder and more important than sex. If only she’d kept her distance, not touched me.

  I ran my hands through my hair and doubled over at the lie I had to live. The one I had to tell everyone. The lie that I wasn’t interested in River Pearl Sutton. I wanted to chuck my fucking oath. But then I remembered why I’d made it. I remembered, and I wanted to haul off and punch the door. The only thing keeping me from doing it was the possibility I’d break my hand. Then I couldn’t box and couldn’t cook and couldn’t play my fiddle. And without those distractions, I would be consumed by the things that weren’t for me, couldn’t be for me, because of who I was and what I’d decided, for my good and everyone else’s.

  I clenched my hands and my jaw. Hands so I wouldn’t hit the door, and my jaw so I could keep the cry of anguish inside me. I walked to the desk and leaned into it and then balled up my hands, striking the wood with a loud, double-fisted bang. My skin stung from the blows, but it helped me get back in control. A few more weeks and she’d be gone. Back to New York City, and I could slowly, once again breathe normally.