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“Your perfect cover model?” Nash asked.
“She’s not perfect, but since the shoot is this week, she’ll have to do.”
“Where did you find her?”
“Last night at the ball. She helped me come down from the Huckabees’ brownies.”
Nash didn’t want to be reminded of the ball. Or how beautiful Eden looked in the Juliet gown. Or the fear in her eyes when she’d looked at him. He squinted up at the sun, hoping to burn the image from his retinas. “Please don’t tell me that you’re going to start that again,” he said.
“I’m not kidding. I was stoned to the bone last night just like I was the night I had dinner at their house. I’m telling you that those old folks are cooking up some magic in those brownies.”
Nash tugged his John Deere hat lower on his forehead. “And I think you’ve spent too much time sketching and not enough time in the real world. The Huckabees are a little unconventional, but they aren’t slipping drugs into their brownies.”
“Then explain why Eden was so freaked out last night.” Grayson stopped drawing and looked at Nash. “Or maybe she wasn’t upset about the brownies as much as something else. What happened between you two to make you leave early?”
The end happened. That’s what happened. Whatever he and Eden had was over the minute she found out about Melissa. She might act like it didn’t matter—like she thought it was just a teenage mistake—but he knew better. A man being accused of rape wasn’t something a woman could forget.
“Eden and I aren’t a couple, Gray. We’ve never been a couple.”
“Bullshit. You’ve had more mood swings in the last month than our pregnant sister-in-law. Admit it, Nash. You like Eden.”
Yes, he liked her. More than liked her. But that made no difference now. And to ensure that there would be no more matchmaking attempts from his brother, he threw Eden under the bus.
“It doesn’t matter if I like her. She’s a prostitute.”
Grayson dropped his pencil. “What?”
“You heard me.” He reeled in his line. “I hired her one night.”
Grayson released his breath. “Shit. I never would’ve guessed that. But knowing her crazy grandparents, I guess it’s not surprising. What is surprising, is you hiring her. Why would you do that, Nash?”
He could’ve continued the lie—continued to try to make his brothers think that he was a carefree guy who loved life. But he was tired of the ruse. Tired of being someone he wasn’t.
Pulling back the fishing pole, he recast. Then once he’d adjusted the line, he told the truth. “Because your big brother is one screwed-up sonofabitch.”
There was a long pause before Grayson spoke. “Because of Melissa? But it’s been almost ten years now, Nash.”
Nash knew exactly how long it had been. Every day was checked off in his brain like a prisoner drawing chalk tally marks on the wall of his cell. Nash felt like a prisoner. A prisoner in a body that had gone too long without the taste of a woman’s mouth and the ecstasy of being buried deep inside her. And yet all the days, months, and years of torturous abstinence still weren’t enough to assuage the pain he carried in his heart. Not just pain about Melissa’s suicide, but pain about every mistake he’d ever made. Including hiring Eden.
He stared at the horizon where light sky met dark ocean, and tried to figure out where the pain had all started. Mom. All roads seemed to lead back to his mother.
“I should’ve told her that I loved her.” He spoke barely above a whisper. “That night when Dad woke me up, I should’ve told Mom that I loved her. Instead, I acted like a spoiled, rotten little punk—like she was doing something to me by dying. And my anger didn’t stop with Mom. I gave Deacon a hard time and ridiculed Dad for being such a womanizer—even when I’m just like him. Or maybe not just like him. At least he’s nice to women. I treat women like shit.” He snorted with disgust. “And the one nice thing I do for a girl goes to hell in a handcart.” He tossed down his fishing rod and pulled off his hat, running his hand through his hair. “I’m fuckin’ pathetic.”
He didn’t expect Grayson to say anything. His little brother had never been much of a talker. And what was there to say? So they just sat there in silence while the wind picked up and the boat rocked in the waves. Finally, Nash felt something brush his arm, and he looked down to see Grayson’s sketchpad. He took it and stared at the drawing of the man slouched in a leather seat with a fishing pole in his hands and a John Deere hat pulled low on his head. He looked like an ordinary man just enjoying a day of fishing. There was no sign of the tortured soul within.
“Did you realize that you were the one who taught me to fish?” Grayson said. “Deke was too busy making sure the bills got paid. And Dad… well, you know Dad. So you were the one who took me out and showed me how to bait a hook, cast, and patiently wait for the first bite. And not only did you teach me to fish, but you packed my lunch every day for school. You made sure my shoelaces were tied, and my coat zipped when the weather was cold. You kicked Vince Hawthorn’s ass when he stole my Halloween candy. And you gave me the sex talk before my first date—although, at fourteen, I wasn’t sure what to do with that gross of condoms you gave me.”
Nash swallowed hard and forced a laugh. “Because you never did look at women as sex objects as much as creative inspiration for your paintings.”
“Paintings that wouldn’t be half as good if you hadn’t talked Deacon into letting me go to art school.”
Nash cleared the lump in his throat. “Yeah, well, that was purely selfish. I wanted to get rid of my annoying little brother.”
Grayson laughed. “I knew there was a reason.” He sobered. “Look, I can’t change how you see yourself. We all paint our own self-portraits… whether they’re accurate or not.” He nodded at the drawing. “But this is how I see you. A good man who has been a great brother. I love you, Nash.”
It was hard to answer that, especially when the lump in Nash’s throat had gotten as big as an oyster shell. It was a relief when the zing of released fishing line had them both glancing down at his rod. He dropped the sketchpad and made a diving grab before the fishing pole sailed over the edge of the boat. Another zing had Grayson diving for his rod. Soon they were both fighting with their catch.
But once they had reeled in the yellow and gray perch and had them on ice in the cooler, Nash glanced over at Grayson. “You know what we were talking about earlier? Well, ditto, baby brother.”
