Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Nash
I halt in my tracks as I reach the front steps of my brother’s house, a beautiful three-bedroom, ranch-style home on forty acres of land complete with light oak wood shutters against white painted shiplap and a dark grey shingled roof. It’s beautiful, nothing either of my brothers or I ever imagined we’d be capable of calling home. But now, I was the only one on the outs.
My three brothers all had successful careers, and they worked extremely hard for the beautiful homes they deserved. Although I’d been successful in deepening my pockets, I didn’t have a place to call home. My home was on the open road, riding my bike out in the wilderness with no place to go, no one to report to. No expectations.
That’s the way I preferred it.
Monty had poured his heart and soul into the home he shared with our little sister Monroe, using his background in architecture and construction to completely remodel the place himself. After Delia left, he took it upon himself to raise Monroe, sacrificing his own happiness and giving her everything she ever wanted. He was on his way to being one of the best quarterbacks the NFL had ever seen, but his dream became nothing more than that when he no longer was a son and brother and was forced to become a father figure. He was only eight years older than Monroe, yet he took on the role of father in a heartbeat. Franklin couldn’t stand to look at her given how much she resembled our mother, so the moment Monty had enough money to get his own place, he’d taken Monroe with him.
I think it’s one reason the town never turned on him. He was their golden boy. Being the best at what he did for Crossroads High and helped them win three of their four consecutive championships, Monty was everything he could have hoped for. It was a colossal hit on the town when he pulled out of the draft in order to care for our sister, but they seemed to admire him more for the sacrifices he’d made.
Now, Monroe and he shared the beautiful house that doubled as her art studio. My little sister had an incredible gift. She was an interior designer. More than that, the way she effortlessly styled the homes Monty built was incredible. It had been eight years since I’d seen her. For two years she tried daily to contact me, but after no success, she gave up. That had turned into a text every few months to prove I was alive or to wish her a happy birthday. I’d only ever answered her call once, when Beau had freaked everyone out after he hadn’t heard from me in months. I’d only answered to assure her I wasn’t dead, but being around Monroe, even hearing her voice, reminded me too much of Bailey and the life I left behind.
Monroe and Bailey hadn’t been friends before I’d left, though I heard that had changed and they were now inseparable. Being the same age, everything about Monroe brought back memories of being around Bailey. From their mutual friends to similar interests, it was less painful for me to completely ignore her, though I know I’d burned bridges with my sister for good. There’s no way she’d be remotely happy to see me.
As kids, everyone used to tell us we were the most alike. Not only did we resemble one another with our dark hair and deep blue eyes, but our personalities were so similar. We shared a birthday, exactly two years apart, and that said a lot about who we were. It also explained why it was her I’d completely stayed away from. I knew if I spoke to her, if she begged me, I’d come back. I would come back to my little sister because she was one of the few people who truly mattered to me.
Which essentially is why it’s her I’d hurt the most. It’s also why I also knew I’d broken Bailey with my departure.
Because that’s the kind of man I was. I broke the people I loved and cared for. I destroyed those who mattered most. Even as a kid, I broke my favorite toys simply from how much I used them.
Bailey King was a perfect example of how I destroyed one of my favorite things.
“Are you just going to stand out there, or are you coming in?” my brother Monty asks, as he opens the front door and steps out onto his porch.
It’s nearly midnight, the sky swallowing us in a blanket of darkness except for the sliver of moon that illuminates my brother’s features. Monty looks exactly the same as he had a decade ago. His dark brown hair is long and wavy, sitting just under his chin and slightly curling at the ends, while his beard is short yet full. Emerald green eyes meticulously watch me, yet there’s a sharp line forming between them as he scowls at me that wasn't there before and is the only tell of his thirty-six years.
“It’s good to see you too, Monty,” I tell him, though I don’t make a move to join him. Instead, I stand frozen in place, looking behind him for her. “Is she?”
“She’s asleep. Would have told you to come tomorrow if I didn’t think you’d end up chickening out and leaving again. But she’s a light sleeper so, if you’re planning to still be a dick and avoid her, then we better get started.”
I follow him into the house and admire the build even more though the house is completely dark. There's a dim light on in the kitchen, which is where Monty leads me. He opens the refrigerator carefully, trying not to make a sound, and grabs two beers, handing me one as he twists open his own.
“Have to say, I didn’t think you’d actually come.”
Twisting open the beer in my hand, I take a long swig before looking back at him. The last ten years have been hard on my oldest brother, but he’s kept himself together. He looks good, but there’s something missing—an emptiness in his gaze as he watches me, not giving away any sort of hint as to what he's feeling. Though, I think that’s just the Bishop way. It’s in our genetics.
“Then why’d you call?” I ask, not in the mood for small talk or any inconsequential conversation about the past.
“Because I needed to. Trust me, you were the last person I wanted to bother with my troubles, but I had no other choice.”
I finish the rest of the beer in another gulp, and set it down on the kitchen island. The kitchen is large and well decorated, clearly has a woman’s touch. Sleek sage green cabinetry with a tan and ivory marbled countertop and matching island, and state-of-the-art appliances nestled on the counters. There’s no way Monty had any input in the design of this space.
“Geez, thanks for the warm welcome,” I joke, but he doesn’t find it remotely funny.
“Thanks for shutting me out for the last decade, Nash.”
The bite in his tone makes me nearly cower in shame, but I don’t owe him or anyone else an explanation or apology for choosing to follow my fate. “Don’t take it personal, Monty. I shut everyone out. You're not special.” I give him a wink I know only pisses him off more. This is probably not the best way to try to repair whatever relationship with my brother I have left, but I never said I was good at it.
“Look, if this is the way our conversation is going to go, then I’ll save us both the trouble and just ask you to get the hell out of town, Nash. If you aren’t willing to make an effort and not be such a fucking asshole, then why did you even come back?”
“Because you called, Monty. You never had, and if you could shove your pride to the side and make the call to let me know you needed help, then I was going to be here. Regardless of the past ten years, you’re my brother. It’s not your fault the dead beat asshole ruined our home. He doesn't get to just die and leave us in shambles, picking up the remnants of the mess he made. We deserve the money that property was once worth.” I pause, running my fingers through my still wet hair from the rain storm I walked through to get here. “We’re family.”
A sharp gasp rumbles behind me, forcing me to turn abruptly and come face-to-face with a pair of piercing blue eyes intent on telepathically making me burst into flames. I’ll admit the ire in them nearly succeeds.
“You don’t get to throw that word around like it means something.” Monroe stands in the darkness, visibly trembling with anger as she glares daggers in my direction. Her chest heaves, shoulders rise and hands fist at her sides as she tries her hardest to fake composure.
My little sister always had a short fuse and temper and apparently not much has changed.
Dressed in a matching set of fall inspired pajamas with little pumpkins and coffee cups, she watches me carefully, her dark hair a tattered mess on her head from her pillow. She looks so grown up yet still like the young girl she was when I left.
Delicate black ink artfully decorates her pale skin and even in the darkness, I can tell the intricate designs were masterfully crafted by the girl herself.
“Monroe,” I say, but she interrupts me as she steps toward me, closing the distance between us. Her hand falls on my chest, her finger digging into my leather jacket.
“Don’t you dare apologize, Nash. I won’t stand to hear whatever excuse you had the last decade to come up with if you ever saw me again.”
A soft, nervous chuckle leaves my lips as I place my hand on hers. Our hands fist together and for a second, before I ruin the moment, her gaze softens, bringing back the teenage girl she was when I last saw her.
“Don’t worry, Izzy,” I say, calling her by the nickname I gave her when I couldn’t correctly say her name. Her middle name is Isobel, and at two years old I couldn’t pronounce the name Monroe, so I started calling her Izzy and had ever since. “I have no intention of apologizing. It is what it is.”
Monroe spins and rushes out of the room. I can’t tell where she runs off to until moments later, I hear her heaving in the distance.
Monty clears his throat, warning me to tone down the asshole. He won’t stand for me to speak to her in this way. I may be an asshole to him and everyone else, but Monroe deserves better.
“Did she just puke at the mere sight of me?”
His lips turn up at the edges, amusement clear in his expression. “Nah, I think she’s coming down with something. I heard her in the bathroom last night and again this morning. She’s been helping at the bar the past few nights but didn’t go in yesterday or today.”
That last thing surprises me. “At Bailey King’s bar?”
Monty nods, not at all surprised I know about it. I have less than an hour back in Crossroads, but word around here travels fast. Just like it's not shocking he heard I was coming before I arrived, news about Bailey hitting my ears is easy to believe.
“Yeah, the bar she opened up with Jameson. It was originally supposed to be Bailey and Monroe who had invested and opened the bar, but suddenly Monroe backed out. Jameson bought out her share and stepped in to take over. Monroe mentioned wanting to focus full-time on her interior design business and it just wasn’t the best investment for her at the time.”
That was interesting. The Bishops and Kings were not meant to fraternize and here they were going into business together. It looks like times have changed. “How’d Mayor Bishop feel about that?” I ask, referring to Bailey's father, who, after all this time, was still mayor of Crossroads.
“They accepted Monroe,” he says, reaching for another beer. This time he didn't offer me one. “Not at first, and definitely not after the girls came back from school one weekend, and Bailey had just as many tattoos as Monroe did. They called her a bad example and swore she’d coerced Bailey into ruining herself, but eventually they came around. Monroe, for some odd reason, seems to care a lot about what the Kings think of her.”
“Monroe? Our sister Monroe? The one who gives zero fucks about anyone’s opinion of her?”
“Yeah, it must have something to do with the Kings being the exemplary parents she never had. After you left, things got pretty bad around here before they got better. She found comfort in Bailey and Billie Cole.” Guilt stabs me in the chest hearing how much my going away affected Monroe. Of course, it brought her and Bailey together. They were both grieving my absence.
I nod, unsure of what else to say. I didn’t come here to hear how shitty things were while I was gone. They weren’t much better for us when I was here, which is why shortly after I left, Monty and Monroe moved out, and both Beau and Theo left Crossroads. They’ve at least returned for holidays, but I couldn’t get myself to come back. Not after what I’d done to Bailey.
“Look, Nash. It's not going to be easy, but I know Monroe will come around. You just have to give her time.”
“I’m not here to stay, Monty. I came back to help you do whatever we need to sell the ranch and get the bastard's affairs in order. But I’m leaving as soon as that’s done.”
“You say that now, Nash. But Crossroads has a way of making you see what you need. There’s something here for you. Something you ran from all that time ago, something that terrifies you, that’s kept you away. But time heals mistakes. You’ll find what you didn’t come looking for.”
His wise words make my chest ache because I know there’s some twisted truth to them. There’s no way he knows the extent of why I left. Maybe about my argument with Jase, but definitely not about the ultimatum I got from Bismarck King.
All I’d told Monty when I left was that my time here had run its course. That Crossroads was a poison that ran through me and was threatening to take me down the longer I stayed. And once again, I felt that poison seeping into me just hours after I set foot on the wretched soil. Crossroads had ruined everything good about my life and I’d ruined everything good in her to spite it.
There was no coming back unscathed.
“That’s the problem, Monty. There’s nothing left for me to find.”