5. Black sheep of the family
Black sheep of the family
The gathering was in full swing by the time Briar’s black SUV turned onto the idyllic residential street in Oceanside, California, that Colby grew up on.
There were cars up and down the block on either side of the street in front of the modern three-story concrete block of a house his parents built when he was six.
Colby never liked it. Every time he looked at it, he wanted to wince.
It was too angular and too barren for a plot of land peppered with palm trees and lush plants, and the ocean hanging behind it in the distance.
It didn’t fit. It was also probably the reason Colby’s own dreams involved something old, simple, and one-level.
“This place hasn’t changed a lick,” Briar mused as she parked two houses away at the curb and got out with Colby. “If I break out in hives, you’re gonna have to spring for Benadryl.”
“No worries,” Colby replied. Briar’s mom had moved them to Oceanside in her sophomore year of high school, after marrying a man Briar describes as a “clusterfuck of a human being.” She and Colby became fast friends, and the rest is history. “Jesus, did she invite the entire town?”
“Knowing your mom, yes.” Briar moved closer to him as they stepped off the sidewalk onto the stone path that led to the door. “Am I your date or your friend?”
“They know we aren’t dating,” Colby said, but he was grateful for the offer. “And unlike Atlas, I’m not faking it to impress them.”
“You could. If it would make it easier.” Colby just shook his head and reached for the door handle.
It felt weird just opening it, but he did. Because that’s what children did when they went back to the house, they used to call home, right? Briar squeezed his bicep until he paused and looked at her. “Code word is sweet potato.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I hate sweet potatoes.”
“I know. So, say it if you want me to come up with an excuse to leave,” Briar told him, and then she stepped around him and into the house.
It looked like it always had, at least downstairs.
It was clean and bright with gleaming floors, white walls, and furniture.
There were people milling about the living room, but most were beyond it, through the wide-open glass doors leading to the backyard.
Briar shot him a comforting smile and waved him toward the yard.
He didn’t recognize anyone in the living room.
Most were people about the same age as his oldest brother Atlas, who was twenty-seven.
Brodie was twenty-six. Colby was twenty-five, and Freya would have been twenty-three.
He didn’t bother peeking into the kitchen, which was down the hall to the left, because his mother wouldn’t be in there, the catering staff would be.
He made his way into the backyard, Briar by his side.
The first person to notice him was Brodie.
They locked eyes, and Brodie waved, but Colby pretended he didn’t see him, turned the other way casually, and pulled his sunglasses from his hair and put them over his eyes.
Briar smiled. “He knows you saw him.”
“Whatever.”
But then he spotted his dad. He was standing on the other side of the pool.
Andy Keaton was wearing a crisp baby blue polo with a cream blazer on top and cream pants.
On the lapel of his blazer was a tiny, ugly pin with the professional baseball league logo—because God forbid anyone forget he pitched professionally for a season and a half.
He was tan and fit and holding a beer in a fancy glass.
Colby purposely only drank beer straight out of the bottle because his dad never did.
Andy must have felt Colby’s stare because he looked over and, even with sunglasses on, he knew he caught Colby’s eye.
His smile dimmed but didn’t slip entirely, and he lifted his glass in Colby’s direction.
Then he went back to talking to the couple he was standing with.
Just like that, even though Colby was his youngest living child and he hadn’t seen him in months. Yep. Just like that.
“Glad I got to see that warm family reunion,” Briar murmured and squeezed his bicep again.
“Hey!”
Fuck. Brodie. Colby turned to face him. Brodie and Colby had been thicker than thieves when they were kids.
Before they turned sixteen, Colby would have called Brodie his best friend.
Now Brodie stared at Colby with a friendly smile, but a needy expression.
He was desperate to make the distance between them go away.
Colby knew it. He emailed Colby every few weeks since he didn’t have his phone number.
Spoiler alert: Colby was excellent at ignoring the emails.
“Brodie. How have you been doing?” Briar asked, stepping in for Colby, which was one of the million reasons he invited her.
“You know… fine.” Brodie smiled at her but turned to Colby immediately. “How are you, Colb? What happened to your forehead?”
“My van got crushed by a tree when I was in it,” Colby replied, his tone flat. “Where’s Atlas? Isn’t this his big day?”
“It’s always Mom’s big day, you know that.” That got Colby to look at Brodie. Up close like this, he looked different than the last time Colby had seen him.
Brodie seemed… tired. He looked old, too. Like his new job as a sports agent was already wearing him down. He’d only been doing it a year. Colby wasn’t even sure he had any clients other than Atlas, which might be why he was so drained. Oh well, Colby could not care less.
“Are you okay? Is the van okay?” Brodie wanted to know… or at least he was doing a good job of pretending to care.
“Van is TBD. Waiting to hear about insurance. I’ll live,” Colby muttered. “I’d ask how you are, but if I wanted to know, I’d read the emails or answer the calls.”
“Ouch.” Brodie sighed. “Fuck, Colb. I didn’t do it.”
“No, you just didn’t have my back when he did it.” Colby looked at Brodie again. “If you think there’re no repercussions for being complicit, well, now you know there are. Enjoy the party, Brodie.”
Colby walked toward the bar set up in the corner.
Briar stayed with Brodie, probably to talk some sense into him.
She was Team Colby on the whole Keaton boys debacle, and she knew every gritty detail.
He had to dodge cocktail waitresses with trays full of wine and beer, and guests holding plates of appetizers, but he managed.
“A beer, please. Corona. In a bottle. Lemon slice instead of lime.”
“We are serving beer in glasses,” the bartender replied.
“Give him a bottle, please. He’s my most high-maintenance child.” Bonnie Keaton walked up to Colby after shooting a smile at the bartender and wrapped her son in a hug. “Glad you came, Colby.”
He closed his eyes briefly and let himself enjoy the warmth of her embrace, which used to be so reassuring.
Bonnie and her mother/his grandmother Val, were the only two people in Colby’s family he felt completely comfortable with.
Before the incident. Now he didn’t feel right around any of them, which is why he never visited.
And the feeling had to be mutual because no one seemed to miss him.
“Where is the man of the hour?” Colby wanted to know.
Bonnie waved a manicured hand, her giant diamond ring glinting in the sun. “Who knows? Probably at the beach or the putting green.”
“Putting green?”
Bonnie blinked as if she were the one confused.
She was wearing very thick mascara, or else she’d had her lashes done.
Colby had no idea, but he did know he got his fair genes from his father.
His mother was of Mexican descent, and her lashes were naturally dark.
But not that dark and not that thick. “Your father had a simulator put in. One of those computer things where you swing and there’s a screen with a fake green and…
well, I’m sure you get the gist. You’re the most tech-savvy of the lot of us. ”
“Where’s the simulator?” I ask, then add, “And since when does Dad play golf?”
“He ditched tennis for golf,” Bonnie sighed and folded her arms over her cotton sundress.
It was a low-cut pink thing, and short. Not her normal style.
Bonnie usually wore calf-length dresses and little cardigans, even in the summer.
The sleeves just got shorter if it was hot out.
She looked fine but different. “Apparently, all the ex-pro athletes play golf nowadays. He goes out three or four times a week with some retired hockey players and a guy who used to be a first baseman for the Dodgers. They all live in San Diego, of course, because your dad is still the only retired athlete in Oceanside… and he likes it that way.”
She whispered that last part with a roll of her eyes. Andy Keaton was an attention whore, and everyone knew it, even Andy. They used to joke about it with him when they all lived under one roof. Well, before the incident. After the incident, no one did much joking. At least not with Colby around.
“I’m going to go find Atlas,” Colby told her, and she reached out and squeezed his bicep, but her eyes studied the cut on Colby’s head.
Hunter and Colby both agreed it probably needed stitches, but the butterfly Band-Aid Hunter put on it was holding well.
“And before you ask, my head is fine. I’ll be back. ”
The bartender finally handed Colby his bottle of Corona with a lemon wedge, which he must have gone inside to get from the kitchen.
Colby thanked him and smiled at his mom.
She smiled back. Neither was natural. Briar was now holding a glass of pink wine by the buffet table.
She grabbed a toothpick with something that looked like cheese and popped it into her mouth.
Colby made his way to her because he suddenly realized he’d forgotten to get an answer about where the golf simulator was located.