Nash Brothers Box Set

by Carrie Aarons

  “Did you love them all?” he asks, and I find the question a little rude.

  But I answer, “I thought I did, at the time.”

  I feel him nod and wish the song would just end.

  “What’s next on your list of projects to construct?” I ask, trying to throw him off this line of questioning.

  “The clock tower,” he reminds me, and I curse myself with how forgetful my nerves are making me.

  “That’s right. Any leads on a place to live?”

  “My sponsor thinks she found me a place, she’s taking me there in a few days. Honestly, I don’t care if it’s a dump … I just need a space of my own. Living with your mom is a total turn off.” Fletcher laughs because we both have already admitted we’re bad with the opposite sex.

  But I wouldn’t know what living with your mom is like, at any age. If I had a loving one, I don’t think I’d mind living with her now. Of course, that thought comes from my total abundance of mommy issues.

  “Well, I hope it works out.”

  The song is coming to an end, and when he begins to loosen his hold on my waist, I feel the breath come back into my lungs. Except when he steps out of my embrace, I feel oddly … empty.

  “I’ll let you know. Maybe I’ll throw a housewarming.” Fletcher shuffles his feet.

  I smile and turn without saying anything more.

  I need to find Penelope. Some of that moonshine is definitely in order.

  16

  Fletcher

  My hand wraps around my hard-on, knowing I shouldn’t feed the temptation but being powerless to stop myself.

  Jesus Christ, the way Ryan looked in that fucking black dress tonight … I could have died just looking at her. Just combusted right there in the middle of town hall. It was a miracle I hadn’t dropped her as we swayed to the music, that’s how goddamn jumpy I was just being around her.

  I give my cock a tug, not even bothering to undress or get comfortable as I slide the lock in place on the door to my bedroom. Fuck, I really need to get my own place.

  Soon after Ryan sheepishly ducked away from me on the dance floor, I’d found the guys I needed to schmooze for the clock tower project, and then promptly hightailed it out of there.

  I had been two seconds away from dragging Ryan out of that converted recreation room and into the abandoned library. The stacks had always been a favorite of Bowen and Lily’s … I figured I could borrow their spot for the night. It took everything in me to keep my hands in a decent place, to keep my mind sharp enough not to do something rash and hasty.

  My blood thrummed in my veins all the way home, and I swear I had a middie by the time I stepped foot in the house. Good thing Mom was still at the dance herself, because a man needed some semblance of privacy.

  Balancing myself on the desk just next to my bedroom door, I slap my free palm down on its surface and fist myself with the other. My dick is so rigid, a drop of pre-cum dripping down from the head onto my white-knuckled fingers, that I know this won’t take long.

  My pants are at my ankles, the bottom buttons of my shirt undone and pushed around my back to allow ample jack-off mobility. I’ve gotten good at this, tugging one out quietly, quickly. For the past four years, I’ve been the same teenager who had to avoid four brothers while stealing nudie magazines from under their beds to masturbate to.

  Right now though, I close my eyes and think of Ryan. Of how steamy and electric the kisses between us would have been if I led her to the library. Of how I’d pin her up against the shelves, those legs that seemed to go up to her ears wrapped around my waist.

  My hand moves rapidly, my breathing shallow in my lungs, as I weigh whether she’d let out breathy moans or quiet squeals. My imagination runs with the whispered moaning, and my balls begin to move in rhythm with the thorough stroke of my fist over my erection. They seize up and then relaxed with each downstroke as I think about removing the straps of Ryan’s black dress with my teeth.

  What would her skin taste like? Would she passively watch me ravish her? Or would her hands be pulling at my hair, tearing off my clothes? A little bit of both, I’d like to think.

  I’m so close now, right on the edge of coming when I envision what pulling her top down would look like. From the outline of her skintight dress tonight, I could tell her tits were sizable. Fuck, I’d all but glimpsed them when I’d walked in on her in Keaton’s guest cottage. Not Pamela Anderson big, but full and real enough that they’d jiggle in my hands. That I’d have a mouthful of nipple to work with.

  All of a sudden, I’m coming with a harsh shudder, my climax seizing everything in my body and turning the world upside down. My come coats my hand, my cock tingling with a sensation that even the best of poets have yet to fit into just one word. My spine burns with release, my balls aching from the sheer force of it.

  As I come down from the high, I realize I haven’t felt this disoriented after jacking off in quite a while. Probably because all of my material has been Internet-based. But the sexual tension of imagining a flesh and blood woman who is only miles away … fuck, it feels good.

  Not as good as having her do this herself would be, but I’d needed this. Hell, I hadn’t even fantasized about actually getting to the good stuff. In the scene that played out in my head, I’d barely bent my head to suck her luscious tits. That’s how much Ryan Shea got to me.

  Collecting myself, I head to the bathroom and wash up, then brush my teeth and slip back into my room. It’s only eight p.m., but I’m due to meet Cookie tomorrow morning and want to be up early.

  Sinking into bed, in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, I’m still trying to catch my breath.

  God, how I could have used some of that moonshine after our dance together. My hands ached to rip that flask out of Penelope’s hands. I could practically taste the burn of it sliding down my throat. And now, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, every part of me twitches to go out in search of a bottle.

  This is why they tell you to focus on recovery, not relationships. Because everything surrounding the emotions of love and lust will drive you to drink … literally.

  It’s only by pure exhaustion that I fall asleep, drifting uneasily into slumber as visions of Ryan dance in my head.

  I meet Cookie the next morning, out in front of Carlucci’s, the sole Italian restaurant in all of Fawn Hill.

  My family has been eating here for decades, and my mom is very good friends with the owner. When Mr. Carlucci sees me through the window, he begins waving excitedly.

  “Want to head in, or up?” Cookie asks, crushing the cigarette she was smoking out on the sidewalk with the heel of her boot.

  It’s almost eighty degrees at nine a.m., and my sponsor is wearing genuine leather cowboy boots that come up to her knee. Only Cookie could pull it off, but I’m sweating just looking at her.

  “Up?” I ask, genuinely confused.

  Cookie points to the windows above the restaurant. The Italian joint is in the block of shops on Main Street in a red brick building with traditional storefront bay windows. I’ve honestly never given much thought to the second level of this block of shops. A childhood friend’s father had a law office up there that I knew about, and a local politician had set up temporary headquarters there one year. Besides that, I hadn’t really acknowledged it.

  “Mr. Carlucci turned the three spaces above his restaurant into apartments, probably two years ago. They’re nothing fancy, but the rent is reasonable and he’ll throw you free slices at the end of the night.”

  The notion of calling this home begins to blossom in my head. “All right, let’s go up and look at it.”

  My sponsor leads the way, and even though she’s a toothpick of a woman almost two feet shorter than I am … her presence is bigger than anyone I’ve ever known.

  Dingy floral wallpaper coats the stairwell, and it smells like butter and marinara sauce in here, but that doesn’t bother me. When we step onto the second floor, there are three doors lining a narrow hallway, and
Cookie pulls out a key and walks to the one marked 3.

  “There is one other person living in number two, and the first one is vacant for now. The girl is nice, a twenty-something who left her Amish community a while back and needed a place to stay. Mr. Carlucci says she’s quiet and keeps the public areas tidy, so she won’t bother you much. Make sure you do the same.”

  “Who says I’m living here?” I ask sarcastically as she pushes the front door of the apartment open.

  “Do you really have any other option?” Cookie levels with me.

  I bite back the no on the tip of my tongue as we walk through the apartment. It doesn’t take long; the thing is barely bigger than the first floor of my mom’s condo. A small living room slash dining room, a galley kitchen that I could walk the length of in two steps, a bedroom, and one bathroom with a simple shower and toilet.

  It’s nothing fancy, every wall is builder’s paint white and none of the appliances or cabinets are updated. But it’s clean, and it’s private. And I know that I’ll be able to call it my own … a home that no one else can tell me what to do in.

  “I’ll take it,” I say with a definitive nod.

  Cookie slaps me on the back. “I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll have Carlucci draw up the lease agreement, and you can move in next weekend.”

  The whole thing is so fast, I feel dizzy … but, in a good way. “Thanks for doing this, Cook.”

  “This will be good for you, kid. I’m proud of you. Having your own space … you’re ready. It’ll give you more privacy, more independence. And it means you won’t have to sneak girls into your mama’s house anymore.”

  “You know full well there have been no girls.” I furrow my brows.

  She shoots me an annoyed look. “That’s half the reason I want you to sign the lease on this place. Five years is way too long for a man to go without sex. Not even love, I’m not saying you need to find your soul mate. But you need to get laid, kid. Your shoulders are in a permanent slouch.”

  “Are you offering?” I clasp my hands together in a praying motion.

  Cookie snorts. “You couldn’t handle the likes of me.”

  Her comment brings my mind straight back to Ryan Shea on the dance floor of the recreation room, in that hotter-than-Hades black dress.

  I’m not sure I can handle the likes of her, either. I know she’d never be attracted to a guy like me. Ryan has dated men from Greece, New York City, Italy … guys who actually went to college. Her dating past was worldly, and she’d rubbed elbows with men who worked at the top companies in the world. These guys probably had penthouses and traveled first class.

  Meanwhile, all I could afford was an apartment above the pizza shop on Main Street in the Podunk town I’d grown up in.

  Fine, I shouldn’t call it Podunk. I love Fawn Hill. This place centers me, and I have no desire to leave.

  But when I compare myself to the big hitters on Ryan Shea’s relationship résumé … it’s hard not to feel like a total bum.

  Today isn’t about her, though. This is about the next step in my recovery and making the life that resembles exactly what I want in this world.

  “Maybe in another life, Cook.”

  I sling my arm around the woman who helped save me, and we walk downstairs so I can buy her a slice or two.

  17

  Ryan

  I’ve been in Fawn Hill for almost two months when Presley finally broaches the subject I’ve been expecting her to ask about for weeks.

  “When do you think you’ll head back to New York?” she starts the conversation while we eat lunch together in her kitchen.

  Keaton is at the office, and she has a rare break from the studio and decided to come home.

  Instantly, I bristle. “Why, do you not want me here anymore?”

  The wounded foster kid in me bares her teeth, ready to defend her already-damaged heart and get herself prepared to be thrown away yet again.

  “No! Oh my gosh, I shouldn’t have started off that way. That’s not what I mean at all. I love having you here, we both do. You can stay here as long as you like. I just mean … well, don’t take this the wrong way. But … you seem lost, Ry.”

  Turmoil rages in my gut, because she’s right, of course. But I haven’t put words to my complete lack of a plan, of a path, and I’m not sure I want to talk about it yet.

  “I … don’t know. When I’m going back I mean. To be honest, New York hasn’t felt like home in a long time. It used to, maybe because you were there. But now, nowhere feels like home. I was in Greece for so long that I kind of lost sight of my life, and now that my relationship is over, it feels like I can’t just waltz right back into the life I basically abandoned. Not that I was even fond of the life I had before, I don’t know, I feel like I’m not making any sense.”

  My friend sets down her fork, balsamic dressing dotting the napkin next to her bowl. “You don’t always have to know exactly where you need to go.”

  A whoosh of exasperation blows out of my mouth. “But I usually do! From a young age, I’ve always been decisive. I know where I want to go, and I get there.”

  “I’m going to be honest with you now because I can see how much you’re struggling with this. You may have been decisive … but Ry, you never seemed all that happy with your choices when you got to where you thought you wanted to go.”

  Her brutal assessment of me feels like a sucker punch to the gut. It’s harsh … and I can feel the sting of tears threaten. All the years, and I never knew that’s how my best friend viewed me.

  Presley holds up her hands before I can talk, signaling that I shouldn’t get defensive and cut her off.

  “I’m not saying any of this to be mean. I’m saying it because … for a long time, you were the stable one out of the two of us. I know I have a sister, but she’s never felt like one. You’re my sister, Ry … and when we were living in New York, you were the one who seemed to have everything figured out. But after I moved here, and I met Keaton, it made me realize that you were just as lost as the rest of us. Your life has been difficult, so you run at the things you think will make you successful. Relationships, work, travel … you throw yourself into them so that you don’t have to stop moving. Because when people eventually stop, that’s when the doubts and the whispers about what’s really going on inside start. That’s where you are right now. And honestly, I’m happy you are. You’ve been running for a long time, trying to avoid this feeling you’re stuck in now. But, it’s necessary.”

  Her words gut me at the same time they ring perfectly clear in my head. She’s so right, it’s painful.

  What started as a normal little lunch in her kitchen has me now breaking down. My voice is stoked with unshed sobs as I talk.

  “If I just kept moving, if I just jumped headfirst into everything … nothing could hurt me. The faster you go, the less hurtful a brush against your armor can be. That’s what I thought. So I loved hard, I stayed in these relationships that were so shitty. Why did I do that? And the travel … when I was a kid, I barely had a bed of my own to sleep in. And then someone wanted to send me flying all over the world. I thought it was the most amazing thing. But I’d arrive, I’d say yes to every new adventure, and at the end of the day … I felt so alone. After you left New York, I don’t know. I kind of lost my mind there for a minute. So no, I don’t really want to go back.”

  Presley gathers me into a hug, and I rest my head on her shoulder, suddenly exhausted from the past decade of my life.

  “Life doesn’t always have to be moving. Sometimes, you can just stand still. I came here to find the piece of myself that I could feel was missing, and I ended up getting way more than I bargained for. This slower pace of life or stopping completely … sometimes it can lead to answers we didn’t even know we needed. Take all the time you need. Explore what makes you happy, instead of what you think will make you successful. Keep teaching at the middle school, hang out with me, or do things alone. This town can be a medicine for your soul.” />
  She’s rubbing my back and all I can think about when she says to explore what makes me happy, is I don’t truly know what that means.

  “You’re a good friend, Pres.”

  “Only because I love you. And I’ll kick the crap out of anyone who harms someone I love … even if it’s them doing it to themselves.”

  That makes me laugh, a watery chuckle escaping my lips. “Maybe give me a day or two before the bell for round two rings and you have a boxing match with my brain.”

  “Deal,” she says, releasing me. “But I mean it. Stand still. Find happiness.”

  Could it be that easy? Was that the equation she’d followed? If so, I’d take her advice. Presley had stood still and found a life here that she could really be proud of.

  That was all I really wanted.

  18

  Fletcher

  “Be careful with that!”

  My mother screeches as Bowen and Keaton drag a couch through the entrance to my new apartment and probably scuff half the paint off the frame.

  “Ma, I don’t know how else you want us to do this,” Bowen grumbles, and you can feel the annoyance radiating off of him.

  It’s already been half an hour of my mother, my brothers, their wives, and the kids moving things into my new place. A couch from Forrest’s old bachelor pad, my bed frame, mom’s old kitchen table, and two other big pieces have been lugged up the stairs, past the lunch hour rush at Carlucci’s. In my small galley kitchen, Lily is unwrapping the boxes of plates wrapped in my old high school sports T-shirts, and Penelope is scrubbing down the shower saying it needs a good clean.

  I love them, and I’m so thankful they’re helping … but they’re also getting on my last fucking nerve. They’re everywhere, all at once, yelling and almost breaking things. Putting items in spots I don’t want them to go, or drilling nails into the wall to hang art I haven’t approved. Mom is doing that thing where she just sits in a chair and bosses people around, and my nephews are almost tripping everyone at least five times in one minute.