Chapter 2
JUSTICE
Song: Hometown Glory by Adele
The return of the prodigal son was less than enthusiastic
Ileaned against my rented truck and stared up at the old farmhouse, fighting to catalog the complexity of emotions that rolled through me.
Damn, not much had changed.
And yet everything had.
Or maybe not everything so much as me.
“Fuck,” I muttered, running a hand through my freshly cut hair. “That’s far too deep for this time of the evening.”
I’d delayed the inevitable family reunion for as long as possible by working my way from one side of town to the other. I didn’t mind spending money in the small businesses that lined Main Street, but at some point, the businesses had ended, and I’d been forced to face reality.
Fuck.
I moved to push off the truck but movement from across the yard caught my attention. I squinted into the setting light, struck by the flame-colored locks highlighted by the fading sun, and a round dish in one hand. Whoever she was, the woman had the body of Venus—and those legs?
I needed them wrapped around me.
“Justice?”
My filthy thoughts screeched to a halt.
I raised my arm to squint into the light.
“Hope?”
She nodded, stepping into the shadow of the house. “I thought that was you.”
My brain struggled to reconcile the woman before me with the feelings of almost sisterly love I had for her.
“Hope Higgins. I haven’t seen you since….” I trailed off as a grin tugged at my lips.
She waved one hand dismissively. “We don’t have to talk about that.”
The last time I’d seen her had been in some dive bar in a little coastal town where my lead guitarist, Sam, hailed from.
It’d been Halloween, and while most women had been dressed to kill, Hope had chosen a beaver costume—a big brown thing with giant feet, fake claws, and a thick tail.
She’d made me laugh that night—and damn had I needed the distraction.
But then she always had been able to make me smile.
I sobered, remembering the fucker that had attempted to accost her that night. The bastard had deserved more than a warning—but I’d promised to be on my best behavior and had fought off the urge to lay him out.
I crossed my arms and tucked one leg over the other as I leaned against my truck. “I don’t know about that, darlin’,” I drawled slowly, enjoying watching her squirm. “It’s not every day a woman shows me her beaver.”
Even in the dim evening light I could see the red flush creeping from under her primly buttoned cardigan.
I found myself strangely intrigued by the idea of slipping those buttons free just to see how far that blush slipped down her skin.
I shook off the thought. Hope Higgins had always been the good girl next door. Quiet, dutiful, and shy. All through school she’d volunteered for all the shit that people should care about but rarely do—like raising money to save the whales or encouraging people to recycle.
I eyed her, quietly pleased to see she still wore button-up cardigans and her hair in braids.
Though my fingers itched to release her hair from its current braid, which looked far too tight for a woman whose face deserved to be on the cover of magazines. Because Hope Higgins, despite her best efforts to downplay her charms, was a bombshell.
If she’d been anyone else, I might have been tempted to do more than tease her. But this was Hope—the good girl next door. As I’d been told more times than I could count, good girls deserved great guys and I wasn’t anywhere close to being a good guy.
Mentally, I chastised my dick for wanting her.
We’re not even close to being in her league.
“It was a costume.” Hope’s chin jutted out stubbornly. “A lot of people dress as beavers for Halloween.”
“Name one.”
“Faye.”
I shook my head. “Doesn’t count. Faye is a maniac.”
“Hey! She’s my best friend.”
I grinned. “I won’t hold that against you.”
Her gaze narrowed, amusement dancing in their glorious depths. “You’re one to talk. Didn’t some woman burn your clothes the other week?”
I winced. “I will neither confirm nor deny.”
“Hmm, hedging your bets.”
“What can I say, I’m a gambler.” I eyed the pie in her hands. “Speaking of, if I was a betting man, I’d assume that might be for me.”
“Don’t count on it.” She held the pie away. “This is for Asher.”
“Bullshit. Why’d you bring that grump a treat?”
“Your brother is a good guy. Last week he helped Gran to our car after she got tired in the grocery store.”
“He’s a saint. I’ll be sure to nominate him for a medal.”
She snorted, juggling the pie pan from one hand to the other. “You’re a smartass, you know that, right?”
I chuckled, appreciating her sass. The Hope I’d known from years past had been shy and reserved, sweet with a cracking sense of humor. This Hope had all the same traits—but with a confidence and maturity that I found sexy as hell.
Not in her league, remember?
“Justice? That you?”
I stiffened, dread settling like a stone in my stomach. “Hello, Asher.”
The light from the porch bathed my brother in a soft glow. He’d aged since I’d last been home, his brown hair now holding some salt near his temples. His skin would always be tanned—it was the kind of bone-deep color that came from decades of farming under the warm sun.
He looked so much like our dad it hurt to see him.
“The prodigal son returns,” Asher said, his tone dry.
It appeared that unlike the rest of the town, my reception at home would be less than enthusiastic.
But then what did I expect? I hadn’t exactly left under the most auspicious of circumstances.
In fact, if memory served me right, I might have told everyone in my family to make enthusiastic love to themselves as I tossed my gear in my truck and drove off in a fit of egotistical rage.
It had worked out. Being alone had forced me to grow up. I’d worked my ass off to prove my brothers wrong about pursuing a career in music.
Now here I stood, an international rockstar with more money than a man could spend in a lifetime, owning five properties and numerous awards, and adored by fans the world over.
And somehow driving through the gates of the farm had transported me back to the exact maturity level of that angry 20-year-old.
My jaw tightened, my hands curling into fists as we stared each other down.
Hope thrust the pie dish into my hands as she shifted between us, grinning widely at Asher.
“Gran sent me,” she said, walking away from me and up to the porch. “Said I should bring over a pie since you’ll soon have a full house on your hands.”
My gaze dropped to her ass before snapping back up.
She’s like a little sister. Jesus, man, get your shit together.
Asher softened, greeting Hope with the same warmth that she seemed to bring out in everyone she met.
I didn’t know how but within a few sentences she’d broken the ice between me and my brother, smoothing over our rough edges.
She bustled inside the old farmhouse, acting for all the world like she owned it.
“Is Madilyn in?” she asked as she walked down the hall, Asher and me trailing her like lost ducklings.
“No, she’s down at the Pink Peach,” Asher answered, referring to the local hair salon.
Hope nodded, making her way to the kitchen. “Coffee or tea?”
It appeared that she was staying—at least for the moment.
Thank god.
I popped the pie on the old kitchen table and took in the changes in the old house.
Much remained the same, like the battered wood chopping block and height markers that Mom and Dad had etched into the doorway as we grew.
But other things were different—the cabinets had been brightened with a new coat of paint, and the appliances had been updated.
“Nothing for me,” I muttered, taking my place at the ancient wooden table. My fingers automatically wandered across the surface, finding the worn creases and cracks in the wood.
“Coffee, thanks,” Asher muttered, taking his own seat across from me.
Old habits died hard it seemed, as we sat in the same places we’d occupied throughout our growing years.
Hope chattered in the background as she bustled around the kitchen, her voice a pleasant distraction from the emotions rolling through me.
Her ease in the kitchen indicated a familiarity that I wasn’t sure I liked. I eyed my brother, wondering what the relationship between them could be. Were they friends? Former lovers?
My jaw clenched at the thought of Asher with Hope. She deserved a guy who’d show her the world, not some grumpy bastard who needed to be put in his place regularly.
It’s why he and Madilyn worked—she understood him.
“You staying here?” Asher asked when there was a brief lull.
I shrugged. “Maybe just for a night or two, if you can find a space for me.”
He nodded, accepting a mug from Hope. “You can have your old room. The bed’s still in there but Madilyn’s converted it into a guest room.”
Hope slid a cup in front of me.
“I said—”
“Drink,” she ordered, giving me a meaningful look. “Please.”
I swallowed my protest and raised the mug to my lips. The fruity flavor of the hot liquid exploded on my tongue and sent me spiraling. I glanced at Hope who shot me a small smile then ducked her head, hiding her expression behind a wall of hair.
Peach tea had been my mom’s favorite. She’d always loved to make it for us on cool evenings as a reminder that summer would soon come.
The last time I’d tasted it had been after the funeral. Hope had handed me a thermos full of the sweet tea, telling me I deserved to remember the good before the bad.
My chest tightened as I took another sip, savoring the sweet brew.
Hope retrieved a knife to slice thick wedges of pie, sliding them onto plates that I didn’t recognize.
Yet another thing that’s changed.
“So,” Asher said, breaking the silence. “You sticking around for a while?”
I shrugged. “Depends if I can find a house.”
Hope’s eyebrows rose. “A house?”
I nodded, accepting her pie offering. “I need a base while I’m here. The band will be flying in and out to collaborate on our next album, and we need to practice ahead of the next leg of the tour.”
Asher frowned into his coffee, not saying a word.
Well, this is awkward.
Sure, I hadn’t seen my brothers in person for several years, but I’d kept in touch with the occasional text or phone call. I wasn’t a complete ass.
Hope made eyes at me over her mug, jerking her head toward Asher in a not-so-subtle gesture.
Swallowing a grin at her antics, I cleared my throat.
“I thought Beau and Fletch might be here.”
Asher shook his head. “Fletch has a shift and Beau is… god only knows where Beau is.”
I relaxed slightly. “Still giving you trouble, huh?”
My brother blew out a breath, running his hand through his hair. “I’m ready to give up.”
Like you did with me? I wanted to ask but bit my tongue.
“How’s work?” Asher asked Hope. “That woman still giving you trouble?”
She huffed out a small chuckle. “Let me guess, Gran told you?”
“She told Madilyn who told me.”
I frowned as I speared a piece of pie. “Someone’s giving you trouble?”
Hope shook her head. “It’s nothing. Or at least it’s not that big a deal.”
“No?” Asher asked. “Way your gran relayed it, seems like it is.”
Hope dipped her head. “It’ll be fine. Everything will work out.”
“You don’t sound sure,” I said, watching her closely.
“It’s….” Her smile seemed forced. “It is what it is. I can’t change it at the moment, but it will all fix itself soon.”
“You need someone to intervene?” I asked, already feeling my blood pressure rising at the thought of someone fucking with Hope.
Her body language shifted, hunching over and turning away. “No. It’s fine.”
She’d said “fine” far too many times in a row for it to be so, but I accepted her hint to change the subject, making a mental note to ask Asher about it later.
I pointed at the untouched pie on her plate. “Eat your gran’s gift. Everything will taste better.”
A genuine smile graced her lips. “Actually, that’s my recipe.”
“Marry me.”
Her smile froze, her eyes widening before red surged into her cheeks. “No, thank you,” she replied primly. “I don’t think we’d be compatible.”
“That’s true,” Asher said, nursing his coffee. “Justice would ruin a sweet girl like you.”
I leaned back in my chair, trying to keep the bitterness out of my tone. “You think? Maybe Hope wouldn’t mind a walk on the wild side.”
Asher’s jaw clenched—the expression far too familiar. “Look here, Justice. You’ve been gone a long time and I won’t have you—“
Abruptly Hope pushed up from the table, coughing and spluttering as she did so. “I have to—that is—I mean—I need to—Gran will be expecting—”
Before I could apologize for the sibling minefield I’d lobbed her into, she’d grabbed her bag and had run for the door, disappearing into the evening light.
“Fuck,” I muttered, pushing up from my seat, already regretting my actions.
Asher sighed. “We were both asses. You gonna chase after her?”
“I’m not a dick, Asher. Someone has to make sure she gets home okay.”
His gaze pierced mine, some unidentifiable emotion crossed his face before I could categorize it. “It’s a five-minute walk on a well-used path.”
I shot him a glare over my shoulder. “If Hope were Madilyn, would you—”
He waved me off. “Fine. But at least apologize to her while you’re at it. From the both of us. She didn’t need to be brought into our shit.”
Our shit? You’re the one who started it.
You’d have thought nearly a decade away would have broken me of the near-compulsive need I had to prove my brother wrong.
A maddening itch started on the back of my neck. “I know. I’ll make it right.”
“Good.” Asher turned back to his pie. “I’ll try to hide your slice from Beau but no promises. The boy has a sixth sense when it comes to free food.”