Breathless Page 4

  Leaning over to him, I whisper, “You feeling better, little dude? Heard you had to go to the doctor.”

  “He gave me dwops.” He points to his ear and smiles. “All bettuh.”

  I give him a high five.

  Today, he’s my shadow, mimicking me every time I reach for my drink or take a bite. When I make a silly face at him, he imitates me.

  “Eat your dinner, goofball. Or it’ll get cold.”

  Five minutes later, my mother is still gushing over Joey like she hasn’t seen her in years. “Child, my garden has missed you! I swear everything wilted after you left.”

  Hell, I wilted after she left.

  I smile as I watch my mom and Joey bond over the vegetable garden they always worked on together.

  Joey pulls out her phone. “I saw this really cool technique for growing fruit trees we could try. Since you’ve always wanted peach trees…”

  I zone out, content simply to have Jo back in our house, but then my mother starts fawning over her again. “Look at this gorgeous hair. I miss the pink you had in last winter, but I love this shade too!”

  Next thing I know, my mom’s talked Joey into taking her hair out of the bun, and then her thick, golden locks are spilling over her shoulders and down her chest. Across that tiny tank top and amplifying that killer cleavage.

  Fuckkk.

  I stare, slack-jawed, like I’m watching one of those models on Instagram shake out her hair before she vamps for the camera.

  But Joey doesn’t vamp. She blushes fiercely and glances down, somehow looking more enticing through that veil of shyness.

  Patrick bumps me, murmuring under his breath, “Think I just came in my pants, bro.”

  I press both of my palms into my eye sockets until I see stars behind my lids as I try to right this ship.

  One, I won’t kick Patrick’s ass for having the same thoughts I’m currently entertaining.

  Two, I won’t give into the urge to wrap a blanket around Joey.

  And three, I definitely won’t haul her, caveman-style, back to my place.

  Thankfully, after my mom stops doting, Joey tucks her hair back up into that big twisty knot, an action which I avoid watching.

  Across the table, my brother’s having a private conversation with Tori. Well, it ain’t private enough because they’re making goo-goo eyes at each other, and I can almost hear Marvin Gaye crooning Let’s Get It On in the background.

  Their love for each other is so palpable, I’m almost jealous.

  That’s another reason I can’t unload my secrets. My brother believes in love. Believes in those happily-ever-after stories my parents fed us as kids. All this despite Ethan’s disastrous first marriage.

  Tori made him believe in fairytales again, and I’m not gonna be the one to burst that bubble. For his sake and Tori’s, I hope they’re the exception to the rule. They’re happy, and that’s all that matters to me.

  Blowing out a breath, I stretch my neck from one side and then the other, realizing how tense I am and that I probably just need to get laid. It’s been months since I’ve been with anyone, and between the family business, Joey returning, my brother’s wedding, and all the shit that shouldn’t be my responsibility but is, I’m wound tight.

  Of course, that would require time I don’t have to socialize in ways I’m not interested in.

  Whatever the solution to my wayward thoughts, one thing is clear—I need to stay away from Joey until they subside. And that shouldn’t be too hard. She’ll probably bunk here where my mother will monopolize all of her time until Ethan’s wedding.

  I’m not sure how long I tune out and mindlessly gulp down dinner, but my mother’s next question makes me pause with my fork halfway to my mouth.

  “Joey, honey.” My mom’s voice carries over everyone else’s. “When are you headed back to Florida?”

  Unease crawls up my spine. I’ve been so preoccupied with her return that I hadn’t thought about her leaving again.

  She shrugs, her eyes catching mine before she looks away. “Probably in two weeks, so a few days after the wedding.”

  Twin spikes of pain and hunger launch through me. Pain that this visit will probably be the last time I see her in the foreseeable future, and hunger for something I can never have and shouldn’t want.

  I grip my fork and, before I can help myself, blurt out, “Why aren’t you staying longer?”

  After a long silence, Joey sighs. “I was barely making ends meet here. At least in Florida I can work for my cousin, who’s opening a new salon.”

  “But that’s ’cause you were paying everyone else’s bills.” Her good-for-nothing brother would rack up debt and let his little sister deal with it, like she didn’t have her hands full enough with her grandmother, who had early-onset dementia. One minute Rosalie would be lucid and the next she’d be calling Joey by her mother’s name, the mother who died when Joey was twelve.

  My heart swells for her. Jo’s been through so much, but you’d never know it. She’s always so sweet and loving despite the hand she drew in life. No wonder my family grafted her on like she’s one of ours.

  “I just think it’d be easier if I left.” The resignation in her voice kills me.

  I consider all the times she’s given me pep talks, and I wanna be that same voice of optimism for her. “What if you got a job in Austin? It would probably pay more than staying local.” Our town is barely a speck on the map.

  “And where am I supposed to stay?” Now she looks pissed, not at me necessarily. I mean, I don’t think. “Silas sold the house. I’m guessing Gran’s Buick isn’t sitting in the driveway waiting for me. What am I supposed to do? Ride a bike to work in the Texas heat? Borrow one of your horses and hoof it to work?” She laughs, unamused and sounding much older than her twenty-two years. “I’m tired of everything being so difficult. Don’t you ever want life to work out? For the universe to tell you that you’re on the right path because the dominoes line up? And I’m not talking about working hard. I mean not always feeling like I’m swimming upstream all the time.”

  Patrick sets down his fork. “Did you know that after salmon swim upstream, they lay their eggs and die?”

  I narrow my eyes at him. Seriously?

  “What? It’s true. I saw this documentary on National Geographic. Most go back to the place they were born to kick the bucket.” He slurps up a giant bite of mashed potatoes. “And apparently you can eat them once they’re dead. It’s not weird or anything, like barbecuing roadkill. That is, if the salmon aren’t gobbled up first by a bear or beaver.”

  Everyone stares at him.

  Mila turns to her dad. “What’s roadkill? And have we barbecued it?”

  Ethan gives me a look like this is my fault.

  Needing to redirect this conversation, I motion between my mother and brother. “Is there any way to challenge the sale of Rosalie’s house?”

  The expressions on their faces say it all. Ethan’s brows pull tight. “Doubtful. The new family’s already living there.”

  My mom pats Joey’s hand gently. “I was so sorry to hear about your grandmother. She was a lovely woman. When I heard the news, I lit a candle for her at church.”

  “Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

  “Sorry, Jo. I know that had to be hard. We all loved Gran.” I clear my throat. It killed me to not be there for her when Rosalie died.

  But then again, I didn’t find out until weeks after she passed when Tori mentioned it.

  I might still be a little butthurt Jo didn’t tell me herself. Fine—I’m pissed about it, but I know that’s immature, so I try to think of something more consoling to say.

  “Silas is an ass for selling that house.” Yeah, I might need to work on my condolences.

  God, I am a fuck-up.

  Thankfully, Joey’s expression tells me she knows what I mean.

  I point at the kids before they get up in arms about the curse word. “For your information, ‘ass’ means ‘donkey.’”


  Mila tilts her head, staring up at her dad, the oracle of wisdom and all things holy in her eyes. “So I can say ‘ass’ if I mean ‘donkey?’ Like, ‘look at that big ass crossing the road?’”

  Ethan glares at me, and I laugh under my breath.

  “What I don’t understand,” Tori mulls aloud, drawing away the ire of my brother, “is how Silas had the authority to sell that house.”

  We look to Joey, and she shakes her head. “Maybe Silas was on the deed. There’s no telling what he had Gran sign. At least this time he wasn’t forging her checks to cash her social security.”

  “I’d like to give Silas a piece of my mind and maybe a foot up his ass.” Tori slaps a hand over her mouth and looks between the kids. “I mean donkey! Dang it, sorry, guys. I’m a bad girl.”

  She has a mouth worse than mine, but it’s one of the reasons I like her so much. But Ethan doesn’t take issue with her like he did with my curse word. I’m close enough to hear him whisper, “Yeah, but you’re my bad girl.”

  I hold back a gag. Barely.

  When Cody lodges a cheesy noodle up his nose, I decide I’d rather deal with that than watch the ongoing foreplay between brother and future sister-in-law.

  As I’m dislodging the offending pasta, Joey clears her throat. “Guys, can I ask a favor? I hate imposing, but I was wondering if I could stay here for a few days. I only found out about Silas selling the house this afternoon, and I’m too furious to track him down to stay with him. I need some time to cool off, since our great state of Texas takes things like murder seriously.”

  My mother pipes up before the words are barely out of Joey’s mouth. “Certainly, dear. It’s no imposition.”

  Joey smiles gratefully but then looks to Ethan and Tori. You know, since they’re the ones who live here. My mother technically lives with me, but she likes to hop between my house and Ethan’s.

  “Of course.” My brother doesn’t hesitate. “If you don’t mind squeezing in with Tori’s family.”

  Cody tugs on my T-shirt and I lean toward him.

  “I hafta poop.”

  Chuckling, I motion for him to go. “Thanks for the news alert, but I think you can manage.”

  His little lips twist in concern. “I can’t weach my booty to wipe.”

  Ah, the joys of being an uncle. But the kid is almost four, and I’m thinking we need to take this to the next level.

  I whisper, “How ’bout you go do your thing, and I’ll wait outside the door. If you need any help, I’ll lend a hand.”

  Or maybe I’ll just ball up some toilet paper and nudge it in his direction because I’m really tired of wiping kids’ asses. And their noses and vomit too, if I’m being honest.

  Nodding, he hops out of his chair, and we excuse ourselves.

  When he’s done doing his business, I make sure he washes his hands with soap this time. As we head back to the dining room, I’m feeling better about things.

  I’ll get a little space tonight and clear my head. Kick back with a beer and ESPN. Get a good night’s sleep. And maybe jerk it a few times before I see Joey again. Then I won’t have these crazy ideas messing with my head.

  I’m helping Cody climb into his seat again when my mom claps her hands. “Then it’s settled. Joey will stay with Logan so I can help Ethan with the kids and Tori can spend more time with her parents when they get here.” Then little Miss Beverly June Carter, matchmaker extraordinaire, winks at me. “Son, isn’t this perfect?”

  Internally I groan. Perfectly torturous.

  I’m scrambling to think of a reason why this won’t work when Patrick decides to get in on the action.

  “Joey can always stay with me. I have a big bed.”

  This time, four words crystallize in my head: Over my dead body.

  6

  Joey

  By the time we drop off Patrick at his place and drive back to Logan’s, the sun has set.

  Logan’s been quiet the entire drive. His silence is getting on my nerves because something obviously crawled up his butt at dinner.

  “You could’ve left me at Patrick’s if me staying here bothers you.”

  “It’s fine. I don’t mind you staying with me.”

  It’s too dark to see his face, so I have no way of knowing whether he’s lying. For the record, he lies a lot. Another excellent reason I should get over this infatuation with him. A smart girl wouldn’t waste her time loving a man who lies. But I’m what you’d call book smart. Hand me a test, and I know how to study for it. Give me a book, and I can devour it in a day. But drop me off in a five-mile radius of Logan Carter, and I fold faster than my brother when there’s a bill to pay.

  What I notice, though, is how Logan doesn’t say he wants me to stay at his place. He said he doesn’t mind. Big difference.

  Why do I torture myself like this? It’s not like I can throw myself at him and make him love me. And that’s so desperate. Someday, I promise myself, I’ll get to a place in my life where I don’t feel like a fool.

  When we pull up to his farmhouse, all of the lights are out except one that shines from the kitchen. It brings a host of memories of us enjoying movie marathons and hanging out with friends.

  It’s weird that I’ve been here a million times over the years, but I’ve never stayed the night.

  Logan moved here shortly after he graduated from high school. Since Ethan was getting married, the main Carter house was too small for Bev, Logan, Ethan, Allison—Ethan’s ex—and baby Mila. So Logan got this bachelor pad to himself until Allison and Bev came to loggerheads, and Allison kicked Bev out of the family home. Nobody’s missing Allison these days.

  I turn toward the mountain of firewood along the side of the house. Once, when I was fifteen and too young to do anything fun, I sat there on a Saturday night with my girlfriend Misty and listened to a party Logan threw and wished I was older. Wished that he’d come out or I had the courage to go in.

  I was worried about him. He’d been so distant after his father died. He didn’t want to talk about what happened. Didn’t call me anymore. Didn’t want to hang out. I couldn’t blame him. He’d graduated from high school. Why would he want to spend time with a sophomore?

  But I wanted to talk to him so bad that I snuck out of the house, determined to make it happen.

  Except I got here and couldn’t take those last few steps.

  From that sad pile of firewood in the shadows, we watched pretty girls with short skirts and loud guys stumble in and out for hours.

  I heard the music blasting and the laughter.

  The beer bottles clanging as they hit the trash bin.

  The moans once it got late.

  My face flushes with embarrassment at the thought.

  I was insanely jealous and hurt and a thousand different emotions, though I didn’t have the right to any of them seeing how I was basically a peeping tom.

  I realized that was creepy, hanging out next to Logan’s house during a party, even if we were friends, albeit somewhat estranged at the time.

  I never told him I did that. I’d be mortified if he knew, though I only did it once. Trust me, I learned my lesson.

  Even when I got older, I mostly avoided his parties. I could go my whole life without seeing another girl wrap herself around him.

  Since high school, his fandom has only grown. Now Logan can’t go anywhere without getting hit on. Once he started competing with his brother at cutting horse competitions a few years ago, his popularity among the female persuasion exploded. I’ll be the first to admit he looks pretty dang fine in his Wranglers, but it’s embarrassing to watch women trip all over themselves to hang out with him.

  I must’ve cramped his style. And staying here with him certainly won’t help matters, but it’s not like I have other options.

  When he presses his hand to the small of my back as we stroll up the front steps, I almost stumble. He might put me in headlocks, but he rarely puts his hands on me otherwise.

  So far today, he’s hugg
ed me so hard he lifted me off the ground, he threaded our fingers together as we held hands, and he’s ushered me along with his hand on my back.

  But who’s counting? Not me.

  Because I’d have to be a teeny bit crazy if one minute I’m debating whether he even wants me here, and the next, counting the number of times he’s touched me.

  “Wanna order a pizza?” he asks as he unlocks the door.

  I sigh into the air-conditioned living room, and he sets my small suitcase on the ground. “How can you be hungry? You ate not two hours ago.”

  “By the time the pizza arrives, another hour will have passed, and by then I’ll definitely need more food.” He pats his trim stomach. “I’m a growing boy.”

  He gives me a sweet, almost silly smile, the one I love so much because it’s just for me. None of his buddies are here to impress. None of his fangirls or buckle bunnies. Not even his family. Just me. Ignoring my racing heart, I reach up to cover his face with my hand and gently shove him out of the way.

  “Your pretty little smiles won’t work on me, Logan Carter.” Now I’m the liar. “If you’re growing it’s because your head’s so big you can’t get it through the door. You really should get that condition checked by a doctor.”

  He laughs and turns on a few lights. “Missed you and your sass, Jojo. Order us an extra large. You know the drill.”

  The drill: I order and he pays.

  He claims he likes when I order because I’m so nice on the phone that the pizza people would never spit in my food. It works for me because I never have any money to pay for takeout. Win-win.

  By the time I’m done ordering, he’s shucking off his boots and grabbing a freaking puppy from behind a child gate blocking off the kitchen.

  I squeal. “When did you get a dog?” Oh, Lordy, I’m in love. “What’s his name?”

  A smile pulls at Logan’s lips as he watches his puppy arf-arf in my face and try to lick my nose.

  Logan pauses and tucks his hands in his back pocket. “I got Rambo last month at one of those side-of-the-road setups. He was the runt.”

  “Let me guess. You felt bad for him.” He rolls his eyes because it’s true. Logan might act all big and tough, but he’s got the biggest heart. “And you named the little guy Rambo. Aww.” I talk in a baby voice to the dog. “That’ll give you courage, huh, handsome?”