Chapter 5
Braxton
The local bar, Benson’s, is quiet, but it’s not surprising considering it’s early evening on a Sunday.
I sit back in my chair, watching as Nick sets two glasses down, sloshing beer over the side of one. His lips quirk as he presses that drink toward me, spreading the growing puddle across the table.
“Thanks,” I say dryly, grabbing the wet glass and tipping it to my mouth, my throat working as I drink half of it in one go. “How was your shift this morning?”
Nick lifts a shoulder. “Not as busy as I expected, honestly. Maybe everyone decided to keep it quiet after a big weekend.”
I laugh. “It’s coming. Just you wait.”
He groans. “No shit. I fucking hate Christmas.” He sips his drink, his eyes settling on me across the table. He slowly lowers the glass down, never blinking, and I scowl.
“Maybe you should take a picture,” I grumble. “What the fuck?”
“Apart from Thanksgiving, I feel like I’ve barely seen you lately,” Nick says. “Where the fuck have you been?”
I shake my head. “Nowhere. Life is just hectic, you know? Gracie and I have plans to go and see the house over on Oak, and with Christmas coming up…” I trail off with a shrug, looking around the bar. Anything to avoid the shrewd look in his eyes.
The problem with someone knowing you for as long as Nick and I have been in each other’s lives is that it’s hard to hide anything from the asshole.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says abruptly, and I drag my attention back to him.
“What’s up?” A buzz of worry surges through me at the look in Nick’s eyes.
“What was going on with you and Paisley on Thanksgiving?”
I jerk back in surprise. That was about the last thing I expected him to ask, especially when he’s aware of the history between his sister and me.
Nick knows that she hasn’t spoken to me once since she left for college four years ago, cutting me out of her life as effectively as sawing off an infected limb.
“What?” I ask. “Nothing happened. Fuck, man. Your face scared the shit out of me. I thought you were about to tell me you were dying or some shit.”
Nick runs a hand through his hair, leaving the strands standing up on end. “Sorry,” he grimaces. “I just…I needed to get this straight with you.”
“Get what straight with me?” I ask, bewildered.
He doesn’t answer straight away, his brown eyes narrowing as he watches me. He leans forward, planting one hand on the table, asking firmly, “Did you and Paisley stay in contact while she was at school?”
“No, and you know that. Thanksgiving was the first time I’ve seen her in four years.
” I was shocked at seeing Paisley—her smile crooked and familiar, the overhead lights shining on the faint dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose.
It was the shock that held me frozen before flinging me back into a past where I had spent an entire movie counting each one of those freckles.
But shock is fleeting, and reality creeps back in, reminding me there’s no stepping back into the past and pretending my life isn’t happening. That I didn’t see—
I slam a steel gate down on the thought just as Nick asks, “You guys never talked on the phone? On social media?”
“If I had, I would’ve told you,” I say impatiently. “And social media? Are you kidding?” He rolls his eyes, conceding that point.
Social media is not something I’ve ever gotten into, hating the idea of putting my whole life out onto the internet. I’ve got a profile on one app, but it was reluctantly made to get my mother off my back. I haven’t logged into it since I made it, and I can’t even remember the password.
“What the hell is going on, Nick? Why are you asking me this?”
He blows out a slow breath, his fingers tight around his beer. “Paisley has been asking about you,” he confesses quietly. “And she was asking about Gracie.”
My stomach drops—the same way it does when you drive too fast over an unexpected hill. “Was she?”
I can’t quite work out how I feel about that. It’s been three days since Thanksgiving and, for the most part, I’ve been able to shove that night—and her—out of my head, locking it down in a box labeled as Do Not Touch and shelving right next to the other one.
“Yeah.” He grunts. “I don’t know what’s going on with Paisley, but she’s sticking around for a while.”
“She was gone for a long time.”
“Yeah.” Nick’s expression is unreadable. “How was Gracie when you took her home? She was pretty quiet by the end of the night.”
My brow pinches, worry coursing through me at the mention of my girlfriend. “She had a headache. Between lunch with my parents and dinner with yours, it was a long day. She’s not used to big family holidays.”
Nick furrows his brow. “Is she okay now?”
I finish off my beer before answering. “Yeah. The florist has been closed the last two days, which I think helped a lot. We had a quiet night last night, just watching movies at her place.” Nick nods, looking away, but I’m not quite ready to let this go.
“Why were you asking me about Paisley? It can’t be just because she was curious about me and Gracie. ”
His mouth tightens at the corners, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. “Does Gracie know about your history with my sister?”
I blink. “No. Why would she? I never dated her or anything.”
I know I told you not to wait for me, but I guess I kind of hoped you would.
Paisley’s voice floats through my head, like she’s calling me a liar. But we didn’t date. I wanted to, and she turned me down flat, telling me her life wasn’t ever going to be in Sterling Creek.
“What are you getting at?” I demand brusquely, and Nick’s expression hardens.
“I’m just making sure the past stays in the past, Brax. There’s a reason you and Paisley never made a go of it, right? And now—”
“Now, I’m with Gracie,” I tell him firmly, and I mean it.
I let go of Paisley and any feelings I had for her a long time ago.
When I saw her the other night, it was like stepping through a time warp, and for a split second, it sent me back to a time where those feelings were crystal clear and sharp.
I remember how everything felt simpler, more exciting, and how Paisley’s eyes would lock with mine across a room—like we had a secret only the two of us knew.
I thought it was love, but I know better now. The crush I had on her back then doesn’t even come close to touching what I feel for Gracie now.
“Right.” Nick’s watching me, eyes assessing.
I don’t look away because I have nothing to hide. “Can’t believe you’re warning me off your sister. Isn’t that what you should’ve done four years ago?”
He slicks his tongue over his front teeth, muted amusement flickering in his eyes. “You thought you were so good at hiding your feelings, but I know you better than anyone.”
The back of my neck prickles, but I laugh it off. “Well, you don’t need to tell me to do anything this time,” I say, and then change the subject to something safer. “Gracie and I are going to see the house on Tuesday.”
Nick’s shoulders drop an inch, his expression relaxing. “No shit? That’s awesome. I know Gracie loves that place.”
“Yeah.” My lips quirk. “She’s been wanting to set down some serious roots in Sterling Creek. Perfect timing, huh?” I look away as I say the words, each one tasting bitter on my tongue, my confidence shaken.
Nick tilts his head to the side. “There is something else I wanted to talk to you about,” he says softly, and I automatically tense, knowing exactly where he’s going with his new round of talking. “You haven’t said much about the callout—”
“Nick.” His name is a burst of sound, cutting him off as I shoot him a dark glare.
He’s not put off. “You need to talk about it, man. What happened isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. Have you even told—”
“Stop, Nick,” I snap. “I didn’t come here to hash that out, and I don’t fucking want to.”
He presses his lips together, holding his hands up in surrender. A moment passes. Another. And then he shifts the conversation to a new first-person shooter game he bought.
When he stands up to get another round of drinks, I call out after him, “Get us a plate of nachos or something.”
He waves at me over his shoulder, and I pull my phone out, checking my messages. There’s nothing new from Gracie, which isn’t a surprise as she’s not a huge texter.
I send her a quick message to let her know I’m thinking of her when the sound of a chair being pulled out from the table brings my head up. I’m expecting to see Nick with our drinks, so it’s surprising to find Paisley sitting down across from me, her smile wide.
“Braxton,” she breathes. “Mom said you and Nick were down here tonight. I thought I’d come join you.”
“Hey, Paisley,” I murmur, brows drawing together. “Did Nick know you were coming? He didn’t say.”
She lets out a light laugh. “No, he’s got no idea. Mom told me what his plans were, and I figured I’d join.” She pauses a beat, brown eyes flaring slightly. “It’s been so long since I’ve been back, and all my friends have either moved away or don’t want to hear from me.”
“Right,” I drawl. “Can’t imagine why that would be.”
She leans forward, her mouth pulling down. “I knew you were mad at me,” she says. “I could tell the other night. You have to understand why I—”
“Paisley,” Nick cuts in as he appears at the table, setting the fresh beers down a little too hard. “What are you doing here?”
She sits back, grinning at her brother, nothing in her expression giving anything away, and I watch her with a puzzled frown.
“I’m having a beer,” Paisley tells her brother pertly, sliding her hand around one of the drinks and dragging it toward her. “Thanks!”
Nick’s glower darkens, his eyes flicking between Paisley and me, before he rolls his eyes, turning and stalking back to the bar. She watches him go, sipping at his beer, and then looks back at me.
“I missed you.”
Unease crawling through me, I raise an eyebrow. “Did you?”
Paisley hums softly, tracing her finger around a circle patch of condensation on the wooden table. “I started planning to come back home a few months ago, and”—she shrugs delicately—“you were on my mind a lot during that process.”
“I don’t understand why,” I say shortly. “We haven’t spoken in four years. You get that’s a long time, right? I don’t know you, Paisley, just like you don’t know me. Not anymore.”
She pushes her lower lip out slightly. “Right. You have a…You have Gracie now. Mom said you’re looking at buying a house.”
Esther talks entirely too much, I think sourly. “We are.”
Paisley looks up at me through her fawny lashes.
“I’m not here to cause problems, Braxton, and I’m not lying about missing you.
I just want…” She sighs. “I would like us to go back to the way it used to be. I don’t have any friends left in town, but we were friends, weren’t we? I’d like to get that back.”
I hesitate, a sense of wrongness settling in my bones.
But she isn’t wrong. There was a time in high school—before I ever confessed my feelings, before she ever cut me out—when we were friends.
It had started out with her always trailing after me and Nick, wanting to join in, but I genuinely enjoyed her company, even if she was a couple of years younger.
It takes several seconds before Paisley finally gives up on getting any kind of answer out of me, changing the subject. “I heard Analise is enjoying college.”
My lips twitch at the mention of my sister, my shoulders easing at the safer subject. “She is,” I confirm. “To hear her tell it, nothing interesting ever happens on campus, but she’s enjoying her classes.”
“She’s got another year, right? And then she’s coming back?” It feels like Paisley is trying to hammer a point home, but I’m not sure what it is.
“Right. She’s got plans of starting up her own editing business,” I murmur, searching for Nick. He’s standing at the bar, talking to someone—a cop he works with.
“I can understand why she wants to come home,” Paisley is saying. “It took me a little longer to learn that lesson, but I’m here now.” She sits back in her seat, her expression open and unexpectant. “Do you think we’ll ever be able to go back to how we were?”
I chew on my inner cheek. “I don’t know, Paisley. We’re strangers now, aren’t we?”
A soft laugh leaves her lips, and she leans forward, resting her hand on my arm. I stare down at where her pale hand rests against my tanned skin. “We could never be strangers, Brax,” Paisley says confidently, “but I’ll be happy with friends.”
I look back at her, her eyes bright with meaning, but I just swallow roughly, asking, “Do you think Nick remembered my nachos?”