Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Nash
T he decadent scent of freshly baked pastries and coffee meets me as I enter the now vacant kitchen of my childhood home. Chipped paint and grease stains cover the dull mustard yellow walls we discovered under the old sunflower patterned wallpaper, which covered it just a week ago. The tacky design has probably been glued to the walls since my family first moved in thirty-some years ago, or even before then when my Grandfather Bishop built the place in the early nineteen thirties.
It was that ancient and my dad undoubtedly never had a single renovation done on the home. There’s no running water, gas or electricity, and not a single functioning appliance, yet the pale yellow cardboard box on the kitchen island stands out like a small touch of heaven in the otherwise hellish landscape.
I recognize it instantly and I salivate at just the thought of the decadently sweet pastries I’ve become addicted to.
Nearly two weeks into the renovations on the ranch and the house has never looked better than it does now. It’s nearly unrecognizable. Gone are the layers of garbage and rotten food that were splayed out all over the floor. Gone is the stench of cat shit and God knows what else made it so difficult to breathe once you stepped foot inside the dwelling. All that remains are stark walls awaiting patching and fresh coats of primer and paint, alongside the original hardwood floors in need of significant refinishing—the perfect blank slate to work with.
What began as a tedious task I couldn’t wait to be finished with has become a project I’m quite invested in seeing through. It’s not something I’ve ever really thought of doing.
I’m not the type interested in setting down roots and finding a place to call a forever home . Never was. For eighteen years I remained in Crossroads, trapped by my inability to find my escape. So yeah, when The King’s gave me the push I needed to get leave, in their case left me with no other option, I’ll admit I’d first seen it as the perfect escape. Fate was finally on my side and fucking around with Bailey King had given me the way out I so desperately sought.
Though at our meeting earlier this morning with the lead architect at Monty’s construction company, we drew up the plans of what we want this place to look like when we’re done with it. Suddenly I’d become more invested in creating a home for my family to live in instead of renovating it to sell to the highest bidder.
The now open concept gives the old rundown ranch house a modern feel and with the interior design plans Monty showed me, one’s Monroe’s been tirelessly working on for weeks now. I know it’s going to be damn near perfect.
My little sister has a serious talent and working alongside Monty has left her with invaluable experience she requires to eventually take her business beyond just working for him. She possesses enough potential to work for wealthy clients or hotels and make a fortune off her designs. Not only does she have an eye for color palettes and unique styles, she’s even incorporated some of her own work into the mix.
Because it turns out my little sister is a true artist. Monty showed me a few of her sketches and they’re unbelievable. Especially the one she most recently created last summer during a trip down to the Big Apple, bringing the New York Skyline to life. She wants to hang it up in the new office space we’re creating in one of the smaller bedrooms downstairs.
Monty has a crew of four to six guys working here day in and day out to keep good on our two-month deadline. At first it seemed nearly impossible, but after a week of demolition and another of working the plumbing and electrical, which luckily other than the minor pipe burst, we dealt with last week, there was no major damage. They’re almost ready to install the insulation on the new drywalls we had to plaster.
Though I’m giving myself too much credit. I have been little help in the last week. I’d say it’s because I have a lot on my mind between being back home, dealing with the mess Franklin’s left us, and Monroe refusing to be in the same room with me for more than two minutes but it would be a lie. There’s only one true reason I haven’t been myself and cannot stay focused for more than a few hours at a time, and her name is Bailey King.
I haven’t seen Bailey in over a week—not since the moment we spent together in her shower. When the heat radiating from her luscious curves was further ignited under the flames of my touch. The way her body reacted to me, like muscle memory it fell into rhythm with my touch. The harmonies that left her lips, sultry sounds no angel had ever sung, were music to my fucking ears. The fire in her eyes, desire fused together with rage, angry at herself for being helpless against me. Regardless of what she tried to make me believe, I knew she wanted it.
Wanted my hands on her, my lips on hers, my tongue and fingers inside her. I wanted more, fuck I’d wanted no one as badly that I wanted her, but when the reality of what were we were doing came crashing down on her, stronger than the ice-cold water cascading down on us, she pulled away, setting back into place the mask she tried to keep on when she was around me.
I saw right through it, but for her sake, I couldn’t get myself to tear it back off. Because then I’d be met with the endless tears she shed for me, for what I’d done to her. When Bailey brought up our past, proving I’d hurt her so much worse than I could have ever imagined, I couldn’t push her.
Our past and present are woven together by the hurt my departure caused her, and will remain that way unless we can face the truth behind it. We can never move past it until we face it head on, and I’m not sure that's something I can ever do.
I want to—want to push my way through, show her it’s not what she thinks, but that would require coming clean about why I left. I can’t do that. Not to protect the men who were to blame, but to salvage the relationship she has with them. Telling her the truth will destroy her and the way she sees her brother and father. I’ve ruined my relationship with my family beyond repair. I’d never do that to her.
Despite what I keep trying to convince myself of, I seem to care too much about Bailey to continue being the reason she’s in so much pain. Yet even when I try to protect her, I end up being the one to cause her worse harm.
Which is why, although our short-lived time together has been the highlight of my time back in Crossroads, it won’t amount to anything. I won’t let it continue and risk it meaning more than it already has. She seems to be under the same impression since not only have I been avoiding being back at the apartment when I know she’s there, she’s been working day and night to avoid me.
For the past three nights, I’ve stayed out here with Monty, working until our limbs give out on us, not heading back to the apartment until I know she’s most likely asleep and leaving again before she wakes up. I spent most of the first few days worried about her moving around on her injured foot, but I checked in almost every hour with Billie to ensure that Bailey wasn’t leaving the apartment. Billie assured me she was keeping her from working at either the bakery or the bar and she was dropping by multiple times a day to take her food. She didn’t ask why I wasn’t helping her since I’m the one who lives with her, but I didn't expect her to.
I’m not sure if Bailey’s told her friends about what happened between us, but I’m also surprised Billie hasn’t threatened to murder me if she had. So yeah, I’ve been in a shitty mood not only because of the lack of sleep, but being back around Bailey has reminded me why I used to love it back then. Bailey could always put a smile on my face by simply just existing. Her sweet smile, the blush that kissed her cheeks when I was around and the way her gaze never met mine because she was too bashful to look me straight in the eye. It’s all only intensified the older and more beautiful she’s gotten. And after what happened between us in the shower, I’m afraid how things with us will look now.
I know what I’m avoiding, though I have no clue what's kept Monty out here by my side. I don’t know what it is he’s running from. My brother isn’t the same man I left behind ten years ago. He’s so much more now. A family man—father figure and brother to Monroe. The hardest working man I’ve ever met who has accomplished so much despite all the obstacles that have stood in his way.
Yet there’s something he’s still missing. Not that he needs a woman to complete him and make him the man we all should aspire to become, but I know he’s lonely out here all alone. He’s spent every hour of every day for the last two weeks with me, his little brother, instead of a woman who’d be much better company than I am.
“Morning Nash,” Candace, Monty’s assistant I met down at Montgomery Builds, says, as she walks through the non-existent front door.
Walking over toward the kitchen island currently with only a sheet of plywood we’re using as a table, I reach for the box of baked sweets beside a large traveler jug of freshly brewed coffee.
“Candy, why’s the boss got you up here so early?”
She shrugs, reaching for the coffee and pouring herself a cup before grabbing another for me. I take it from her, our fingers brushing for just a second before I pull away like I’ve been zapped by a taser.
Don’t get me wrong, the girl is beautiful. Around my age or slightly younger, her chocolate brown hair is cut in short waves that fall just above her shoulders, and her big brown eyes watch me curiously before turning away, blushing with embarrassment as she pretends to not notice the subtle move I made to pull away. I don’t mean to be rude, but being close to a beautiful woman like her seems wrong.
Opening the box of sweets, I reach for a blueberry crumb scone, which has easily become the best fucking thing I’ve ever tasted. Other than the woman who bakes it, whose taste I’ve yet to erase from my tongue. It only makes sense someone so sweet has made something equally delicious. Although I’m certain it won't happen again, at least until she agrees to revisit the situation, I’ll have to settle for enjoying this instead.
Though as I bite into the delicious scone, it brings back so many memories of the woman who made them. I’ve yet to stop into HoneyBees for myself, afraid of running into Bailey while I’m there, but Monroe’s dropped some off for the guys every day this week and I can’t stop myself from indulging.
Candy’s watching me with wide eyes as I devour the scone in two bites, sipping the nearly scalding hot coffee to wash it down.
“You know, if I knew you’d be hogging all the pastries from the guys who actually deserve them, I’d make sure to hide them out back for them.” Monroe joins us in the kitchen, making Candy jump back in surprise.
It’s not that we were even standing that close to one another, but her sudden shock makes it seem a bit more suspicious that it should be. Monroe looks back and forth between us, a question I know she won’t ask gleaming in her bold blue eyes.
“Candy, I think Monty's outback looking for you. Why don’t you take him a coffee and a cinnamon bun? It’s his favorite.” The soft tint on her cheeks burns brighter as she does exactly as she’s told and bolts out of the kitchen, leaving me with my little sister.
Ignoring her, not because I want to but because I’m not sure what to say to her, I pour myself a refill of coffee.
“Don’t even think about it,” she says, taking a sip of the iced latte in her hand. She’s casually dressed in jeans, an oversized knit sweater in a pale shade of blue, and black cowgirl boots, necessary to step over the rugged terrain. Her dark hair is curled and loose down her back, shorter layers forming her face.
Monroe’s beautiful and not only because she’s my sister and our resemblance is undoubtable, but she truly is breathtakingly gorgeous. Her bright blue eyes glare at me behind dark lashes only coated with a slight bit of makeup, and the freckles kissing her nose make her look slightly younger than she is.
“Am I not allowed to have a second cup of coffee, Izzy?” I use the beloved nickname she now seems to hate, and she rolls her eyes in response. “Don’t act cute, you know what I mean.”
Confused at why she’s angry with me this morning since all I’ve done is have a cup of coffee and a pastry she brought for us, I risk being scolded by Monty for egging her on. “I’m not sure I do. Please explain.”
She takes a step toward me, standing closer than she’s had to me since I’ve been back. It’s obvious she still hates me, but at least she’s not fleeing the room or puking at the sight of me.
Her finger digs into my chest as she speaks. “Stay away from Candace. She doesn't deserve to be played and used by you, then left heartbroken when you leave.” Her words cut deep because I know the true meaning behind them. The way you left Bailey.
I can’t help the twinge of guilt that crosses my face and the way her glare softens for just a second shows she’s noticed the effect of her warning. I try to play it cool, act like I’m not affected by the way everyone in town seems to feel about my return, but with Bailey and Monroe, I care more than I’m willing to admit.
Because I know they are the two people I’ve hurt most with the choices I made.
I brush off the guilt I feel at her disappointment and go back to using humor and sarcasm to mask the way I truly feel.
“She poured me a cup of coffee, Izzy. If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t even say thank you. Doubt she’d be interested in anything more with an asshole like me.”
Monroe scoffs, not believing a damn thing I say. “Don’t act all innocent, Nash. You know exactly the effect you have on women, and the way Candace’s face was turning the color of a fucking tomato. I know she couldn't care less if you thanked her for the coffee.”
“You think I’m cute, sis?” I playfully ask, teasing her, but it may be the wrong choice.
Her glare turns cold. Unlike the pain there was the first time I saw her, now there’s nothing but resentment and anger. “Only because I’m constantly reminded of how much I look like you. A genuine tragedy, but I won’t deny what you already know.”
I can’t help the grin that paints my face, a complete opposite to the scowl she wears. “Lucky girl.”
“Quit trying to make jokes, Nash. You’re not that funny.”
Though before this conversation turns darker than it already has, Monty enters the kitchen, the cup of coffee and cinnamon bun Candy took him in his hand. His gaze hardens as he looks back and forth between Monroe and me, scowling deeper at me when he sees the angry expression on her face.
Fuck. Of course, now he’s going to think I’ve pissed her off.
Monty adjusts the dark blue baseball cap on his head, a head of dark brown wavy hair peeking out from under it. “What the fuck did you do?” he asks me, not even implying that I’ve caused the scowl on Monroe’s face, but outright blaming me.
My oldest brother is dressed in his usual attire, a white tee, blue jeans, and brown cowboy boots on his feet. The white shirt fitted tight around his upper chest and arms show the tight muscle he’s gained in just three weeks’ worth of hard labor out here on the ranch. I’ve even bulked up in the time since I’ve returned.
Nothing like what I would have accumulated by simply going to the gym like I was used to. Life out here differs from what I remember and as every day passes by, I’m reminded of how much I’m not suited for it.
“Why does it have to be me that’s done something?” I ask innocently, but Monty’s not fucking having it. “I was just minding my business eating breakfast when Izzy came to scold me for saying good morning to your assistant.” Monroe shoots me an annoyed glare, rolling her eyes and screaming “traitor” with a single stormy expression.
“Leave her alone. Last thing I need is for you to sleep with my assistant and then break her heart.” Hearing Monroe say it was one thing, but for Monty to wholeheartedly agree, what kind of fucking asshole do they think I am?
Though essentially abandoning my family for ten years because of a woman I couldn’t be near, allowing her father and brother to run me out of town, it says a lot about exactly who I am.
I brush off the hurt which threatens to creep inside me and crack my hard exterior, instead doing what I always do best and act like nothing bothers me. “Don’t worry about it brother, I won’t be breaking any hearts while I’m in town.”
He nods, unimpressed, clearly not believing me, but he doesn’t continue badgering me about it. Instead, he turns his attention to Monroe. Pointing a finger out at her, his expression hardens. “And you little girl,” he scolds, but she doesn't flinch at his sharp tone. “Stop sending Candace to take me coffee and my favorite treat .”
His face contorts into disgust at the word treat. She’s completely unaffected by the earful he gives her, which means she must be on the receiving end of it often.
“Whatever, Monty. You need a woman to soften up that Poppa Bear exterior you got going on. Maybe someone to call you Daddy if you’re into that.” With a shrug of her shoulders, she grabs a pastry from the box, shoves it between her teeth, and heads toward the door.
I spit out my coffee as I nearly choke on it, laughing at the scowl on Monty’s face when Monroe said the word Daddy . Though, I immediately stop when his angry glare turns on me.
She smiles at me as she takes a bite of the pastry. Not just any pastry, the only other blueberry scone.
“Brat,” I murmur under my breath as she walks out. Monty deepens his brooding scowl when he overhears me, though he doesn’t scold me, just grunts and walks over to set the coffee in his hand on the island.
“Ahh, so this isn’t the first time Monroe sends your cute little assistant out to tend to your needs, brother?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“Since the day I hired her almost three years ago.”
“She’s real pretty, Monty. You could do worse.” Monty’s glare threatens to burn me alive, but I’m just fucking with him, trying to get a rise out of the broody bastard. “Chill, I’m fucking with you. But what’s the problem? I thought brunettes were your type.”
I know nothing about his recent dating history, which if Monroe’s trying to work her matchmaking magic on him, it’s not a good sign.
Right before he left Vanderbilt to come back home to care for Monroe, Monty was in a serious relationship with a girl named Marissa Shay, whom he’d practically dated since freshman year of high school. Marissa was also born and raised in Crossroads and followed him out to Tennessee when he received a full scholarship to play football for Vanderbilt. Despite them dating for nearly six years, I only met her a handful of times. She never came around the house, because she couldn’t stand being around my parents and I was too young to go anywhere with them when they’d hang out.
Things seemed pretty intense and were moving quickly, but when he told her he’d be moving back home to care for his baby sister, she dumped him. Apparently, the prospect of my brother one day making it to the NFL was what interested her more than actually being there for him when he needed her most.
Once he threw his dream away, there was no reason for her to stay. To make matters worse, and dig the knife even further, she moved on with his best friend.
It fucked him up, and if he didn’t have Monroe relying on him to be the father figure, the parent she never had, who knows how deep he would have fallen.
Monty reaches into a cabinet under the island and takes out a large cardboard box full of floor tile samples. “Candace is a great girl, but not only is she too young for me, she’s my employee. I don’t shit where I eat. I don’t sleep on the job.”
“She can’t be that young?”
“Twenty six I think,” he says, setting a few tile options on the counter.
I laugh at the absurdity. He made her seem like she was a child when she’s only about ten years younger than him. “You act like she is twenty or something.”
“Can we stop talking about this? Candace works for me. There’s no way. Just drop it. You’re starting to sound like Monroe.”
My laugh deepens and so does the glare he’s giving me but I can’t help it. I missed this—missed being around my brother and honestly ticking him off with my stupidity was one of my favorite pastimes growing up. “Monty, if Monroe’s worried about your dating life so much, it must mean something's going wrong.”
He lets out a scoff, pointing his finger at me with a sharp chuckle. “I could ask you the same thing? Tell me, have you admitted to yourself that you’re still in love with Bailey King?”
Asshole. Of course, he had to go there.
The answer is no. Not only have I not admitted to myself that I’m in love with Bailey, it can’t be true. Do I want her? Of course, I’m not a fucking idiot.
The woman is unreal. Gorgeous and sexy, and fuck, her lips are the perfect soft pillows I’d love to rest my dick on, watching the way her lips wrap around my cock as I fuck her mouth. The feeling of her curves under my fingers is incredible and I want nothing more than to grab onto her thick and wide hips while I thrust my cock inside of her and stretch her until she takes all of me.
But love? He’s got to be fucking kidding me.
Do I care about her? Yeah, it’s hard not to when she reminds me so much of the girl I used to know and the friendship we had before I ruined things. However, the woman can’t fucking stand me, and the feeling’s mutual. If anything, I just have to fuck her out of my system and get her to loosen up around me. She probably hasn’t gotten laid by anyone who knows what they’re doing since the last time we were together.
The sudden rage that burns through me at the thought of anyone else coming fucking near her is unreasonably irritating.
Monty laughs at the sudden scowl on my face the longer I think about what he’s said and I'm done with this conversation.
“You know what? Fuck you, Monty.” Trying to change the subject before I turn into a woman and try to figure out the meaning behind my emotions, I pick up one of the tile samples from the counter. It’s the more simple one of the three, a white tile with a gray and light blue design. “Tell me, what the fuck are these for?”