Beautiful Bridges (Bridges Brothers Book 3)

by Lia Fairchild

  “So, ultimately, what happened with the center?”

  “There just wasn’t enough funding.” Curtis looks off, taking a moment. “I know it’s not my fault, but I just wish I could have done more. I really wasn’t making the money then that I am now, didn’t have the connections I do now…”

  “Like Daven Sparrow?”

  “Exactly. His name is what’s going to fuel this thing.”

  “So the new center will be in the same location?”

  “Yes, but a complete renovation, expansion physically and more programs.” The light in his eyes is a welcome sight compared to what was there only a moment ago.

  “Sounds wonderful. And can you tell me more about Daven Sparrow’s role in the project? I’m supposed to be sitting down with him as well but his schedule…”

  “Yeah, that’s probably why he had you talk to me first.”

  Curtis spends the next few minutes telling me how he got Daven, one of the hottest clothing designers in the industry, interested in the project, how he’ll fund all aspects of the renovation, but that he’s leaving it up to Curtis to find other backers and ways to raise funds for future costs.

  “That’s quite a responsibility he’s put on your shoulders.”

  “Yeah, I mean, I’m up for the challenge. I have to be…because I don’t want the new center to fall to the same fate as Hen’s House.” He shows me a crooked grin I’ve seen on him before. “I’ve got some ideas but I don’t want to say anything yet.”

  I quirk a brow at him. “You sure? Could be good publicity for the new center.”

  He seems to consider it. “I want all the help I can get, but I don’t want to jump out there yet. Maybe you could hold the article… Or do a follow-up article?”

  “I still have some time before it’s due. How long do you need?”

  Curtis pulls out his phone and starts tapping away while Justice and I watch and exchange confused glances. Then he stands and says, “Can you two wait here? I need to run out for a bit?”

  Justice smiles and that immediately sets me on the defensive. I stand when Curtis does. “Hold on. You have to leave now? I don’t know…” I say.

  “Your ride’s not back yet, right?”

  Shit. “No, but—”

  Justice stands and Curtis passes his gaze between the two of us. “Please, it’s important. Just chill here. Raid the kitchen, play video games…watch my giant TV, whatever. Just be nice.” He smiles and takes off toward the door, grabbing his keys off a side table on the way. “Be back soon. Promise!”

  My mouth hangs open, but at least I’m not the only one. Justice is just as thrown. We stand awkwardly, facing each other as the door slams. His gorgeous blue eyes peer into my dark hazel ones and for a moment, I get lost in his beauty. This is why I don’t let myself look at him—like an eclipse, it’s dangerous to stare directly at him.

  Except for the sparring matches we have, Justice has never given me much attention. That didn’t help my self-esteem either. Ninety percent of my confidence as a model was fake. The other ten percent came from the fact that my parents owned the agency. Growing up in the industry, I was surrounded by beauty and confidence, and when it was my turn to step up, I honestly thought it was mostly about nepotism. I didn’t think I had any of what it took. How could the tall, awkward girl with glasses grace the cover of a magazine or the runway? Even the little success I had before quitting didn’t convince me. Which is why I didn’t last long. I often wonder why Justice left the industry, but I wouldn’t dare let him think I cared enough to ask.

  When I feel Justice lean slightly forward, I startle and turn away. “Well, this sucks,” I say, grabbing my phone and then putting some distance between us, pretending to look around the room.

  “Hey, thanks.” He comes up behind me and when I feel him at my back, my pulse quickens with his close proximity. I fold my arms and examine the colors of an abstract painting on the wall. “Why do you hate me so much, Kay?” His voice is soft and deep, filled with emotion. If I didn’t know it was Justice, I’d almost think another man was behind me.

  Oddly, a steady pang of something—guilt maybe—causes an ache in my chest. I don’t turn around, only glance over my shoulder. “I don’t hate you, Justice.”

  “Oh, so this is how you treat people you like?”

  “I didn’t say I liked you either.” I swing to the side and shoot him a quick glance.

  “Awesome. Then how do you feel about me?”

  “I don’t. I’m…indifferent…dispassionate.”

  “Well, shit. I think I’d rather have you hate me.”

  I feel him walk away, so I turn and watch him go toward the kitchen. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but how can I explain something I don’t fully understand myself. If I’m being honest, everything I’ve said is a mirror of how he’s treated me.

  I step into the kitchen and find him with his head in the fridge. He pulls out a bottle of Pellegrino water and grabs two glasses from the cupboard.

  “Why does it matter to you, anyway?” I ask.

  “It just does. You treat me differently than everyone else. Shittier.”

  I follow him to the counter where he sets down the glasses and pours us each some water. “So you think I treat everyone shitty?”

  His gaze catches mine for only a moment as we both stand on opposites sides of the kitchen island. “We’re getting off topic here. This is about me.”

  “Yeah, everything is.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. Besides, you treat me differently too.”

  Our eyes lock and it’s as though we’ve both realized there are two sides to every story. Neither of us look away for a good ten seconds, but when I see his mouth move, I pan down to find him licking his lips; my traitorous heart skips a beat. One corner of his mouth quirks. Damn. I finally find the sense to look away just before he speaks.

  “Sweetheart, it’s simply a case of rubber and glue.”

  I laugh out loud. “Did you really just say that?”

  “It’s true. You’ve been giving me crap since day one. Now, I give it back.”

  My mind whirls into this chicken-egg dilemma; I’m not sure he’s wrong, but it never felt like that. Since I can’t find any appropriate words, I say, “I just…don’t like models.”

  He huffs. “You like Curtis.”

  I pick up my glass and walk to the dining area. “He’s different.”

  “You were a model.”

  “I don’t think of my time modeling as a real career. More like an odd job. Very odd.”

  He comes up beside me and shakes his head, glaring at me.

  “What?”

  “I call bullshit.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I hate to have to admit this but no, you’re wrong. You like Curtis, you have Koko living with you…”

  I hold up my hand. “That’s a favor to my mom.” Koko’s parents wouldn’t let her model after she came to the US for school. Unless, of course, she lived with a chaperone.

  “…and you used to make eyes at that Italian dude who screwed your mom over and signed with Elegance Models.”

  Oh my God. I can’t believe he noticed that. That was a strange phase in my time at the agency. I don’t even know why I flirted with Giovanni, but it ended up biting me in the ass because my mother harassed me into getting close to him. Obviously my charms weren’t enough to keep him around because he left the agency. “So…” I say with a sarcastic tone and head tilt before walking back to the sofa to sit. I’ll admit to nothing. “You flirt with everyone… except me.” The last part was under my breath, but as he headed toward me, his widened eyes tell me he heard me loud and clear.

  “I can remedy that right now…” His crooked grin quirks up again, and I panic.

  “I’ll pass, thanks.”

  His head drops, his chin tapping his chest. “Whatever. I just find it hard to believe you’re trying to spare my feelings, for once, with that whole ‘I don’t
like models’ bullshit. It’s not that you don’t like models. It’s that you don’t like me.” He sits down right next to me, as if he didn’t just accuse me of hating him.

  I don’t know what to say to that. This all got too real, too fast. If I confirm, I’ll seriously hurt his feelings and if I deny, I’m sure he’ll take that and hold it over my head forever. With his muscular thigh pressing into me and his fresh woody smell, I can’t freaking think straight. Crap! I take a drink of my water, stalling.

  “Look, it’s not that. I just think we’re two very different people. Your life—”

  “Whoa. Now you’re judging me?” He runs a hand through his dense golden waves. “My life is none of your damn business.”

  Crap, I really hit a cord there. “You’re right. I was only trying to answer your question. It’s not so easy.”

  “What so tough? Either you like me or you don’t. You obviously see me differently than others. Treat me differently. I just want to know why.” His tone is borderline stressed.

  Feeling backed into a corner, I do the only thing I can. Turn the tables. “Why do you treat me differently?”

  The look he gives me as he tilts his head, resting his forehead on his palm, tells me he’s weighing out what he should say. It’s difficult to keep my gaze from lingering down the corded muscles of his arms. “I’m not sure, Kay, probably because you are different. I’ve known it since the first time I laid eyes on you.”

  Holy crap. My heart is racing and I scramble to decipher exactly what that means. My gaze pans to his parted lips, and I wonder what other mysteries will befall those full beautiful lips. My phone pings and startles us both, giving me an excuse to pop up and away from his penetrating gaze.

  I look at my phone and can’t decide if the message is my savior or a serious inconvenience. “Sorry, it’s Koko. Her friend had to go, so she’s back.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  The defeated tone in his voice is like an ice pick to the heart. But I won’t spew out something ridiculous in the spur of the moment, especially considering he left me dumbfounded.

  “Please tell Curtis I had to go.”

  “Sure.” Justice follows me to the door, opens it for me. “Take care, Kaylee.”

  I give him a tight grin but when I turn my back, it hits me. I hate that he used my full name.

  Chapter 4

  Justice

  Turner throws me a glance from the driver’s seat. “I’m surprised you wanted to bring me to this thing.”

  “I needed a ride,” I say with a smirk.

  “You have a car…though I’m not sure you can call that dinosaur a car.”

  “It’s a classic.” My car is the one thing I fought to keep when I lost everything else.

  “Yet you’re embarrassed to drive it to this soirée.”

  “And why wouldn’t I want to bring you? It’s a plus one, so I can bring whoever I want.” I watch out the window as the cars and streets get nicer the closer we get to Daven’s.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll embarrass you. Maybe you want to keep me your dirty little secret in the closet.”

  I snap my head back to him. “Come on, man. When are you gonna stop telling me how I feel about your sexuality?” Honestly, it seems like Turner had a harder time coming to terms with it than I did. “Did I even flinch when you told me? Oh, that’s right you were too busy crying your eyes out.”

  “Screw you, J.”

  “In fact, I was more embarrassed of your skinny little doofus ass when we were in high school than I am now.”

  He laughs out loud. “That’s because I look damn good now, and I’m making bank.”

  I laugh along with him because, damn, he sounds like Curtis. The GPS directs him to turn into the mountainous neighborhood of Laurel Canyon where Daven’s likely lavish home is nestled. He’s summoned the interested parties to his house for dinner to discuss this project to reopen the community center. It feels good to be included, even if it really is Curtis’s baby.

  I have to admit, I’m nervous for my two friends to meet. They might have similar personalities, but that doesn’t mean I think they’d be good together. I also don’t want Turner to think this was some sort of set up. “You sure you’re okay with Curtis being there? He can be a little…much.”

  “Yeah, he doesn’t scare me.”

  “Right. Just like clowns don’t.”

  He punches me in the shoulder. “You can be my chaperone. Holy crap. That’s a nice pile of bricks,” he says, pulling into the open gate and up the long driveway.

  “It’s definitely impressive.” Bigger and more extravagant than Elise’s house, but not something I’m jealous of or inspired to work toward. I grew up in a standard middle-class home filled with noise and family. Bikes strewn all across the lawn, football gear at the entry, and no privacy. Though I lost my mother when I was a teenager, my brothers and dad gave me plenty of love and support.

  “So what’s the deal with this Daven Sparrow dude? Sounds like a Bond character.”

  “That’s his real name. He has a reputation for being hard-edged, all business, but Curtis somehow got through to him. His wife is the same way so don’t take it personally if they seem…formal or you know, like they’ve got a stick up their ass.”

  “Cool. Good to know.”

  We exit the car and before we can get to the door, it opens and Curtis glides out, holding a glass of clear liquid I know isn’t water. “So this is the famous best friend.” His gaze zeroes in on Turner as he comes toward us with his hand out. “Nice to finally meet you, Turner.”

  I have to fight not to laugh at Turner’s reaction, hesitantly putting his hand out and shaking with Curtis like he’s an alien learning our customs. “Yeah…hey,” he says after pulling his hand away and shoving into his pocket. The two stare at each other, and I watch Turner’s eyes pan from Curtis’s face down to the open collar of his cream-colored linen shirt. This is going to be an interesting night.

  “Um, should we go in?” I ask them both.

  They turn to me and Curtis pops back into his normal energy. “Yeah, yeah, listen...” He comes to my side and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Daven’s got some ideas he’ll run by you at dinner tonight.”

  “Me?” I say, my voice higher than I meant. Turner follows us into the house, and I shoot an apologetic glance over my shoulder.

  “Yeah, man. Thought you were in this with me.”

  I don’t know what I thought, but this feels like a responsibility I didn’t know I agreed to. “You know I got your back, man, but I don’t even know what you need me for.” I sort of feel like an unofficial poster boy, along for the ride.

  “All in good time, my man.” He slaps me on the chest and moves into the room, which is typical Curtis, fly by the seat of his pants.

  Turner and I follow his path toward a few people lingering around the open space of the living room. I scan the faces to see who I recognize. Daven, his wife, Suni, and another couple are chatting and holding drinks when Curtis interrupts and pulls Daven over to greet us.

  “Justice Bridges,” Daven says in a commanding voice as he shakes my hand. “Don’t know why you left the industry.” He shakes his head and looks me up and down. “You would have looked fantastic in my clothes.” He pushes his dark-rimmed glasses up his tanned nose.

  Caught off guard, I only reply, “Thank you.” When his wife comes up beside him, I glance to Turner who rolls his eyes.

  Introductions are made all around, and Suni tells us to help ourselves to drinks and that dinner will be served soon. I see Koko step out of the kitchen alone, so I know Kaylee must be here somewhere. I take a couple of steps and look around. I don’t want to bail on Turner, but when I glance back to check on him, he and Curtis are talking. I wait for him to notice I’m watching. When he does, he says, “Me and Curtis are going to grab some drinks. You want anything?”

  I grin, seeing them both happy, but it fades quickly at the thought of too many implications for them getting c
lose. “No thanks.”

  When they disappear around the corner, I take in the place. It’s not as opulent on the inside as I’d expected. It’s wide open with wood floors, expensive furniture and abstract art on the walls, but it still feels cozy, warm. There’s a family portrait on one wall, a boy sandwiched between Daven and Suni. I can’t imagine being an only child. My two older brothers, Mason and Logan, are ten plus years older than me, but we’re still close. I owe them both so much. Ryder, my younger brother, we’re as close as any brothers can be, though you wouldn’t know it if you heard us giving each other crap growing up. An ache in my chest tells me it’s not as true as it used to be. I miss my little bro, who wants nothing more than to race anything fast, anywhere in the country. Growing up his obsession with X-games and fast cars was taken as nothing more than the youngest of four boys trying to keep up and find his place. Looking back, I suppose he always did have a vision.

  My mood takes me down the hall instead of toward the thick of the party. I hear familiar sounding noises coming from one of the rooms, and when I reach the doorway and peek in, I smile. “What’s up, buddy?”

  Daven’s son, who looks to be early teens, barely spares me a glance before turning back to his video game, his hands almost level with his face as he maneuvers his race car through a maze of other cars along the track.

  When his car crashes into a wall, I step into the room. “Can I show you something?”

  He pauses the game and turns to me with wide eyes. “You’ve played?”

  “Yes.” Still do—Turner and I will probably never grow up. I take the controller and restart the game. “Try drifting so you can corner while maintaining your speed. Steer into the turn, tap, then hold the accelerator…like this.”

  “That’s fucking awesome!”

  I look from him to the door and back to him.

  “I’m fourteen. They don’t care,” he says. “As long as I stay out of their hair for their little parties.”