4. Shep
4
SHEP
The house was a complete gut job. But that only had the phantom buzz of energy lighting beneath my skin. My fingers itched to put pencil to paper and begin sketching out what could be.
That was always the high. Transforming something that people saw as trash into treasure. And while I loved using every form of tech imaginable to bring that to fruition, I always had to start with old-school pencil and paper.
Something about the way the graphite scratched across the page opened my mind to possibilities. And this place was nothing but. It was a bigger undertaking than anything I’d done for myself by a factor of ten. But that only heightened the buzz.
I stared up at the enormous farmhouse that must date back to the 1920s, at least, close to when this part of the state was settled. The siding was a weather-beaten gray that had probably once been white. It needed a new roof, for sure. But the bones? They were steady.
I wanted to knock out half a dozen walls. Put in windows. But that would all come with time—that and more than a little sweat equity.
But owning a construction company came with perks. Discounts on materials and access to workers were two of them.
My phone dinged, and I looked down, shaking my head. My siblings were ridiculous. It didn’t matter that only two of us were related by blood or that we’d each joined the family anywhere from birth to age sixteen. Our bond and shit-talking game were strong.
The group chat the seven of us shared was constantly being renamed, each person trying to one-up one another or give someone a hard time. Today, it read: Group name changed to Hans Brolo .
Cope
Proof of life check. I haven’t heard from you assholes in over forty-eight hours.
Texts and video calls were all Cope had for keeping tabs on us now that he was back in Seattle, finishing out his requirements after the end of his NHL season. So, I didn’t blame him for the request. And the chat had been quieter lately. There’d been more side check-ins after Rhodes was kidnapped, tortured, and almost killed by a man I’d hired and worked alongside for years.
The now familiar burn of guilt returned, acid spreading through my chest and eating through muscle and marrow. I hadn’t seen Silas’s sickness or twisted cruelty, and my sister had almost lost her life because of it.
Kye
Dude, maybe stay away from the life-or-death jokes for a while.
Fallon
Sensitivity chip, Copeland.
Kye
Shit. If Fal full-named you, you’re fucked. Duck and cover.
Fallon and Kyler always had each other’s backs in a way that made me wonder if they could communicate without even speaking. When Kye came to live with us at sixteen, he hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone. But, somehow, Fallon always seemed to reach him.
A photo appeared in the chat—Rhodes holding up a pitchfork and standing in front of a brown pile of something, her other arm in a cast.
Rhodes
Nobody will dare cross me today.
Kye
Yeah, because you’re standing in a pile of shit.
Rhodes
Whatever works.
Cope
Sorry, Rho. I was an insensitive ass.
Rhodes
I thought we were past the tiptoeing-around-me stage. I like jokes better.
It had been almost a month since her ordeal, and while she didn’t want us worrying, I knew the truth. She still carried the scars of what happened—and more than just the skin-deep ones.
I was thankful she’d found comfort in my best friend, Anson—words I’d never thought would pass through my brain. Still, somehow, my broody friend was a match for my sunshiny sister. And it worked.
Knowing that Cope and Rho would play the back-and-forth guilt game for hours, I went with the one tool of distraction I had. I snapped a picture of the house in front of me and hit send.
Me
Put in an offer. What do you think?
Cope
That your ass is going to get haunted the moment you try to step inside.
Kye
Or murdered. That definitely looks like it’s home to some lumberjack ax murderer.
The house was in the middle of nowhere. Desolate. Set on over five hundred acres and nestled between national forest land on one side and a ten-thousand-acre cattle ranch on the other.
But that isolation called to me more now than it ever had before. I needed a place where I could simply be without the pressure of all the things expected of me. Or the weight of all the people I’d let down at different points in my life.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew the heaviness of that weight began at birth. But what did I expect when I’d been abandoned at no more than a few weeks old? Left in one of those safe-haven boxes at a fire station one town over, with no clue as to who I was or where I’d come from.
I was lucky as all hell that the Colson family had adopted me. They were the only family I’d ever known. But I couldn’t help but wonder what had made someone leave me in that box. And what was it about me that made me so damn unwanted?
Another ding sounded, bringing me out of my spiral.
Cope
Now who’s making death jokes?
I sighed, flipping the chat to mute . My eldest brother, Trace, and my youngest sister, Arden, had already pulled that move. Their replies to the group were few and far between. Arden’s mostly suggested that we had no lives. And Trace’s were to keep us in line—county sheriff, through and through.
But I didn’t blame them. Cope and Kye would go in circles for hours. And right now, I had work to do. With one last glance at the house, I headed for my truck. Beeping the locks, I climbed inside and started it up.
The clock read three-thirty. I had plenty of time to stop by the nursery before heading home to dive into rehab plans. I dropped my phone into the cupholder and headed in that direction.
It took me a good fifteen minutes before the rustic sign for Bloom & Berry appeared. The nursery was my one-stop shop for all things landscaping and also the work home to my unofficial expert. I pulled into a spot on the outskirts of the gravel lot and went in search of Rhodes.
The photo she’d sent gave me a clue as to her location. I wandered around the greenhouses and through the central courtyard, complete with a tiny café. But it wasn’t until I smelled the hint of manure that I found her.
Rhodes had her dark hair threaded through the back of a baseball hat in a makeshift ponytail. With each strike of her pitchfork into the massive pile of compost and animal dung, the tail swung. I winced as she one-handedly turned over the manure mixture .
“Should you be doing that?” I asked as I adjusted my ballcap to shield my eyes from the sun.
Rhodes straightened, turned to face me, then leaned on her pitchfork. “I know you keep tabs on me via Anson, so that means I know that you know that Dr. Avery cleared me for physical activity. This cast won’t hold me back.” She lifted her arm, waving the plaster-covered limb to punctuate the point.
“Probably wouldn’t hurt to take it easy your first full week back,” I suggested.
Annoyance flickered in her hazel eyes. “I have been stuck behind that damn cash register for days. What I need is sunshine and to feel useful again.”
I sighed. “Sorry, Rho-Rho,” I muttered.
“Not you, too.” She groaned.
My lips twitched. “What can I say? Cope’s rubbing off on me.”
“Cope needs a hobby,” Rhodes grumbled. “Something other than checking up on me.”
“Being a ridiculously overpaid professional hockey player isn’t enough?”
“Clearly not.” She shifted, tipping her head back to better study my face. “So, new house already?”
I tried not to shift, knowing it would give away my unease. But I couldn’t stop myself. “The place on Juniper Lane is done. It was time.”
Rhodes just shook her head. “Don’t you ever want to actually enjoy the places you painstakingly rehab?”
I didn’t. The longest I’d lasted in a place after it was done was two months. And that had been torture. Everything was too pristine. Too perfect. I craved mess and chaos, and putting it all back together again, making it better than ever before.
“Is it a crime to love what you do?” I asked, unable to disguise the hint of defensiveness in my tone.
Rhodes was quiet for a moment, her assessing stare penetrating. “Of course, not. But I can’t help but wonder what exactly you’re running from.”
“Maybe I’m not running from anything. Maybe I’m running toward it.” That’s what I’d always told myself. That I was chasing the buzz of creation. Rebuilding.
“Maybe.” Rhodes leaned the pitchfork against her wheelbarrow. “You doing okay with everything?”
By everything , she meant the fact that Dateline had run a full-episode exposé on Silas Arnett and his decades-long reign of terror last night. I swallowed the bile churning. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
Rhodes shrugged. “We could ask each other. Since we both care, and we’ve been through some shit.”
I hadn’t been through anything. Not compared to Rhodes. I didn’t deserve the check-ins and worry. But she did. Not only had she lost her entire family at thirteen, but the bastard had come back to finish the job. And he’d gotten close to her through me.
“I’m good. How are you ?” That was what I really wanted to know. No, it was what I needed to know. Because maybe if I was sure Rhodes truly was all right, I could release some of the guilt that was eating me alive.
“Well, if I actually believed that lie about you being good, I would be good, as well. But since I don’t, I’m annoyed.”
A chuckle slipped free unbidden, and I wrapped an arm around Rhodes, giving her a noogie through her hat.
She twisted, batting at me with her good arm. “Stop it!” She turned, pinching my side, hard .
“Shit, Rho,” I grumbled, releasing her and rubbing my abused skin.
It was then that she really took me in. “What are you wearing?”
I glanced down, suddenly remembering I was still in the Cupcake Cutie shirt from earlier. I’d gotten shit all morning from my crew. “Had a little incident at the bakery.”
Rhodes arched a brow. “Incident, huh?”
“Minor spill, that’s all.”
“Did Thea dump a cup of coffee over your head?”
I scowled at my sister. “You sound like you’d be proud of her if she did. ”
One corner of her mouth kicked up. “I like that she keeps you on your toes. You’re too used to women falling at your feet.”
My scowl only deepened. “They don’t fall at my feet.”
Rhodes scoffed. “You’ve got that whole golden-boy thing. They love you a little too much. You need someone who isn’t putty in your hands.”
I didn’t feel very golden, especially not this past month.
“Oh, crud,” Rhodes said, glancing at her watch. “I forgot I was supposed to grab the newest kitten fosters for her.”
“For Thea?” I asked. God, I was pathetic. Desperate for the tiniest clue about the woman.
Rhodes nodded. “She’s officially on Nancy’s Wags & Whiskers roster now.”
Rhodes and our grandma, Lolli, had been involved with the animal rescue for years, but I hadn’t known that Thea had gotten plugged in. Somehow, it didn’t surprise me, and the knowledge had me opening my mouth before I could stop myself.
“I can drop them off at her place.”
A knowing smile spread across Rhodes’ face, but she didn’t give me a hard time. “You sure?”
“I’m done for the day.”
“All right. I’m texting you Thea’s address, and you have Nancy’s.”
I’d done more than a few errands for the rescue, mostly hauling donations of food, toys, and blankets for Lolli. She could get the most tight-fisted business to open their coffers for the cause.
“Sounds good.”
Rhodes paused for a moment, seeming to mull something over. “You’re a really good brother. You know that, right?”
Her words sliced, each one like the painful press of a blade. “Rho.”
“You are. What happened wasn’t your fault any more than it was mine or Anson’s.”
The burn came back, deeper this time. “I should’ve seen it.”
“No one did. And if you keep carrying around that misplaced guilt, it will drown you. ”
I heard the fear in Rho’s voice, which only made the guilt worse. So, I did the only thing I could. I pulled her in for another hug. “Love you, Rho-Rho. Even though you currently smell like horse shit.”
She laughed, just like I hoped she would. That sound, plus knowing that she was still alive and breathing, and that Silas hadn’t won, would have to be good enough for now.