Whiskey (Brewed Book 2) Page 2

“I know.”

  “It might take him a minute to get past the shock,” she said as she nudged my brother, “but I’m so incredibly excited that you’re here.”

  Sawyer seemed more taken aback by her statement than I was. “You are?” His bemused expression turned calculating when he looked at me. “I changed my mind, you can’t stay with us.”

  “Oh my God,” Rae murmured as I said, “Wait, what?”

  “Fuck, Rae,” Sawyer hissed when her fist went into his side, but she just continued smiling at me as though nothing had happened.

  “Don’t mind him. He’s having an unnecessary caveman moment. Of course you can stay with us.” She sent him a mock-glare before focusing on me again. “I’m excited because I know exactly how much you’ve been missed. That’s all.”

  “Better be all,” Sawyer mumbled under his breath and caught Rae’s hand when she went to smack him again, quickly weaving it behind her back and tucking her close to his side. “So, our place. Wanna follow me?”

  I rubbed at the back of my neck, nodding as I did and contradicting my next words. “I should probably go . . .” I swallowed, trying to dislodge the knot in my throat as I nodded past where Sawyer and Rae stood. When I continued, the words were strained. “You know . . . Mom. I should go to her.”

  The worry and anger that had started crossing Sawyer’s face abruptly faded to a mixture of understanding and playfulness. “Good thing you’re ready to see her because she’s already on the way to the house.”

  Of course she was.

  This fucking town.

  “She knows?”

  Sawyer shrugged as he started tugging Rae backward. “Maybe. Probably. I just told her it was important.”

  Important . . . wasn’t sure I would call it that.

  Terrifying, maybe.

  Paralyzing.

  I hadn’t spoken to my mom in over nine years. How was I supposed to talk to her after that? How was I supposed to face her when they all blamed me for Dad?

  Fuck, at one point, I’d started blaming myself.

  “Cays.” I glanced up at Sawyer’s harsh tone and found him watching me with that same look from earlier. All mistrust and hatred. “You plan on leaving, leave right now.”

  My head bounced subtly as I turned for my truck, calling over my shoulder. “I’ll follow you there.”

  I must’ve asked myself a dozen times on the short drive over what I thought I was doing. Why I’d chosen Amber of all places to go back to. Why I thought I could come back here and insert myself into their lives when I’d removed myself.

  Funny that I had never considered myself a coward, but more and more since setting foot in that microscopic town, that was all I felt like.

  All the pains and the whispers and the unknowns . . . it would be so easy to turn away from them and escape. It would be so easy to continue with my life away from there—to pretend none of it was happening.

  But as I parked beside Sawyer’s truck on the driveway, I knew I couldn’t.

  However hard it would be, however stupid it was to subject myself and my family to all this, I knew I’d driven back there for a reason.

  I’d stopped running for a reason.

  I grabbed my bags from the back seat and faced my brother and his girl, both wearing identical, expectant and concerned expressions.

  Sawyer offered me a forced smile and reached for the bags, but I held tight, needing something to grip. “I got it.”

  “It’s gonna be fine, man.”

  “She’s missed you so much,” Rae added.

  “All she wants is for our family to be back together,” Sawyer continued. “You being here is the start of that.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  Wasn’t sure I could.

  They seemed so sure, but they shouldn’t have been. Because they didn’t know Mom’s true thoughts or feelings. They didn’t know mine. They didn’t even know what had led to me leaving in the first place.

  No one did.

  Well . . . almost no one.

  As far as my family was concerned, I up and left because I was the problematic child who craved more attention. I stayed gone for the same reasons.

  They had no fucking clue.

  Then again, not one of them had ever attempted to find out—they’d just started with the accusations. But they’d needed someone to blame. They’d needed somewhere to direct their anger.

  I’d accepted all of it while making a life for myself where no one had any preconceived notions of me. Where I could be anyone. I’d made a life I was proud of and grown into the kind of man I wouldn’t have been allowed to if I’d stayed in Amber.

  In the end, I knew I would do it all again.

  Didn’t make this part easier.

  I stayed silent as I followed them into the house and had just started down the hall Sawyer pointed at when there was a knock on the front door.

  With a ragged breath, I continued to the guest room to set my bags down before turning around.

  When I heard her voice, I just stood there listening. Breathing. Trying to gather the strength for what came next—for the possibilities.

  “Is everyone okay? Are you engaged? Is Rae pregnant?” she asked in rapid-fire.

  “Oh God, no. No—none. None of the above,” Rae said as Sawyer grumbled, “Jesus, Mom.”

  “You said it was important,” she said, pure reprimand that made me feel about twenty years younger.

  “Yeah, well,” Sawyer began, drawing the words out. “It—” His ice-blue eyes caught on me when I rounded the corner in the hall, encouragement shining through.

  Mom followed his line of sight on delay, a glazed-over look on her face for a moment when she saw me standing there. Then shock, disbelief, joy, and grief fought for dominance before her expression went blank and she straightened her shoulders.

  “Hey, Mom,” I said warily.

  A thick sob burst from her before she was able to clamp her mouth together. After another few seconds, she began erasing the distance between us.

  Each step slow.

  Each step looking like she was sure I was going to disappear before she could take the next one.

  She reached out with a trembling hand to touch my cheek, her head moving in something resembling a nod when our skin came in contact.

  Without a word, she let her hand fall to her side and looked to Sawyer as the first tears slipped down her cheeks. “How could you?” she asked him, then turned and hurried for the door.

  As soon as it shut behind her, Sawyer took off, glancing behind him as he slipped outside—expression unreadable.

  I ground my jaw tight and fought against the white-hot pain slicing through my chest.

  “Well, fuck.” The words fled from me on a pained wheeze.

  “Cayson,” Rae began, but I just waved off whatever she was about to say and turned for the hall.

  “Shouldn’t have expected much else.”

  Probably deserved worse.

  “Get out. Get out. You’re not welcome here.”

  “Emberly . . . good to see you haven’t changed.”

  The short exchange replayed for what had to be the hundredth time in the dozen or so minutes since it had all played out.

  God, Cayson Dixon had been in my shop, not ten feet from where I’d stood.

  Real and there and more handsome than my heart could stand.

  “Good to see you haven’t changed.”

  What did that even mean?

  I had to have changed.

  Not just my style, but in other physical and emotional ways. But whether or not Cayson thought I’d changed, he most definitely had.

  In all the times I’d imagined what he must look like now, I couldn’t have imagined that.

  The dark hair and blue-green eyes were still there, as were the signature Dixon dimples, but they’d been on a stranger.

  It wasn’t his thick, labor-made muscles or the way he’d grown into his strong facial features . . . it was his presence.


  The way he seemed reserved.

  The Cayson I’d grown up with had been quick to turn every situation into a joke and lived to ruin people’s lives with his callous attitude—or, at least, my life . . .

  And yet, like an idiot, I’d waited for his return for longer than I should’ve.

  A part of me had been dreading it too.

  For so many reasons—most of them unselfish—I wanted his return. But him being here meant seeing him. Coming face to face with things I’d been struggling to forget for far too long. Putting myself at risk of being his target again.

  It meant being within touching distance of the boy I had somehow fallen in love with between taunts and destructive games and secret, stolen glances, knowing he would never love me in return.

  To Cayson, I would only ever be Sawyer’s best friend.

  The girl he thought clung too close to his little brother.

  An irritation and metaphorical punching bag and, at the same time, nothing.

  Within his crosshairs and somehow invisible.

  I’d paused from washing my face, my shoulders jerking and brows raising at the loud bang that had come from somewhere on the top floor with me. Glancing to the closed door, I’d strained to hear anything else coming from the hall outside the bathroom, but there was nothing.

  After another beat of silence, I’d gone back to washing my face and brushing my teeth.

  The nights I stayed at the Dixon’s place when Mom was out of town were always a show.

  Beau’s anger getting so out of control that he unleashed it on one of his younger brothers or a wall. Cayson goading him until he reached that point. Sawyer yelling for them to stop until he somehow ended up in the middle of it. Hunter using the distraction to sneak out of the house with his girlfriend. Their parents apologizing to me like I hadn’t seen the boys act this way since I was three years old.

  But Beau was currently out with his girlfriend. Hunter with his . . .

  I’d gone still again when there was another loud sound, like a door bouncing off a wall, followed by heavy steps across the hardwood floor and directly past the bathroom I was in.

  Once the steps had long since passed me and their sound had faded down the stairs, I’d quickly shoved my things into my toiletry bag and left it on the counter. Hurried out of the bathroom and away from the guest room I always stayed in.

  But I never made it to Sawyer’s room, where I’d planned on finding out whatever had been going on.

  My gaze had automatically gone toward one of the only other rooms on that side of the house, where light spilled into the darkened hall from the cracked-open door.

  Cayson’s room.

  I’d always tried to avoid him and that room.

  But what I’d seen in that split second as I’d quietly rushed through the hall had me skidding to a stop.

  Cayson.

  Sitting on the edge of his disaster of a bed with his head in his hands.

  Trembling.

  I’d glanced around to make sure no one had entered the hall before taking a step forward . . . and then another . . . my surprise growing and stealing my breaths with each one.

  I’d never seen Cayson look so weighed down or vulnerable in the eleven years I’d known him.

  Things didn’t bother him. Nothing fazed him.

  He’d always been the laid back, popular, don’t-give-a-crap-about-anything-or-anyone kind of guy.

  He’d always been a jerk.

  My attention caught on a small, metal trash bin not far from where he sat, turned on its side near a desk.

  From the dent in the wooden desk and the position of the bin, I’d wondered if that was the source of the first crash I’d heard.

  A crease had formed between my brows when I noticed the bin was full of leather-bound notebooks with only a few pieces of trash stuck beneath them.

  His weighted sigh had me sucking in my own stuttered breath and rocking back a step when I realized how close I’d crept. But the depth of that sigh had me looking to Cayson in time to see him run his hands through his shaggy black hair again and again as he straightened.

  One of my hands lifted and found the wall.

  I wasn’t sure if I needed it for the support, or if I was just reaching out to the closest thing to me because it was a natural reaction to reach toward what I was seeing.

  Cayson Dixon was crying.

  This fearless, untouchable, larger-than-life, uncaring boy who had been the cause of so much hurt and embarrassment.

  Still, it wrenched something deep within me to see him this way.

  Face blank, cheeks wet, but soul-crushing worthlessness swirled within his eyes.

  I couldn’t even bask in this moment that made him human because I ached for him.

  At Sawyer’s booming laugh and thunderous steps that were quickly ascending the stairs, Cayson had stood from the bed. His long strides abruptly stopping when he’d seen me there.

  Frozen.

  In fear, in awe, and pain for whatever could make him feel insignificant.

  In an instant, his expression shifted.

  “Well, well, look who came trying to catch a show.” His voice had been all taunts as he’d closed the distance between us—pure Cayson. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m fully clothed.”

  “I didn’t—I don’t—that isn’t,” I’d stammered as I stumbled back a step when he reached where I was.

  “I, I, I,” he’d mocked. His expression had hardened as he gripped the doorframe to lean over me. “What was that, Duck?”

  My lips had instinctively formed a thin line—as thin as I could ever make my lips—and my jaw had ached as anger and humiliation rushed through me.

  “The fuck, Cays?”

  “Look at that,” Cayson had whispered, his blue-green eyes dancing as though he hadn’t just wrecked me with insecurities all over again. “Saved by your precious Sawyer.”

  Cayson barked out a laugh when Sawyer had shoved him into his room. “Man, I’ve told you to leave her alone.”

  With one last lingering look in my direction, Cayson had shut the door, and Sawyer had wrapped his arm around my shoulders to steer me away while murmuring, “Got you, sis.”

  Just another Cayson encounter.

  Nothing different.

  Except it was.

  I’d felt more rocked by that encounter than any before because I’d seen Cayson in those few moments in a way I wasn’t sure he let anyone see him.

  I’d seen beneath the laughs and sneers and indifference that now looked like a mask.

  “Asshole,” Sawyer had muttered. “Mom and I grabbed dessert when you were in the shower.”

  “I already brushed my teeth,” I’d whispered, then stopped halfway to the stairs. “You were gone?”

  “Yeah.” He’d pointed behind him as if the front door were there. “We just got back.”

  I’d glanced toward Cayson’s room, wondering who had been in there with him, who those heavy steps had belonged to, and shook my head. “I wanna go to sleep.”

  “What? Come on, Em, it’s not even late. Don’t let Cayson get to you like this, he’s just being a dick.”

  I’d wavered between wanting to spend time with my friend and wanting to dissect everything I’d seen. Wanting to try once again to figure out why that boy was such a jerk to me for no reason.

  “What kinda best friend would I be if I let you go to sleep now?”

  “The best,” I’d replied dully.

  “Guess you should go then.” His tone had taken on a mischievousness I knew all too well. “Too bad . . . got your favorite and everything.”

  My stare had darted from Cayson’s door to Sawyer. “Strawberry froyo?” I’d asked hesitantly.

  “You’re, like, the only person I know who likes strawberry ice cream.”

  “You got strawberry froyo?” I’d repeated, my tone a little more impatient.

  “Topped with chocolate chips just the way you like it,” he’d said with a heavy sigh. “But, I gues
s I’ll just toss it.”

  He’d still been talking as I’d raced around him and down the stairs.

  But even throughout the froyo and laughing at our favorite shows, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the boy upstairs who stayed noticeably absent.

  “Emberly.”

  I blinked quickly, pushing away from the counter I’d been leaning against and looked toward the source calling my name as the past faded away.

  “Hmm?”

  Jennifer, our newly-appointed manager who worked solely on the coffee side of Brewed, gave me a worried look. “Girlfriend, I called you about five times. You sure you’re good?”

  “Yeah,” I said quickly, the response pitchy and breathless. “Yeah, of course.”

  Her gaze darted to my hands. “So, are you gonna make that, or can I?”

  I glanced at the mug I was holding and tried to remember how long I’d been holding it and what the stay-in order was.

  After another look at the mugs and to-go cups lined up at the espresso bar, a sinking pit formed in my gut.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said quickly, then swallowed past the tightening in my throat. “I’ve got this, I’m sorry.”

  She laughed a little hesitantly. “You’re the boss, you don’t need to apologize to me. Let me help.”

  “No, no . . . I’ve got it—really.”

  I needed this. I needed to work to get my mind off Cayson Dixon.

  I couldn’t believe a glimpse of him had me so wound up that I’d let myself get dragged into the past and let my baby take a hit, if even for a moment.

  Looking at Jennifer, I held up the mug in my hand and asked, “What drink was this?”

  Her eyes widened with worry. “You’re holding the ticket.” After a quick look around the café, she leaned close. “Really, Emberly, why don’t you let me do this?”

  I hissed a curse when I felt the tiny piece of kraft paper in my palm, wrapping around the handle of the mug. “Of course it is,” I murmured. Turning to the espresso machine, I offered her a quick smile. “I’ll get us caught up in no time.”

  Instead of taking my assurance, she continued to stand there, watching me warily.

  Any other day, I would have let her take over, but I needed to clear my mind. Getting us caught up on drinks and making pretty designs in the foam was sure to do that.