Chapter 8
Alyssa
Crap! I hate when I’m running late, but I didn’t sleep for shit last night. Chad kept calling me, which I ignored, but he became so persistent—translation, stalker like—I finally cut my phone off. Then when I tried to go to sleep, my thoughts were racing in a million different directions.
I had a moment of panic that I had forgotten to put in my feed order for the shelter, and then, when I was halfway out of bed to get online to order it, I remembered that I had indeed done it just that morning. Then I thought about my Corolla horse? worried about his poop of all things. He had been having loose stools, which the vet assured me was natural as we were introducing new foods into his diet and weaning him off the Spartina grass. I thought briefly about going back to The Haven to check on him, and then told myself I was being ridiculous.
Finally, when I started to settle down, I started thinking of… Brody. I can’t get him out of my mind. While many things cause my brain to race—Chad, dog kibble and horse poop—Brody is the one thing that plagues me the most.
Maybe it’s because I have a naturally soft heart, and maybe it’s because Brody reminds me of my poor lost souls that come into The Haven. I want to care for him, and let him know he’s safe. But there’s another side of me that does a hell of a lot of thinking about him too, and that’s got nothing to do with my soft heart and everything to do with my hormones.
He’s just absolutely perfect and pushes every single one of my girlie buttons. Where many women would consider Chad to be the epitome of a great catch, with his JFK Jr. good looks, and money oozing out of his pores, there’s something about Brody that is carnally attractive. I’m not sure if it’s his long hair, or the full beard he keeps. I don’t know if it’s the powerful build of his body, or hell, maybe it’s the pained look in his blue eyes, but he is absolutely magnetic to me and the more time I spend around him, the more I’m feeling the physical pull.
And if it was only a matter of me fantasizing about Brody, that would be one thing. I’d be content to let him visit my fantasies where I could imagine him pulling me into his arms, and moving those full lips against mine. But no… that’s not what’s got me twisted.
It’s the wondering.
Wondering what he thinks of me.
I wonder if he’s interested… in anything, with me. Friendship? Sex? A relationship? I know I’m probably stretching on those last two, but Brody is someone that I’m fascinated with, and the fact he wears a cloak of hurt tightly around him makes me want to do something… anything, to make it better.
Here lies the rub.
I’m sort of betting that Brody doesn’t want anyone to help him lift the shroud of his pain. He seems content to immerse himself in it, almost as if he’s continually punishing himself for what he did. Or maybe he’s just so deeply mired within it that it’s become somewhat of a comfort to him.
It’s a mystery that’s driving me f*cking nuts, and I spend more brain cells on trying to solve said mystery than I really can afford to lose right now.
The ringing of my phone brings me back to reality. The reality of having rolled out of bed almost forty-five minutes late, realizing that I was late to breakfast with my two besties, and I’m speeding now down the highway to make up for it.
I see it’s Casey calling me, and I answer with, “I’m almost there. I hope you ordered for me.”
“Of course we did. Food just got put on the table now,” she says.
“Then stay away from my sausage,” I poke at her before I disconnect the phone, laughing to myself. Casey always orders crisp bacon, and then tries to snag one of my sausages.
I walk into The Sand Shark and wave a hand at our waitress, Babs, as I walk over to our normal table where Casey and Gabby are already sitting, shoveling food in their face. Our regular Monday morning breakfast meeting has commenced, even though I’m a bit late.
As I approach the table, I hear Gabby say, “…and drown her in the Atlantic Ocean.”
“Drown who in the Atlantic ocean?” I ask as I immediately take in the fact that my plate is light one sausage. I reach over and steal a piece of bacon from Casey, who had the temerity to look affronted by my actions. I just take a bite and give her a brilliant smile.
“Stacy Hutchens,” Gabby says as she takes a bite of toast and manages to grimace at the same time. Since I know the food at The Sand Shark is impeccable, I assume she’s grimacing at Stacy Hutchens.
“That name’s familiar… why do I feel like I should know who that is?” I ask, breaking my egg yolk with a piece of my toast.
“It’s Brody’s ex-girlfriend,” Casey says with her nose crinkled up in distaste. “In fact, I think we should just go ahead and drown her. I’m in if you want, Gabby.”
Awareness filters through me as recognition of the name dawns. “Oh… she’s who Brody was dating when…” My words trail off because I hate to even mention the car accident that sent Brody away to prison.
Gabby nods vigorously. “Yeah, she was in the car with him.”
The memories become clearer. I remember Brody had been seeing her about a year before the wreck, but I never got to meet her because he stayed in Durham between his first and second year of medical school. That’s when they started dating pretty heavily. I also remember that she was from this area and was a few years older than Casey and Gabby, which made her just a few years younger than Brody. I think she was going to college in that area and although she and Brody had sort of known each other vaguely, they had apparently hooked up the summer before his arrest and had been going strong since that time.
I wasn’t around when the accident happened. I was traveling with my parents in Europe for the summer before I started college when Brody got arrested. Gabby had called me on my cell phone, frantic and crying, to tell me what happened. Casey had gotten on the phone, and I remember sitting in my hotel in Bellagio, Italy, and my heart just breaking in half because of Casey’s pain. I had demanded my parents fly me back immediately, but they were having none of it. They were still hoping to use the trip to woo me into accepting a slot at Yale rather than gasp, Carolina.
By the time I had made it back to the United States, Brody had entered a guilty plea and was sentenced to seventy-four months in jail. He didn’t serve the full time, of course, but he served a good chunk of it before he was paroled.
The one thing I remember about Stacy was that she didn’t stick by Brody’s side. She dropped him as soon as he was convicted. I remember Gabby, Casey, and I would curse her name many a time during a drunken rant freshman year at Carolina.
“I’m starting to remember more about her now,” I muse as things start coming back to me. “Wasn’t her dad going to help Brody out or something… get a lighter sentence, call in a favor?”
“Supposedly,” Casey says dejectedly.
“Because her dad was a politician or something, right?” I ask, again memories of that time frame assaulting me.
“Carlton Hutchens,” Gabby confirms.
“The Carlton Hutchens?” I ask in disbelief.
“One and only. Hotshot U.S. senator from Nags Head, North Carolina and eyeing the White House,” Casey sneers. “The guy is a douche. When he comes to town, he’ll walk right up to you to shake your hand and ask for your vote, all while leering down at your boobs. Gives me the willies.”
“Granted… he’s a douche,” Gabby says after taking a sip of coffee, “but Stacy is the real villain. After laying so many fake promises on Brody’s doorstep, he was devastated when she dropped him. She deserves to be drowned.”
Out of the three of us, I’m usually the more levelheaded and decide to play a little bit of devil’s advocate. “Don’t you think it might have been a little hard to expect her to stay with him? I mean… he was going to be in prison for five years. Would you wait for someone, especially if you hadn’t been together all that long?”
Casey’s eyes flash, but Gabby pipes up. “Maybe. But I don’t think she ever intended to stick with him. I think she kept giving him false promises, always intending to dump him if he got convicted.”
“What makes you say that?” I ask Gabby, but Casey answers.
“It’s just something Brody said… just before he got taken away. He said trusting her ruined his life. He was so depressed over what she did. I hate her just because of how she tore him apart emotionally. I was afraid—”
Casey’s voice stops cold, and her eyes go sort of dead. Gabby reaches across the table and takes her hand, and I automatically put my arm around her shoulder.
“You were afraid of what?” I whisper.
“I was afraid he’d do something… kill himself, maybe. She destroyed him.”
Tears prickle at my eyes. When I glance across the table at Gabby, I see hers are moist too. I pull Casey hard into my side, laying my head on her shoulder. “But he didn’t… and he’s home now. And he’ll be okay. I promise.”
Casey nods her head and takes a stuttering breath. “I hope so.”
“I guarantee it,” I tell her, resolving to myself in that very moment that I’m launching a full-on attack to do whatever I can to help Brody Markham make his way back to a happy life.
Releasing Casey, I put my forearms on the table and lean in conspiratorially. “Now… let’s make plans to drown that bitch.”
Gabby blinks at me, and I hear a strangled sound come out of Casey’s mouth. Then all three of us burst into laughter so loud, I hear Babs yell over to us, “Pipe down, girls. We got paying customers in here that want to eat their breakfast in peace.”
Our laughs turn to chuckles with the occasional snicker, and we finally quiet ourselves.
“Well, we all need to be on the lookout when we’re around, Brody,” Gabby muses. “Stacy told me that she wants to see him, and she didn’t look like she was going to give up on that idea, even after I told her I’d stomp her ass if she tried.”
“She can’t seriously think she has a chance with him?” I ask, stunned by the slight tinge of jealousy that I’m feeling all of a sudden. But if Brody loved her that much, maybe he’d find happiness with her again?
“No way,” Casey says adamantly. “Brody’s more likely to strangle her than get back with her. I haven’t talked much with him about Stacy, but the few times I’ve brought her up, he’s shut me down. Told me she could rot in hell for all he cared. I think he’s pretty much over her.”
Relief courses through my body, and that again stuns me. Why am I even having proprietary feelings about Brody? He’s nothing more to me than a… friend. Is he a friend? Probably not. More like just an employee, I guess.
No, that doesn’t set right. I’ve known Brody for many years. He was a friend before he went to prison, and then he wasn’t. That changed right about the time he called me a snotty, rich bitch heiress. But then he apologized, so to my way of thinking… we are friends again.
And maybe I wish we were something more? There’s no denying my attraction to him. I just want to make sure that my feelings aren’t born of pity. Because that is not an appropriate reason to desire someone.
I think the best thing I can do to help myself figure out these feelings is to pay more attention to what it is about Brody that peaks my interest. Then I can decide what to do with said feelings and if they even have a place within my life.
***
When I pull into The Haven, I immediately notice Brody’s car parked beside the main building and a small thrill runs through me. I wasn’t sure if he’d come today. He said he would, and he seemed to genuinely open up a bit yesterday when he helped me bury Jethro, but Brody is sort of like a wounded animal. You never know how it’s going to react on any given day, and you can never take for granted the suffering that took place. It will leave an indelible mark that will rage at some point in the future.
Mark my words.
Pulling my truck around back, I see Brody standing by the small corral that encloses the back of the two-stall barn. He has his forearms resting on the top fence rail, with one well-muscled leg propped up on the bottom, staring at the barn. My Corolla horse, who I temporarily named Midget because he’s so small, is hanging his head out the back of his stall, staring back at Brody from across the expanse of the dirt enclosure.
Brody turns when he hears my engine and starts walking my way.
“Good morning,” I say as I get out of my truck.
“Enjoy your breakfast with your cronies?” he asks with a small smile. I can’t help notice how easy it comes to his face. It’s not huge, and it’s not lasting, but it’s so much more than he gave me just yesterday. His smile isn’t the only thing noticeable.
I can’t help but notice how utterly gorgeous he looks in nothing but a white Ron-Jon t-shirt and a pair of frayed khaki shorts. As a native of the Outer Banks, his beachy ensemble normally would be paired with flip-flops, but he came prepared to work as evidenced by the heavy duty, suede gloves hanging from his pocket and the sturdy pair of hard-soled boots he wore.
“How did you know I was at breakfast?” I ask with a teasing tone as I start to unlock the kennel door.
Brody stands beside me casually, leaning up against the door casing. “It’s no secret that Gabby Ward, Casey Markham, and Alyssa Myers have had breakfast at The Sand Shark every Monday at eight AM for the past three years. Even I, who was stuck behind bars, know of this time-honored tradition.”
I smoothly stick the key in the lock and turn it, pushing the door open and walking in ahead of Brody. I’m thankful for this, because I was a little startled by him so blatantly, yet casually, mentioning his time in prison. From what I’ve learned from Casey, he doesn’t talk about it… at all… to anyone.
With just a few steps down the concrete aisle, I’ve composed myself again and decide to ignore the comment so he doesn’t think his time away is a nosy curiosity to me. Instead, I say, “Yeah, I guess it’s not a secret. And to answer your question, breakfast was great.”
“I use to love that place,” Brody reminisces. “Do they still make buckwheat pancakes?”
“Yup. You should join us for breakfast sometime,” I throw out, because it’s the polite thing to do. We walk into the storage room and get to work.
As Brody hauls off a forty-pound bag of dog food from one of the shelves, he snickers at me. “Sorry… my idea of a good time is not joining your little gossip session. I don’t care how good the pancakes are.”
I pull out my knife from my back pocket and lean over to cut into the top of the bag while Brody holds it. “We don’t just gossip,” I say irritably. “We sometimes talk about the local news.”
Brody laughs as he lifts the bag up, the muscles in his forearms constricting with exertion, and I’m fascinated by the beauty of his form as he dumps the kibble in the wheelbarrow. “Thanks for the invite, but I’ll pass. That’s your girl time, and it should remain that way.”
Grabbing the plastic scoop and throwing it on top of the mound of kibble, Brody grabs the handles of the wheelbarrow and starts to back it out of the supply closet. I turn away from him, because I could probably stare at him all day.
“You know,” I tell him over my shoulder just before I reach up to the top shelf to grab a can of dog food. “We could institute a weekly Haven volunteer meeting at The Sand Shark. That way, you could get your buckwheat pancakes.”
My fingers brush the edge of a can and as I do nothing more than manage to push it further out of my grasp, I have to wonder why I put the damn things on the top shelf when I’m so damn short.
I make a last ditch push, back onto my tiptoes, and stretch my arm practically out of my socket, when I hear, “Let me get that.”
Then, I’m just feeling.
Because Brody comes to stand right behind me, his huge frame surrounding and towering over me. He’s not touching me in any way, but I feel every inch of him all the same. He’s never stood this close to me… just an inch or two away, and I can almost feel a vibration… a pulse… a pull... whatever, between us. It’s absolutely magnetic, and I have to wonder if he can feel it.
Looking above me, I watch as his tanned arm reaches to the top shelf and easily grabs a can. Brody hands it down to me, his thumb brushing against my hand as I take it, and f*ck if a slight shiver doesn’t course down my spine.
“How many more?” he asks, his voice a little rough.
“Just that one,” I rasp out, and then I clear my throat. “Just one. One of the dogs has been a bit finicky, and I thought I’d try some of this.”
For a moment, Brody doesn’t move, and I have all sorts of pornographic images shoot through my mind. Of him pulling my body back into his, bringing his arms up around me and palming my breasts. Of him dropping a hand down to the front of my pants…
Shaking my head to clear away those thoughts, I slide to the side and away from his body, turning around to leave the supply room. I can hear him follow me out, even over the pounding of the blood that seems to be rushing through my head right now.
“So, are you serious about a breakfast meeting every week?” Brody asks.
“What?” I ask, shaking my head again and blinking my eyes as I turn to face him.
He gives me a grin… a knowing smirk, and in that moment, I know he was very much aware of how much he affected me. I don’t know if he was affected, but he knows full well that his presence pretty much rendered me an idiot.
“Breakfast? Once a week?” he reminds me, his smirk getting a little wider.
“Uh… yeah, sure,” I say distractedly. “Sounds great.”
Then, Brody does something that stuns me. Rocks me to my core.
He gives me a wink just as he walks past me toward the wheelbarrow, another acknowledgment that he knows something happened just a moment ago, and he’s very much enjoying how unsettled I am by it.