Make It a Double

Page 10

  By the time I had made it back to the United States, Brody had entered a guilty plea and was sentenced to seventy-four months in jail. He didn’t serve the full time, of course, but he served a good chunk of it before he was paroled.

  The one thing I remember about Stacy was that she didn’t stick by Brody’s side. She dropped him as soon as he was convicted. I remember Gabby, Casey, and I would curse her name many a time during a drunken rant freshman year at Carolina.

  “I’m starting to remember more about her now,” I muse as things start coming back to me. “Wasn’t her dad going to help Brody out or something… get a lighter sentence, call in a favor?”

  “Supposedly,” Casey says dejectedly.

  “Because her dad was a politician or something, right?” I ask, again memories of that time frame assaulting me.

  “Carlton Hutchens,” Gabby confirms.

  “The Carlton Hutchens?” I ask in disbelief.

  “One and only. Hotshot U. S. senator from Nags Head, North Carolina and eyeing the White House,” Casey sneers. “The guy is a douche. When he comes to town, he’ll walk right up to you to shake your hand and ask for your vote, all while leering down at your boobs. Gives me the willies. ”

  “Granted… he’s a douche,” Gabby says after taking a sip of coffee, “but Stacy is the real villain. After laying so many fake promises on Brody’s doorstep, he was devastated when she dropped him. She deserves to be drowned. ”

  Out of the three of us, I’m usually the more levelheaded and decide to play a little bit of devil’s advocate. “Don’t you think it might have been a little hard to expect her to stay with him? I mean… he was going to be in prison for five years. Would you wait for someone, especially if you hadn’t been together all that long?”

  Casey’s eyes flash, but Gabby pipes up. “Maybe. But I don’t think she ever intended to stick with him. I think she kept giving him false promises, always intending to dump him if he got convicted. ”

  “What makes you say that?” I ask Gabby, but Casey answers.

  “It’s just something Brody said… just before he got taken away. He said trusting her ruined his life. He was so depressed over what she did. I hate her just because of how she tore him apart emotionally. I was afraid—”

  Casey’s voice stops cold, and her eyes go sort of dead. Gabby reaches across the table and takes her hand, and I automatically put my arm around her shoulder.

  “You were afraid of what?” I whisper.

  “I was afraid he’d do something… kill himself, maybe. She destroyed him. ”

  Tears prickle at my eyes. When I glance across the table at Gabby, I see hers are moist too. I pull Casey hard into my side, laying my head on her shoulder. “But he didn’t… and he’s home now. And he’ll be okay. I promise. ”

  Casey nods her head and takes a stuttering breath. “I hope so. ”

  “I guarantee it,” I tell her, resolving to myself in that very moment that I’m launching a full-on attack to do whatever I can to help Brody Markham make his way back to a happy life.

  Releasing Casey, I put my forearms on the table and lean in conspiratorially. “Now… let’s make plans to drown that bitch. ”

  Gabby blinks at me, and I hear a strangled sound come out of Casey’s mouth. Then all three of us burst into laughter so loud, I hear Babs yell over to us, “Pipe down, girls. We got paying customers in here that want to eat their breakfast in peace. ”

  Our laughs turn to chuckles with the occasional snicker, and we finally quiet ourselves.

  “Well, we all need to be on the lookout when we’re around, Brody,” Gabby muses. “Stacy told me that she wants to see him, and she didn’t look like she was going to give up on that idea, even after I told her I’d stomp her ass if she tried. ”

  “She can’t seriously think she has a chance with him?” I ask, stunned by the slight tinge of jealousy that I’m feeling all of a sudden. But if Brody loved her that much, maybe he’d find happiness with her again?

  “No way,” Casey says adamantly. “Brody’s more likely to strangle her than get back with her. I haven’t talked much with him about Stacy, but the few times I’ve brought her up, he’s shut me down. Told me she could rot in hell for all he cared. I think he’s pretty much over her. ”

  Relief courses through my body, and that again stuns me. Why am I even having proprietary feelings about Brody? He’s nothing more to me than a… friend. Is he a friend? Probably not. More like just an employee, I guess.

  No, that doesn’t set right. I’ve known Brody for many years. He was a friend before he went to prison, and then he wasn’t. That changed right about the time he called me a snotty, rich bitch heiress. But then he apologized, so to my way of thinking… we are friends again.

  And maybe I wish we were something more? There’s no denying my attraction to him. I just want to make sure that my feelings aren’t born of pity. Because that is not an appropriate reason to desire someone.

  I think the best thing I can do to help myself figure out these feelings is to pay more attention to what it is about Brody that peaks my interest. Then I can decide what to do with said feelings and if they even have a place within my life.

  ***

  When I pull into The Haven, I immediately notice Brody’s car parked beside the main building and a small thrill runs through me. I wasn’t sure if he’d come today. He said he would, and he seemed to genuinely open up a bit yesterday when he helped me bury Jethro, but Brody is sort of like a wounded animal. You never know how it’s going to react on any given day, and you can never take for granted the suffering that took place. It will leave an indelible mark that will rage at some point in the future.

  Mark my words.

  Pulling my truck around back, I see Brody standing by the small corral that encloses the back of the two-stall barn. He has his forearms resting on the top fence rail, with one well-muscled leg propped up on the bottom, staring at the barn. My Corolla horse, who I temporarily named Midget because he’s so small, is hanging his head out the back of his stall, staring back at Brody from across the expanse of the dirt enclosure.

  Brody turns when he hears my engine and starts walking my way.

  “Good morning,” I say as I get out of my truck.

  “Enjoy your breakfast with your cronies?” he asks with a small smile. I can’t help notice how easy it comes to his face. It’s not huge, and it’s not lasting, but it’s so much more than he gave me just yesterday. His smile isn’t the only thing noticeable.

  I can’t help but notice how utterly gorgeous he looks in nothing but a white Ron-Jon t-shirt and a pair of frayed khaki shorts. As a native of the Outer Banks, his beachy ensemble normally would be paired with flip-flops, but he came prepared to work as evidenced by the heavy duty, suede gloves hanging from his pocket and the sturdy pair of hard-soled boots he wore.

  “How did you know I was at breakfast?” I ask with a teasing tone as I start to unlock the kennel door.

  Brody stands beside me casually, leaning up against the door casing. “It’s no secret that Gabby Ward, Casey Markham, and Alyssa Myers have had breakfast at The Sand Shark every Monday at eight AM for the past three years. Even I, who was stuck behind bars, know of this time-honored tradition. ”

  I smoothly stick the key in the lock and turn it, pushing the door open and walking in ahead of Brody. I’m thankful for this, because I was a little startled by him so blatantly, yet casually, mentioning his time in prison. From what I’ve learned from Casey, he doesn’t talk about it… at all… to anyone.

  With just a few steps down the concrete aisle, I’ve composed myself again and decide to ignore the comment so he doesn’t think his time away is a nosy curiosity to me. Instead, I say, “Yeah, I guess it’s not a secret. And to answer your question, breakfast was great. ”

  “I use to love that place,” Brody reminisces. “Do they still make buckwheat pancakes?”

  “
Yup. You should join us for breakfast sometime,” I throw out, because it’s the polite thing to do. We walk into the storage room and get to work.

  As Brody hauls off a forty-pound bag of dog food from one of the shelves, he snickers at me. “Sorry… my idea of a good time is not joining your little gossip session. I don’t care how good the pancakes are. ”

  I pull out my knife from my back pocket and lean over to cut into the top of the bag while Brody holds it. “We don’t just gossip,” I say irritably. “We sometimes talk about the local news. ”

  Brody laughs as he lifts the bag up, the muscles in his forearms constricting with exertion, and I’m fascinated by the beauty of his form as he dumps the kibble in the wheelbarrow. “Thanks for the invite, but I’ll pass. That’s your girl time, and it should remain that way. ”

  Grabbing the plastic scoop and throwing it on top of the mound of kibble, Brody grabs the handles of the wheelbarrow and starts to back it out of the supply closet. I turn away from him, because I could probably stare at him all day.

  “You know,” I tell him over my shoulder just before I reach up to the top shelf to grab a can of dog food. “We could institute a weekly Haven volunteer meeting at The Sand Shark. That way, you could get your buckwheat pancakes. ”

  My fingers brush the edge of a can and as I do nothing more than manage to push it further out of my grasp, I have to wonder why I put the damn things on the top shelf when I’m so damn short.

  I make a last ditch push, back onto my tiptoes, and stretch my arm practically out of my socket, when I hear, “Let me get that. ”

  Then, I’m just feeling.

  Because Brody comes to stand right behind me, his huge frame surrounding and towering over me. He’s not touching me in any way, but I feel every inch of him all the same. He’s never stood this close to me… just an inch or two away, and I can almost feel a vibration… a pulse… a pull. . . whatever, between us. It’s absolutely magnetic, and I have to wonder if he can feel it.

  Looking above me, I watch as his tanned arm reaches to the top shelf and easily grabs a can. Brody hands it down to me, his thumb brushing against my hand as I take it, and f**k if a slight shiver doesn’t course down my spine.

  “How many more?” he asks, his voice a little rough.

  “Just that one,” I rasp out, and then I clear my throat. “Just one. One of the dogs has been a bit finicky, and I thought I’d try some of this. ”

  For a moment, Brody doesn’t move, and I have all sorts of  p**n ographic images shoot through my mind. Of him pulling my body back into his, bringing his arms up around me and palming my br**sts. Of him dropping a hand down to the front of my pants…

  Shaking my head to clear away those thoughts, I slide to the side and away from his body, turning around to leave the supply room. I can hear him follow me out, even over the pounding of the blood that seems to be rushing through my head right now.

  “So, are you serious about a breakfast meeting every week?” Brody asks.

  “What?” I ask, shaking my head again and blinking my eyes as I turn to face him.

  He gives me a grin… a knowing smirk, and in that moment, I know he was very much aware of how much he affected me. I don’t know if he was affected, but he knows full well that his presence pretty much rendered me an idiot.

  “Breakfast? Once a week?” he reminds me, his smirk getting a little wider.

  “Uh… yeah, sure,” I say distractedly. “Sounds great. ”

  Then, Brody does something that stuns me. Rocks me to my core.

  He gives me a wink just as he walks past me toward the wheelbarrow, another acknowledgment that he knows something happened just a moment ago, and he’s very much enjoying how unsettled I am by it.