10. Hendrix
10
HENDRIX
I could hear Holden before I saw him, the sound of him pacing through the living room, like he was trying to figure out the best way to start the conversation. It was early still, but the house already felt heavy with what we were about to discuss. Conrad was sitting at the kitchen counter, his mug in hand, but it was clear he wasn’t actually drinking. He was just staring into the steam rising from his cup, lost in thought.
Holden finally stopped pacing and walked into the kitchen, looking at both of us, his eyes intense, like he was already bracing for whatever was coming next. He had a cigarette tucked behind his ear which he plucked and lit in one practiced motion. “Moon just left,” he said, his voice a little more clipped than usual. “She spent the night with me. I know that might feel weird, considering…well, you know.” He let the words hang there as he exhaled a trail of smoke, like he was waiting for one of us to bite. “But I’m not sorry for it.”
I glanced over at Conrad, who was now looking at Holden, but his expression didn’t give much away.
“I am sorry, though,” Holden continued, his gaze softening just slightly. “For barging in on you guys yesterday morning. That wasn’t cool. I shouldn’t have done that. I saw her Moon bag down here, and I was in disbelief. All sense left my mind.”
I could see the apology was genuine, but there was still something about the way Holden spoke about Moon that made it clear he wasn’t backing down. He was fully invested in whatever this was, and it wasn’t just the heat of the moment talking.
“But I’m not apologizing for pursuing her,” he added, his voice firm now. “I get it. You didn’t know she was the girl from the bookstore, but now you do. And I’m not backing off. She’s pulled me too far in.”
There was a beat of silence. Holden's words hung in the air, and for a second, I felt the weight of everything that had been left unsaid between the three of us. Conrad’s eyes were still on Holden, his jaw tight, but then he finally looked away. I knew what he was thinking—he wasn’t entirely comfortable with Holden’s bluntness, with the fact that Holden wasn’t exactly worried about our feelings in all this. But Conrad didn’t say anything.
Holden pushed on, his voice a little softer now, like he was testing the waters. “So, what happened between you guys and Moon? How do you feel about her?”
Conrad shifted in his seat, setting his mug down on the counter with a soft clink. “Well,” he started, looking over at me for a second, “it was kind of spontaneous, you know? We were just having fun—playing a game. And then, well…things just escalated.” He shrugged, trying to sound casual about it, but there was an edge to his voice, like he wasn’t quite sure how much he wanted to share.
“Yeah,” I added, leaning forward, my elbows on my knees. I wasn’t sure how much Holden wanted to know, or how much I wanted to say. But at the end of the day, we were family, and we were in this together. “We were just messing around—some sexy dares, the usual. But it wasn’t just a game. We got pretty close. She got under my skin.” I glanced at Conrad, silently acknowledging the tension between us.
“Honestly, it started before the game. She needed me to play guitar for her when her friend didn’t show up. And then she had to go and pick ‘Moon River.’ She sounded so wistful and sexy singing up there. It felt like we were meant to perform together. I couldn’t help but be drawn to her—her sassy confidence, those smoky eyes that kinda sparkle.”
“Okay, yeah, I get it. You’re under her spell too, brother. And I guess you are too, lover boy?” Holden nodded in question to Conrad.
Conrad shifted in his seat, looking at Holden with a tight nod. He paused, running a hand through his hair, like he was trying to find the right words. “It’s the way she’s real—like nothing fazes her. She owns the room she’s in, and when she looks at me, it’s like she’s got this fire in her, this raw, unfiltered energy that I can’t resist. I don’t know if it’s just the attraction or something more—but when she’s around, everything feels alive. I can’t ignore that.”
Holden’s eyes flicked back and forth between us. He wasn’t pushing, but he was definitely waiting. “And what happened after your game? I mean, you guys had sex, right?”
Both Conrad and I looked at him. I could see the hesitation in Conrad’s eyes, the way he wanted to play this off as no big deal, but I knew he was feeling it too. We were both trying to figure out what this meant. What she meant.
“I mean, it definitely got intimate,” Conrad admitted finally, his voice a little hoarse, like he’d been holding it in too long. “Not full on fucking, but like…she rode my face. And she uh…messed around with the two of us. She was into it. So was I.”
I nodded, keeping my face neutral. “Same here,” I said, trying to keep it simple. “We didn’t plan on it going that far, but it felt…exciting and natural. You know?” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, glancing down at the floor for a second, and I wondered if I was the only one who still didn’t have a clue what this meant.
Holden’s eyes narrowed slightly as he took this in, and for a moment, I felt like he was about to ask something else—something we weren’t quite ready to talk about. But he didn’t. Instead, took a long drag and he exhaled, then leaned back, running a hand through his hair.
“So, we’re all in this together, huh?” he said after a pause. “No one’s making her choose, right? She leads, we follow. Simple as that?”
I glanced at Conrad again, and for the first time, the weight of what we were agreeing to hit me. I didn’t want to make Moon feel like she was in some kind of game. But I also didn’t want to be left behind, bowing out before it really got going.
“That’s the deal,” Conrad finally said, his voice steady. “We let her figure it out, let her call the shots. We don’t push her into anything. If she wants all of us, cool. If one relationship becomes bigger than the rest, we have to accept it gracefully, yeah?”
I felt like a weight had lifted off my shoulders hearing that, even though the situation was still far from clear. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the only way to keep it from getting messier than it already was.
“And,” Holden said, his voice softening again, “we don’t make it weird. Even if it is. No matter how awkward things get between us.”
“Yeah,” I replied, looking at Conrad, trying to figure out where we both stood. “No weirdness. Not unless it’s her call,” I added with a chuckle.
Holden nodded, looking relieved, like he was happy we were all on the same page, but we all knew the truth. It was easier said than done. I still wasn’t sure where Moon and I stood, or where she stood with Conrad, and there was a lot we hadn’t figured out yet. But this—this was where we started.
“Oh, hey,” Holden started, his voice casual but with that tone that said he was about to share something important. “Remember, Fanny wants us home for dinner an hour early tomorrow. Something about getting a family photo taken outside on the porch while the azaleas are in bloom. She’s making mint juleps, too.” He paused, grinning a little. “And we’re supposed to wear button-downs, so make sure you’ve got one pressed.”
Sunday dinners were Fanny’s tradition, something we all looked forward to—mostly for the food, but also because it felt like home. She always cooked up a big Southern spread: smoked gouda shrimp and grits, skillet cornbread with honey glaze, braised mustard greens, crispy fried green tomatoes topped with remoulade, pimento cheese deviled eggs that disappeared the moment they hit the table.
Fanny’s dinners left me so full I could barely move, let alone think about dessert. I knew it was coming, and honestly, I was never mad about it.
Conrad put his mug down and looked over at Holden. “What’s she cooking this week?”
Holden grinned, a small, almost mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Well, she’s got gumbo on the menu, and I’m pretty sure she’s making her famous peach cobbler for dessert. It’s going to be a feast, as usual.”
I rolled my eyes, but it was all in good humor. “Fanny and her feasts,” I muttered, already imagining the food coma I’d be in by the end of the night. “My dad’s got some new bourbon for us to try, too. He’s been raving about some small-batch stuff he found last week. I think he’s planning on getting us all buzzed just in time for the cobbler.”
“God help us,” Conrad said with a grin, feeling the familiar pull of nostalgia and comfort that came with every Sunday dinner. “Blanton and his bourbon. Maybe he’ll crack open the bottle of Pappy Van Winkle he’s been holding onto. The one he swears will ‘change our lives.’”
We all laughed, and I felt the weight of everything else in the air lighten, even if just for a moment. It was always the same—Fanny’s cooking, Blanton’s whiskey, and the casual chaos of our family dinners. We couldn’t exactly avoid it, and honestly, I wasn’t sure we’d want to.
“But seriously,” Holden said, his tone shifting slightly. “We’re not talking about Moon with them, right? We’re keeping that off the table until we figure it out.”
I nodded quickly, agreeing with the call. “Yeah, no point making it weird. We’ll deal with that when we’ve got a handle on it.” I met Holden’s eyes, making sure we were all on the same page. “No need to throw Moon into the mix with Fanny and Blanton. It’s enough to figure out what the hell we’re doing without involving them yet.”
Conrad nodded too, his voice steady. “Agreed.”
I leaned back, feeling the weight of it all slip a little. We had our own mess to sort through, but for now, good food, bourbon, and family would be enough.
The sun was still hanging low, casting a warm, golden glow over the backyard as we stepped out onto the porch. The air was thick with the smell of freshly cut grass, and the azaleas were in full bloom, just like Fanny had planned. She was all smiles, waving us into place for the family photo. Conrad had his camera out, adjusting the lens and positioning the tripod with a practiced hand.
“All right, everybody,” Conrad said, stepping back and adjusting the focus. “Let’s make it look like we like each other for once.” He flashed a grin, and even Holden cracked a smile. Conrad had always been the one to handle the photos—he had that perfect mix of patience and precision when it came to capturing a moment.
We lined up on the porch—Blanton with his arm wrapped around Fanny, the rest of us standing behind them in varying degrees of casualness. I couldn’t help but notice how natural it all felt, even if it was posed. Conrad got the shot setup with the timer and ran over into the frame, the click of the camera echoing across the yard, and just like that, it was over.
“Perfect,” Conrad said, glancing at the screen before tucking the camera away.
“Thank you, my favorite child,” Fanny teased, leaning up to press a light kiss to his cheek. Her label of “favorite” would no doubt be recycled and rotated through the three of us several times before the night was over.
I loved how she claimed Conrad as her own, just as she did with me now. Conrad had grown up next door to Holden, and Fanny had always folded him into her flock. With his mom working long hours, their home became his second, a safe haven where he was treated like a son alongside James and Holden.
Inside, the smell of gumbo hit me the second we stepped through the door, and I swore Fanny had some kind of magic touch with food. The table was set with all the usual Southern staples: skillet cornbread, a tomato and cucumber salad, and the gumbo bubbling away in a big pot at the center. I was already getting hungry, my stomach rumbling in anticipation.
Fanny was moving around the kitchen, making sure everything was perfect, while Blanton had his bourbon on the counter, already pouring himself a few fingers worth in a crystal highball glass. “Boys,” he said, with that satisfied grin of his, “you’re in for a treat tonight. I’ve got a small-batch, cask-strength Kentucky gem that’s been aging for fifteen years—deep amber, legs for days, and a finish so smooth it’ll make you believe in God.”
I chuckled. “You say that every week, old man. But sure, let’s see what you’ve got.”
Conrad was already seated at the table, his usual calm demeanor still in place, but there was something lively about him tonight. He leaned forward, his elbows on the table as he caught Blanton’s attention. “Blanton, I’ve been working on a new series of nature shots—some places in Charleston that most people don’t even know about. There’s this creek out near the marshlands that has this wild, overgrown bridge. The sunlight in the morning hits it just right—like a tunnel of green.”
Blanton nodded, his gaze sharp with interest. “That could be stunning. Are you thinking about medium or large-scale prints? You could frame some large-scale for display at the gallery.”
“I was thinking large,” Conrad replied, his tone confident. “Three feet, maybe wider for the key pieces. I want people to feel like they’re standing in the marsh.”
Blanton clinked his glass against Conrad’s. “That’s why it works—you know exactly what your vision is. Bring me the proofs when you’ve got them, and we’ll start planning the display. This could be a strong centerpiece for a Lowcountry collection.”
“I’ve got a few ideas,” Conrad said, his grin widening. “There’s a creek bed I’ve been meaning to revisit, and the way the light plays off the water there is incredible. I can work it into the series.”
Blanton’s smile softened, a mix of pride and approval. “Good. Let’s make it happen. You’ve got the eye for it, Conrad. And you know I love featuring local artists.”
As they talked, I fell into my thoughts. It was easy to get lost in my head as the conversations swirled around me. I sipped my bourbon slowly, feeling the warmth spread through me as I looked around the table, trying to keep my mind from wandering too far. I couldn’t help taking in this scene—my family—but with one monumental part missing.
My mind drifted back to my mom. She died when I was twelve. I could still feel the ache of it, the emptiness in the house after she was gone. My dad was never the same. He just…withdrew. It was like the light left our house with her. I was just a kid back then, not fully understanding what losing her meant for my life. She had this massive collection of vinyl records. All kinds of stuff, but she wove classic rock into my bones—The Stones, The Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, The Doors—and of course her beloved Jimi, my namesake. My favorite memories were picking a record with her, sitting on the floor of our living room, jamming out, singing our throats dry and our hearts full, so carefree, so alive.
I had saved all of her band T-shirts. I wore them when I was younger and could still fit into them. Now I had them in a box at the back of my closet, tucked away. I thought of how Moon would like them. They fit her style, but more importantly, she had that kind of spirit, the one that would appreciate the raw poetry of the lyrics—the electric wails, the smoky, soul-stirring riffs, the kind of music aching with truth and rebellion. It wasn’t just sound; it was emotion carved into vinyl, spinning out stories of freedom, heartbreak, and untamed dreams.
I looked across the table at Blanton and Fanny, and I saw the life they’d built. I got that my dad was lost before he met Fanny—he didn’t know who he was without my mom. And now, after all these years, I found myself caught in the in-between, imagining her here with us, even though I knew it could never have been.
I had zoned out, staring at the gumbo in front of me, the steam rising, wondering if my mom would’ve liked to be a part of these dinners. Would she have sat here with us, laughing at how we made fun of Blanton’s endless bourbon talks and pretended to be annoyed at Fanny for always harassing us about never bringing girls home? She would’ve been a presence here, someone with stories to tell, a calming influence when things got too chaotic. This was my family now, but the thought of her being here with us was a happy fantasy.
Nudging myself back into reality, I thought of how she would be really happy to see Fanny in my life now. Fanny could never replace my mom, but at least I had a compassionate, warm motherly presence in my life. Fanny always could anticipate when I needed her, but I guess she was practiced in raising a son, and in handling grief.
I thought back to the first time Holden and I met. Strangers made brothers at sixteen when our parents got married. Holden, buried deep in his wall of solitude, barely let me in, even when we started living under the same roof. He was more a shadow than a sibling, someone you could see but never quite reach. But as time went on, we found our way within the blended family. Still, there were moments—those little moments—where the line between what was familial and something different blurred.
I squashed it down every time. He was my brother now, and there was no going back from that. No matter what, we had to stick together. But now, with Moon involved, I couldn’t help but think how that could make the boundaries more blurred. I shoved the thought away, focusing instead on the food, the bourbon, and the comfortable noise of our family.
Fanny looked around at the table, raising an eyebrow at the three of us, her voice pulling me back to the present. “Another Sunday dinner, surrounded by my guys. Not that I’m complaining since I love being the belle of the ball,” she said with a wink, “but won’t y’all find some nice girls to bring home so I’m not surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves?”
We quickly glanced at each other, all of us definitely thinking about Moon, but no one said a word. The air between us felt charged, but we all pretended it wasn’t.
“Hungry wolves?” Conrad laughed. “Yeah, okay, the way I wolfed down your gumbo, I guess that’s fair, Fanny.”
“Well, you know I’m not getting any younger, boys.”
Holden looked up from his plate with a smirk. “Oh hush, Mom. You’re plenty young. But sure, we’ll get right on that. You know, maybe next time we’ll have a few lined up just for you, too, in case you’re trying to spice things up,” he said with a naughty smirk.
Fanny smirked right back, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, don’t worry about me, Holden. I’ve got plenty of spice. But I do hope you boys find a little spice and a little sweet in your lives.” She patted the table with a grin. “Speaking of sweet—it’s time for the peach cobbler.”
It was late, hours after we’d gotten home from our parents’, and I wouldn’t usually have headed over to the guest house this late, knowing Holden was probably in bed. But the sharp edges of the business card I’d found earlier practically burned a hole in my pocket as I walked across the lawn. The night was quiet in the way that made everything sharper: the distant hum of cicadas, the rustle of leaves, the sound of my own heartbeat.
Holden’s light was still on, faint and golden against the dark. I slowed for a moment, tugged between foggy memories and the mission I was on now. How many times had I walked into his room uninvited? How many times had I wanted to? Maybe I should’ve turned back, but the tension in my chest pulled me forward. This wasn’t something I could sit on.
I knocked softly, then pushed the door open without waiting for an answer. The years hadn’t dulled his glare—sharp and immediate when he looked up from the book in his hands. Holden made brooding look effortless.
“Hendrix,” he said, dragging out my name like it was some kind of crime. “It’s almost midnight. What do you want?”
I shut the door behind me, taking my time as I crossed the room. “Relax. I’m not here to steal Byron from you.” My eyes flicked to him, sprawled in bed, his hair tousled, the sheets a little too low on his hips. The memory of walking in on him years ago flashed through my mind, unbidden but potent. He was different now, more defined muscle but still tense, like he carried the weight of too many thoughts.
“Then why are you here?” His tone was sharp, but I saw the flicker of curiosity in his eyes. Holden could never quite hide his intrigue.
“I found something.” I sank into the armchair by the window, letting it creak under my weight. “In Blanton’s car.”
The book lowered just enough for me to see his expression shift from annoyance to suspicion. “Okay? …Why were you in Blanton’s car?”
“I was looking for the car insurance card to take a picture of it since I lost mine.” I fished the card out of my pocket and held it up between two fingers. “This was in his glove compartment. Ever heard of The Silver Vine ?”
Holden frowned, setting his book aside as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Bare feet hit the floor with a soft thud, and for a second, I was distracted, watching him walk over in his low-slung sweats, chest bare. It made the memory of that awkward, charged moment years ago feel closer than it should.
“No,” he said finally. “What is it?”
“No clue,” I admitted, tossing the card onto his nightstand. “But the business card is mysterious. No address. No phone number. Just the name and five digits. Seems too long to be a street address. You got any ideas?”
He picked up the card, his thumb brushing over the silver embossed lettering. His brows furrowed, the kind of look he got when he was overthinking.
“The card was just tucked in there. I’m not saying he’s hiding something, but it’s my dad. You know him. He always feels like he’s hiding something.”
Holden was quiet, staring at the card like it might offer him answers if he looked hard enough. Finally, he set it back down and met my gaze, his expression unreadable.
“And you want me to do what?”
“Come with me,” I said simply. “We’ll investigate, see if it’s some pretentious wine bar or something more interesting. Worst case, we waste an evening. Best case? We figure out what he’s up to. Tomorrow night. You in?”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he’d say no. But then he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, making it stand up in every direction. “Fine. But if this turns into one of your wild goose chases, you’re doing my laundry this week.”
“Deal.” I grinned as I stood, heading for the door. “Wear something decent. Who knows what kind of dress code they’ve got.”
“Hendrix.” His voice stopped me just as my hand touched the doorknob. When I turned, he was staring at me, his hand still resting on the card.
“Yeah?”
“Why ask me?” The question hung in the air, heavier than I’d expected. “You could’ve gone to Conrad or Moon.”
The truth was more complicated than I wanted to admit. None of them would understand the knot of tension that tied Blanton to Holden, not like I did. And maybe there was a part of me that wanted a space for us to connect, even if I was the one forcing it.
“Because you’ll get it,” I said finally. “And because if Blanton’s hiding something, it’ll hurt us the most.”
Holden didn’t respond, just nodded and looked back at the card in his hand. For a moment, the room felt too small, too charged, like the air was pressing in on us. Then I stepped out into the cool night, leaving him to his thoughts—and maybe mine.