6. Hux
6
HUX
“It’s sundown somewhere, and she’s just waitin’ on me to find her.”
The vision is clear in my mind. Always has been. Beautiful girl, standing there, wrapped in the glow of the setting sun, her long hair blowing in the breeze, looking for the same thing I am. What it is about this vision, I don’t know. But it’s taken ahold of my insides, holding my heart hostage. I’ll know her when I see her.
“That doesn’t make any sense, Huxley,” Mrs. Chamberlain, my former math teacher and one of the town’s busybodies, chides. Standing in the middle of a crowd of people at Reel Madness, she doesn’t seem to care who is within earshot of her judgment. “Didn’t make sense when you were a teenager, makes even less sense now.”
I squint at her, not giving a single shit if it makes any sense to her. It makes sense to me. That’s what fucking matters.
“All I’m sayin’ is,” she continues, as if she doesn’t see my scowl. I know she does, same as I know she’s ignoring it. Has been for more than two decades. “Now that Dolly is single again, maybe you could consider retiring your tomcatting and become a one-woman kind of man. Finally see what the rest of this town has seen since y’all were little.”
I manage to hold back rolling my eyes. Although just barely.
“We’re friends. That’s all.”
End. Of. Story.
Mrs. Chamberlain should know; she played a major role in our pact.
“Huxley, there is no way that your mama?—”
Oh no, she is not dragging Miss Belle into this. I don’t care what she thinks—my mama stays out of it.
“Mrs. Chamberlain, thank you for your concern. I need to get back to the food tent—make sure the generator’s running. Would hate for the food to go bad.”
With a nod of my head, I push past her, not waiting on a response. There are plenty of other people here today for her to gossip with or harass about how they aren’t living their lives right. I do not need to be the target du jour. Nor does Dolly.
Especially at o’dark-thirty before we let everyone loose for a day of fishing.
“One-woman kind of man, Huxley,” she calls after me. “Just consider it!”
I’ve always been a one-woman man…just not in the way you think…
I shake my head, bobbing and weaving through the crowd gathered in the parking lot of Silver Lake, excitement filling the air for the day’s event. The first for our town, Reel Madness is set up to help raise money for Hayes Cares, the charitable arm of the company that our sister Willa oversees, and baby brother Ewan, who owns The Booby Trap, the local bait and tackle shop, has clearly done an excellent job at not only getting the word out locally, but lining up a number of key sponsors for the event. The parking lot is full of tents, trucks, boats, and people. It’s going to be a good day.
“Safety first!” Jace yells off in the distance, his distinct voice carrying through the still early morning air naturally, reminding all of us of his personal motto. The family wild card—and the romantic of the group—it can be tough to reconcile his laid-back approach to life with his passion for personal safety, the branch of the business he oversees. But then he starts talking about it, and you can’t get him to shut up.
“What’s he hollering about?” I ask Anton, grabbing one of the boxes of Hayes peanuts he has stacked in his arms.
“Finishing up the volunteer meeting, I think. What’d Mrs. Chamberlain want?”
I roll my eyes, this time not bothering to hide my annoyance. “I need to quit my tomcatting around.”
Anton burst out laughing, causing him to have to shift the box in his arms. “She just called you a manwhore.”
I side-eye him. He’s right; she did. But I’m not going to dignify it with a response. My choices in short-term female company are mine and mine alone. Because like I said, I am a one-woman man.
And that one woman is Dolly McLain.
Has been since we were nine years old. Will always be.
Every kid in the third grade at Hickory Hills Primary was given a role in the class play, whether we wanted one or not. Despite the fact that they did ask us for our preferences on what kind of role we would prefer, they apparently didn’t pay a lick of attention to it. That’s the only reason I can figure—twenty-some years later—how I got cast as Peter fucking Pan when I told them I wanted to be a tree. Or part of the pirate ship. Or, at absolute most, the crocodile, so that I could bite Sonny Rourke who was already bragging about how he was guaranteed the role of Captain Hook. I would have bitten hard too.
Probably why I was immediately ruled out there.
But when the cast list was posted and my name was listed as the lead—right next to Sonny Rourke as Captain Hook—I was less than pleased. At least until I saw that little Miss Dolly McLain was cast as Wendy. As the great-granddaughter of the town matriarch, everyone knew the pretty blonde. And I was sure that I could annoy her enough that she would insist I be recast and I would end up as a tree.
What I didn’t account for was the pretty little blonde with sparkling blue eyes having a mischievous side that was going to rival mine. That my untamed soul would find itself a partner in crime.
I made a promise to her then that no matter what, I’d always be by her side. Always be her best friend. A promise I have every intention of keeping.
“Where are these going?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Wherever your girl wants them,” he answers. Your girl . He says it partially to get a rise out of me, because that’s who Anton is, the instigator, but also because he understands the power of our friendship. That Dolly loves our family and takes part in our events as part of the family because of our bond. “She asked me to bring the snack-size bags of peanuts. So I did.”
I nod, carefully leading the way to the food tent. The early morning sky is still dark, the only light from the massive LED lamps my brothers and I set up along the walkway this week in preparation for the event. We won’t see the sun for another hour or so, and everyone will be out on the lake by then, bellies full of whatever Dolly is serving for breakfast, bobbers in the water waiting on the first tug.
The smell of Dolly’s cinnamon rolls hits my nostrils as we close in, making my tummy grumble and my mouth water. Everything Dolly makes is fantastic, but those cinnamon rolls are the kind of things wars are started over.
“Fresh nuts?” Anton says, sidling up to Dolly and giving her a wink.
Not skipping a beat, she hip checks him, pushing him out of the way.
“There is nothing fresh about your nuts, Anton. Not the ones in those boxes or the ones in your pants,” she quips.
I bite back a laugh, wishing I had thought that one up myself.
“Ha, funny,” he replies, turning to me. “And laugh all you want. Not all of us can be the town tomcat .”
Fucker…
Dolly throws me a confused look over her shoulder, silently asking me what the hell he’s talking about, but I shake my head, answering her unspoken question with my own telepathic answer of ignore him . After this many years of friendship, we have our own language.
“I will, however, just help myself to one of?—”
“No!”
Dolly slaps Anton’s hand as he reaches for a cinnamon roll, as if he were a cat that hopped up on the counter he didn’t belong on.
“Are you telling me that I don’t get one?”
Turning to face him, my sassy little blonde cocks her hip out, firmly planting one hand on it, pointing the other straight at him.
“Anton Wright Hayes, if you for one second think that I didn’t already account for y’all…” The brother right above me in line has the good sense to look sheepish, his cheeks tingeing, noticeable even in the dark. Serves him right. “There is a container over there that has rolls all boxed up and labeled for each one of y’all. In fact, why don’t you just take the box and hand them out.”
“On it.”
Good to see Dolly woke up with her sass intact…
It’s been two weeks since Jeff decided to play runaway groom, and three days since Dolly opted to sleep back at her apartment, rather than my place. I tried hard not to object to her going back—even offered to sleep over so that she didn’t have to be alone—but she insisted that it was time to get back to normal. Or at least “find her new normal.” Whatever the fuck that means.
Despite picking her up in the wee hours this morning, and getting everything loaded into my truck to get over here before the crowds, I haven’t had a chance to check in with her. To see how she’s feeling—really feeling—about her first town event post catastrophe. She shrugged off the question last night, but then left early before I could catch up with her again. Not a good sign. Going off the tension in her shoulders, we’re in much the same place.
“What do you need, Doll?” I ask, coming up behind her, kneading my thumbs into the muscles at the base of her neck. She’s tight, but relaxes slightly under my touch for a brief second before turning to me, her blue eyes dimmed.
“Make yourself useful and help with the coffee? We’ve got a bit of a lull right now, but judging by the check-in line, it’s not gonna last long, and they’re all gonna want coffee.”
“No problem.”
I press my lips gently to her forehead, letting her know I got this. I might be in charge of lumber and paper for a Fortune 500 company, but when you’re the man of honor for a woman who runs the town’s greasy spoon, you also happen to know a thing or two about serving coffee.
“And Hux?” She grabs my wrist as I step away, stopping me and giving it a squeeze. “I know you, like, just fixed it, but the spout on that one dispenser is acting up again.”
For fuck’s sake…
“I’ll get it working again. And then first thing Monday, we’re ordering you a new one and tossing this damn thing.”
“Not in the budget.”
I open my mouth to ask whether or not she got the refund for her honeymoon, but stop myself, not wanting her to know that I was behind that. Too late though. Dolly’s one eyebrow quirks upward, challenging me, and instantly, I know she knows. And now she’s just waiting for me to say something so she can give me shit about it. Not going to happen. I regret nothing.
“Then this one is going to conveniently get damaged beyond use while we’re here today so that Hayes has to replace it,” I say instead, knowing that there isn’t a way for her to argue with that.
A mouthed thank you is the response I get—one I accept graciously. Take the win when you can.
An hour later, all ninety-four teams are out on Silver Lake, a buzz still lingering in the air, even as quiet takes over the docks and parking lot. One last cinnamon roll sits on the table, an orphan left behind in the chaos, begging to find a home. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t calling my name, even though I’ve already had two.
“D’you eat?” I ask, side-eyeing Dolly as she fiddles with the coffee filter.
“I’m fine.”
“Not what I asked.”
“It’s all yours,” she insists.
“Still not what I asked.”
Sighing heavily, she rolls her eyes, grabbing the plate and handing it to me. “We can go halfsies. I should at least try to keep off the weight I lost for the wedding.”
I make a face, not because of the mention of her wedding, but because I hate that she feels that she can’t enjoy food. She was perfect at whatever weight she was before, and she’s perfect now. Actually, she could stand to get a little closer to what she was before. She filled out those jeans better.
Not that I will ever admit that out loud.
Instead, I grab her hand, pulling her into me. Depositing the plate onto the table, I reach under the table and grab the bucket that’s under there, flipping it upside down to use as a seat. I settle myself, then pull Dolly into my lap in one swift move, as if it were an everyday kind of thing. It’s easy, light, and comforting—something I know she feels too, because in an instant, she’s relaxing into my chest, resting her head on my shoulder.
Fuuuuck…
My heart leaps, the weight of her against me feeling better than it has any right to. Few things in this world compare to having her in my arms or curled up next to me. Knowing that she’s safe, and that I’m the one keeping her that way. It’s a fine line though—because she’s not mine to feel that way about.
Don’t get me wrong; she’s my girl. Just not like that .
“How you feelin’?” I ask, running my fingers up and down her back.
“Like I could use a nap. Three thirty wake-up calls suck.”
Nuzzling into my neck, she sighs again, this one just lighter than before, her body relaxing with each new breath.
“Says the girl who owns a diner that opens at six,” I tease.
“There is a big difference between an alarm that goes off at three thirty and five. Ninety whole minutes of sleep.”
I laugh. She has me there.
“Well, here.” I grab the pastry, holding it up for her to take a bite. “Enjoy the spoils of your labor.”
She lifts her head enough to take a large bite, unceremoniously chomping down, like a little kid. Icing sticks to the end of her nose and I have to fight the urge to kiss it off, same as I have since we were kids.
“Do you remember when we put dry ice in all the toilets junior year? And Principal Cade was convinced that there was a toxic substance in the school plumbing?” she asks, a mouth full of cinnamon roll.
I laugh, both at how cute she is talking with her mouth full, but also because how could I forget?
Her laughter as we watched Principal Cade, Mrs. Chamberlain, and all our other teachers run around in a panic was almost as good as the devious smile on her face when she’d come up with the idea the weekend before at the Hayes Industries truck or treat stop. Miss Belle had created a whole scene, including a massive witch’s cauldron that required dry ice to give off the effect of brewing something. One minute we’re handing out candy, the next Dolly’s looking at me like she’s had the next great idea. Which, she had.
Our teachers didn’t think so. But the week’s detention was more than worth it. Especially with her by my side.
“I do. I can still hear Mrs. Marshall telling everyone not to touch anything.” I laugh. “What made you think of that?”
Dolly shakes her head. “Nothing specific. It’s just been a long time since we’ve done anything like that.”
“There someone’s toilet you want to dry ice?” I quirk up a brow, wondering who she could have in mind. I’m down; I’m just not sure it will have the same effect it did back then.
“No!” She laughs, nudging me with her shoulder. “Not what I mean. We’re thirty-five, not seventeen. We’re past stupid pranks.”
“Are we?”
“Yes,” she says emphatically, eyes wide. Although that wild smile makes me think she doesn’t believe herself. “I mean, just gone out and gotten up to no good.”
She’s right. We haven’t. A large part of that is because she’s been with Jeff for the last six years and I’ve respected that. He didn’t exactly love that she had a male best friend. I like to think that he eventually came to terms with it, but deep down, I don’t know that he did. I wouldn’t have been the least surprised if I had been one of the reasons in that letter.
I take that back—I am surprised that our friendship wasn’t mentioned. I would have bet good money when Dolly told me to read it that I was going to find my name and some ridiculous accusation of her cheating with me. But nope.
Instead, he fed her another line of his never-ending bullshit. Bastard. Still, even before she met Jeff, it has been a minute. Dolly took over the restaurant after her grandmother passed and hasn’t looked back. Not that I’m one to talk—I all but live in that damn paper mill some days.
Maybe it’s time we do just that.
“Hi,” a sweet voice cuts through my thoughts. “Oh, I’m sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
We both look up at an older couple staring back at us, beaming. Dolly pops up out of my lap, swiping at her face with the back of her hand, cool air rushing around me, and I miss her instantly. More than I should.
“I didn’t mean to steal you from your husband, dear,” the lady says.
“Oh, we’re not married. Just friends,” Dolly says. I nod from behind her, reminding myself of the same thing.
Just friends.
“If you say so,” she titters. “We were just popping by to see if there were any more of those delicious cinnamon rolls.”
I look down at my hand, the last piece in my fingers. Moving quickly, I shove it in my mouth, trying not to look guilty. No dice. Dolly, the sweet sounding older lady, and the man to her left—presumably her husband—all look at me like I’m the one to blame, my hand literally caught in the cookie jar.
“Nothing to see here, folks,” I mumble.
“Ignore him,” Dolly laughs. “Sorry to say, we’re fresh out. But we’ll have lunch set up soon. I do have some baggies of Hayes peanuts I could offer you, though, in the meantime.”
“No, no. We’ll be fine.” Lowering her head, she whispers something I can’t make out to Dolly, whose cheeks flush as she nods, watching the couple walk away.
“What’d she say?”
“Nothing.”
Curiosity gnaws at me, my interest piqued at what could have made my best friend react that way. But I don’t get the chance to ask.
“Dolly!”
Oh shit…
Pixie Jerald, Hayes’s longtime receptionist and a card-carrying member of the rumor mill, is making a beeline for the tent. If my sister is to believed, Pixie is third in command, whatever that means.
“There you are!” she says, exasperated, throwing her hand down on the table.
“Here I am!”
“I meant to make it to Dolly’s this week, but the week just got away from me.”
“Well, we’re open every day from six to two, so…”
Dolly throws me a look, asking for a rescue, but I don’t know what to say. Pixie has lived in Hickory Hills her whole life. She’s been the maven of the Hayes Industries welcome area for almost thirty years. A guard dog if there ever was one, she doesn’t let anyone who doesn’t work there or have a confirmed appointment past the gate. She also has a way of disarming people—getting them to talk and tell her everything. A combination that is lethal when it comes to a reception area. She knows the comings and goings of everyone in the complex.
I know she knows exactly what Dolly’s hours are.
“I just wanted to let you know how proud I am of you,” Pixie says.
“Proud?” Dolly repeats.
Proud?!
“Yes, proud. I admire your independence. You are not letting this whole left at the altar thing bring you down. You’ve popped right back up and are doing your thing.”
What…the…fuck…
Dolly recoils slightly, as if Pixie has actually physically socked her in the gut rather than just metaphorically. A red flush settles just behind her ears, then spreads to her cheeks as she swallows hard, reflexively trying to fight back the tears.
No, no, no…
I clench my fists, stopping myself from reaching out and pulling her into my arms. Because that wouldn’t solve anything. Even if she needs the comfort.
More than anything though, I want to make the hurt go away. To make Jeff and what he did nothing but a distant memory.
“Well, I need to get back to weigh-in, but I’m glad I caught you,” Pixie says. “I’ll catch y’all at lunch.”
“Doll…” I whisper after Pixie is out of earshot.
“Don’t…please don’t…”
I hear her plea, but I don’t listen. I need to know.
“Has that been going on all week?”
She shakes her head, turning to face me, still trying to blink away the tears. My heart rips in two, hating seeing her like this. Right about now I’d give any one of my major organs if it meant not seeing her cry ever again.
“Not all week. ‘I’m so proud’ is a new power move they must’ve been working on, because that’s twice in less than twenty-four hours. Mrs. Chamberlain pulled a similar move last night. More than anything, it’s been attempts to find out exactly what went down. Confirm rumors, that kind of thing.”
“Any good ones?”
“My favorite is that he’s been working for the mob, and is going into witness protection.”
I choke out a laugh. Oh, that’s rich. Jeff working for the mob. Ha. They would have offed his ass long ago for being annoying.
“You know, Hux…” She sucks in a breath, letting it out slowly. “I love this town. I do. But sometimes…sometimes I hate it.”
I nod, understanding exactly what she’s saying. Sometimes this town is simply too much.
Which means it’s time to get out.
“When was the last time we got up to no good?” I ask her, letting mischief sneak into my voice.
I don’t have a plan. Don’t need one. Not yet. All I need is for her to agree.
“What?”
“You said it. We haven’t done that in a long time. Maybe it’s time.”
“I also said that we’re in our thirties and are long past labeling piglets one, three, and four and letting them loose in the high school. Or your place of employment,” she sasses.
Biting back a laugh, I step into her, grabbing ahold of her hips, trying not to picture what Gus’s face would look like as he ran around the office trying to find piglet number two that didn’t exist. It’s a brilliant idea, but she’s right. We’re too old for that. Maybe.
“As much as I like that idea, that’s not what I was thinking. Do you trust me?”
“You know I do.”
“Good. Then leave it to me. We’re gonna get up to no good.”