The Hot Brothers Duet

Chapter 1

HOT CHICKEN

Matt

“Holy hell. It’s hot as Satan’s asshole out here. How do you guys do this every day?” Lifting the hem of my grimy shirt to my forehead, I attempt to sop the sweat from my brow to no avail. It’s like trying to absorb a spill without wringing out the mop first.

“Jesus, Harry. You should’ve warned us about your baby brother.” Gino snorts. “You couldn’t find any help that doesn’t need a diaper change?”

“Yeah. I thought you were supposed to be some big-shot firefighter. How do you manage to battle the flames back in mountain country?” Vincent pours a bottle of water over his head before shaking his hair back and forth like a dog who’s just had a bath.

“I never claimed to be a big-shot anything,” I snap. What kinda crap is my brother feeding these guys?

“Awe, hang in there, little brother.” Harrison chuckles. “I have a feeling you’ve gotten used to the cool air of Sycamore Mountain and forgotten what it’s like here in The Keys.”

He could be on to something. I’m not alien to hard work in high temperatures, but running occasional fire calls back home in my sleepy North Carolina town is a far cry from doing construction in the sweltering heat of Candy Cane Key.

This small island among the Florida Keys is known for surf, sand, and Santa.

No, really.

They take full advantage of the name around here. Candy Cane Key is a great getaway destination for anyone who wants to enjoy the salty sea air with a side of year-round cheer. The best months to visit, in my opinion, are October through April, when the weather isn’t quite so oppressive. However, July is prime tourist season for this beachside town, as they go all out for the Christmas in July events.

The shops in town put out their best holiday décor as they prepare for the big festival. There’s even a boat parade. Between Independence Day and the Christmas in July Festival, businesses count on this time of year to bring in their most significant earnings. While this appeals to store owners, it’s just another reminder of why I left. I associated this town with memories best forgotten and not the picture-perfect holiday variety.

My mother had struggled to raise Harry and me as a single mom since we were teens. Our deadbeat dad had been nothing but a disappointment to her and to us. Mom waited a long time before sharing the private facts of their split. I think deep down, she was trying to protect him so we could have a healthy relationship with Dad despite the divorce. Yet once it was clear he’d walked away without looking back, she eventually shared all the dirty details.

Mom said they’d had a typical courtship in their mid-twenties, marrying a year later. In hindsight, she’d questioned whether he proposed and pushed for kids merely because it was expected.

Henry Hightower, Jr. had one focus. And that was climbing the corporate ladder. Mom recalled attending functions where Dad would gravitate toward upper management. They’d show off their wives and tout stories of their children’s academic and sports achievements. It’s clear now we were just pawns in Dad’s chess game.

Mom said each month became more stressful than the last as she failed to conceive. It seemed odd at the time that he’d be so upset by it, given he’d never been the paternal type. He never interacted with his nieces and nephews at family gatherings and almost seemed annoyed when his sister would ask him to hold one of them.

Her thoughts were later confirmed when Dad showed no interest in a relationship with Harry or me over the years. As painful as it was to admit, Mom voiced what we’d already suspected. Our father likely never considered Harry and me to be his.

After a year of unsuccessful attempts to get pregnant, my parents chose to start the adoption process. Harrison was the first to join the family as a newborn. His birth mother was from Florida, and by all accounts, the closed adoption went smoothly. Three years later, they brought me home just before my first birthday.

Dear old Dad stuck around until my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Initially, our father was simply too busy to escort Mom to doctors’ appointments. Then out of the blue, he had multiple out-of-town business trips to attend. Eventually, he just stopped coming home altogether.

While my high school friends partied, I watched my mother’s weight plummet and her hair fall out while struggling to keep food on the table. It tore me up inside. Harry and I tried to pick up odd jobs to help out. But between my home life and the phony friends I’d fallen into at school, I was counting down the days to graduation. I couldn’t wait to get the hell away from Candy Cane Key and everyone else’s merriment.

“I’m starving. Maybe Boy Wonder can pull lunch duty today since he’s not cut out for the heat.” Vincent snickers, interrupting my unappetizing memories.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter, dragging my hand through my damp hair.

“I’m dying for Elliot’s chicken,” Gus quickly interjects. Wow. It must be good. I haven’t heard a peep out of that guy all day.

“Hell yeah.” My brother grins and rubs his belly. “Good call. I’ll text you directions, Matt. Just tell Elliot you need the works. That way, there’ll be plenty to go around.”

Jokes on them. I’m happy to hop in my air-conditioned truck for a little break. I head to the locked utility box in the back of my pickup and grab a clean, dry T-shirt before jumping into the driver’s seat. Turning the ignition, I blast the air and turn up the radio as I await the text from Harry.

Reclining onto the headrest, I close my eyes and listen as Luke Combs croons about everything that goes better together. I’m aware the words are written about a man and a woman but decide to focus on the song’s clever lyrics as I drum my fingers on the steering wheel.

It’s been forever since I’ve been in a relationship with anyone. Unlike many of my firefighter brothers back home, I’m not a commitment-phobe. I’d love to meet a nice girl and settle down. I’m twenty-eight, gainfully employed, and not a bad-looking guy. I work out and try to eat right. There simply hasn’t been any chemistry with the available women in my small town. And there’s no point considering a relationship with anyone here. This visit has an expiration date.

I just need to give Harry a break while we secure a caregiver for Mom, and then I’m headed back to Sycamore Mountain. Sure, a summer fling is tempting. Yet honestly, I’m not the love ’em and leave ’em type.

But, hell. I won’t turn down a hot night of wild abandon.

Buzz. Buzz.

11:25 a.m.

Harry: Google Salty Jo’s. It’s in the North End before you get to the touristy stuff. Just look for the neon sign in the window that says Hot Chicken.

I sit up taller in my seat, plug Salty Jo’s into my navigator, and scratch the back of my head. For the life of me, I can’t remember this place. Maybe it’s new?

Pulling away from the curb, I look at the guys in my rearview mirror who continue to work on the beachfront remodel. These waterfront properties are pricey even in a small island town like Candy Cane Key. But once the updates are complete, this beach house is going to be jaw-dropping.

As my body temperature cools, I have to acknowledge how proud I am of Harrison trying to make something of himself day in and day out in this heat. He works hard. What’s more, he made a commitment to stay in our hometown to be there for our mother, only for the universe to turn his good deeds against him when our mother was diagnosed with early Alzheimer’s disease a few years ago.

Mom was only fifty-six when she received the formal diagnosis, but it’s progressed rapidly, causing Harry to have a difficult time keeping her safe. Initially, she only required the assistance of a day nurse. Once she was down for the night, things were fine. Yet things have steadily gotten worse.

Mom now requires twenty-four-hour care. He’s pledged to keep her at home, but finding help overnight has become a challenge. Hence why he called asking for my help. And Harrison never asks for anything. I didn’t hesitate to request a short-term leave of absence from the fire department, stating I’d return as soon as we’d made better arrangements for my mother.

As I near my destination, I have to do a double take. “This can’t be it.” Apparently, Salty Jo’s is a gas station with a small convenience store attached. The place looks like it should be condemned. Peering through my dusty windshield from one side of the property to the other, I search for tumbleweeds. Scratching my head, I look back down at my brother’s text.

Harry: Just look for the neon sign in the window that says Hot Chicken.

My gaze flicks up from my phone to the glass window of the convenience store to find a purple and red neon sign.

Hot Chicken.

I guess this is the place.