THE HOPE BROTHERS: The Bad Boys of Sugar Hill Page 27

  The contrast between Beau and myself had never been so defined as we sat next to each other waiting for the meatloaf to come out of the oven so we could eat and get this night over with.

  Beau was clean, groomed, well-mannered and the golden boy of the family. He wasn’t always like that, but he’d turned himself around in the last few years. He’d married Georgia Hope and settled down.

  I was disheveled, hungover, and so exhausted I could barely keep my blood-shot eyes open. The smell of the brunette from last night still lingered in my memory, or perhaps my skin, and I wondered briefly if Beau could smell her, too.

  I smirked as the memory of her smooth thighs wrapped around my hips flooded my brain, and then quickly pushed it away, but not before mentally kicking myself for not getting her phone number. A second helping of her sweet ass sounded real good about now.

  “Where’s Georgia?” I asked. Georgia and I had made our peace, and she’d been welcomed into the family with open arms. She and Beau were usually attached at the hip.

  “She and Ruby are having a girl’s night,” he replied.

  “I didn’t think you let her out of your sight,” I replied, only half-joking.

  “She’s a grown woman, she can do whatever she wants,” he laughed.

  “Where’s Dad?” my little brother, Finn asked.

  “He’s just waking up from a nap,” Mama replied. “He’ll be down in a few minutes.”

  I looked over at our beautiful mother and smiled. She and my father were perfect together. They were both solid, God-fearing, country folk through and through. They’d built the family farm from nothing, working all day every day just to make ends meet, to keep food on the table, which wasn’t easy with three growing boys to feed. Why they were blessed with the curse of raising me, I don’t know. At least they had Beau and Finn to even out all the hell I had raised over the years.

  Regret had become one of my closest companions as I got older, but there was no going back now. What was done was done. I had caused them both a lot of grief - fighting, stealing, drinking, you name it, I had gotten in trouble for doing it at one point or another. They’d bailed me out of the can so many times, we’d all lost count how many times by now.

  And yet, they still kept telling me that they were proud to have me as a son. I don’t know why they never gave up on me. If I were in their shoes, I would have disowned my sorry ass a long time ago. But they didn’t. They were like rocks, those two.

  In a way, it made it harder for me. If I had something to rebel against, then maybe everything would have made sense. I would have had a reason to be such an asshole. Instead, I drifted through life - lost, never quite fitting in anywhere, never feeling comfortable or at home, no matter where I was.

  I just kept searching, without knowing what the hell I was searching for or even why I felt so fucking drawn to search. I hoped I would recognize it once I found it. So far, that hadn’t happened.

  Early on, I recognized it wasn’t my parent’s fault. So I did my best to keep them shielded from the worst of it. If I could talk my way out of a situation, I would. I only called them as a last resort.

  “Dad’s been sleeping a lot,” Finn said. “He takes naps every day now. He didn’t use to do that.”

  “He probably just takes naps to get away from you,” I said, reaching over to ruffle Finn’s hair. He hated it, wrinkling his face, and pulling away from me. I’d been doing that to him since he was three and I had no intentions of stopping anytime soon.

  “Is that meatloaf I smell?” Dad’s voice bellowed through the kitchen before his large, solid frame filled the doorway. The energy in the room shifted, as it always did, as soon as he appeared. He had a way about him that commanded attention.

  Hank Haggard grew up working on the family farm in southern Texas, and later received a football scholarship to Texas A&M University. He was the star linebacker, until a shoulder injury forced him to retire before he could go pro. Following in his father’s footsteps, he bought a small parcel of land, and started the farm after marrying our mother in the Sugar Hill Courthouse.

  Taking his seat at the head of the table, his eyes met mine first and then Beau’s and Finn’s.

  “Everything smells delicious, Lora,” he said, turning his gaze and beaming up at our Mama. The love between them was almost tangible, and as I often did, I wondered if I’d ever feel anything like that.

  The only woman I’d come close to loving was Eva, and that was so over and dead there was no resuscitating it. Whatever ‘it’ was. She was married to the Sheriff of Sugar Hill, and at first, I was in it for the thrill, the danger of getting caught, but after a while, I began to have feelings for her. At least as much as I was capable of.

  She had other ideas though. What had begun as a convenient fling, had quickly turned into something else all together. Eventually, she only saw me as a quick way of making some easy money. I went along with it at first, because fucking socialites seemed like an ideal way to make some easy cash, but in the end, it was only a good idea on paper.

  Making my cock stand erect for hours and hours while a bunch of older ladies that smelled like my late granny’s favorite Avon perfume get their jollies just stopped being appealing to me eventually.

  Even the idea of all the money couldn’t get me hard after a while.

  When I told Eva I wanted to retire from the business of fuckin’ old ladies, she was less than pleased, to put it lightly. It was then that I saw what she really thought of me. I was just a piece of meat to her.

  It was hard as hell to let her go, but I did. I was only fooling myself thinking she’d ever love me for me anyway. I’d seen her true colors. Women like her only used men like me for a good time. They didn’t settle down with the losers. They settled down with the conservative men with stable jobs and money to pay the mortgage. Men like Sheriff Montgomery.

  Men like my father.

  I looked at him now, sitting at the head of the table, like he had countless times before. The years were catching up with him. His black hair had faded to silver, his vibrant blue eyes that’d I’d happily inherited had sunken into his head more than a little, and yet he looked strong as ever.

  If I was smart, I’d try to be more like him. But if I was honest, I’d admit I would never come close. We were so different, it was almost unbelievable that we shared the same genes.

  “Here we go!” Mama said, placing the smoking hot meatloaf in the center of the table. We dug in, eating silently and quickly, just as my brothers and I always had, as if the food was going to disappear if we didn’t shovel it into our gullets as fast as we could. When we were kids, Mama was always demanding that we slow down and “chew, for goodness sake!”, but she gave up on that long ago.

  After dinner, and a whole lot of small talk about nothing, Mama brought out a peach cobbler. It smelled just like heaven, and I inhaled deeply, finally feeling the hangover slide away. I was just starting to relax, to feel like I could breathe again, after last night’s blowout.

  As much as I felt like an outsider, I had to admit that the little slices of comfort I felt around my family were nice. It was just such a rarity that I could ever get to that place.

  I figure it’s all my fault, and maybe someday I’ll figure out why, but instead of trying to figure it all out right now, I just dig into the warm, flaky crust of the cobbler and let it comfort me with its familiarity.

  Mama sits next to Daddy and she looks over at him, puts her hand over his and whispers to him. He nods solemnly and it’s then that I realize how quiet he’s been all night. With Finn endlessly rambling on about horses like he does, and Beau talking about how perfect his new wife Georgia Hope is - even though they’ve already been married a year, and the newness should have worn off by now - I hadn’t noticed at first.

  But when Dad clears his voice and Mom looks down at her plate, I know something’s up. My gut wrenches before he even begins to speak.

  “Boys, there’s something your mama and I need to talk to
y’all about,” he begins. I look down at his hand and see it shaking slightly and I know this is serious. “I haven’t said anything till now, because the doctors have been running a bunch of tests, but it’s been confirmed now.”

  “What?” Finn says. All the blood has drained from his face, and I dare not look at Beau, but I’m sure he looks just the same. My imagination runs wild and it feels like the other shoe is about to drop.

  “Well, it’s bad news, sons. They say I’ve got a brain tumor.”

  “What!” The three of us yell in unison, and then fall quiet, our mouths open, staring at our father in disbelief. Mama starts crying, her soft sobs filling the silence in the room.

  “I’m sorry to have to break it to you,” Dad continues.

  “But surely, there’s something they can do,” Beau protests.

  “I’m sorry, son,” he says, his face stoic and stiff. “They tell me it’s inoperable. It’s too far gone, we didn’t catch it in time. There’s no removing it.”

  “What does that mean?” Finn asked, his voice full of fear. I reach over and put my hand over his, because it’s the only thing I know to do. Words fail me completely. Is he saying what I think he is?

  “I’m going to die, son. They tell me I have about six to eight weeks.”

  “Weeks?!” Beau cries out. “That can’t be! We’ll get a second opinion. We’ll get you the finest doctors!”

  “It’s too late. I’ve already gotten second and third opinions, from fine doctors. It’s true, son. All we can do is accept it now.”

  “No!” Beau says, standing from the table, his chair falling behind him. “I won’t accept it!” He’s crying, so is Finn, so is Mama, but not me. And not Dad.

  I look over at him and see that his eyes are dry as a bone. Maybe he’s already done all his crying, I think. But what’s wrong with me? I don’t feel a thing. It’s then that I realize that I’m not even here. I’m in some other place, a million miles away from the pain of the announcement that my father, my flesh and blood, my creator, is dying.

  Six to eight weeks. I do the math in my head. Forty-two to fifty-six days.

  I shake my head, try to clear the fog, try to come back to Earth, back into my body. I stand up and stare first at my weeping mother, and then to my dying father, and I shake my head. This can’t be happening.

  “I’m so sorry,” I mumble, and then my feet are moving, the cold outside air is hitting my cheeks, and I’m in my truck, barreling down the driveway, the dirt flying up behind my tires in my wake, and I don’t even notice the tears.

  But they’re there. Falling down my face like a river of pain. I reach under the seat, pull out the fresh bottle of whiskey I knew I’d want after dinner at my folk’s, and crack the seal.

  It goes down smooth this time and I laugh at the irony. No razor blades this time. Or, maybe I just don’t feel the pain anymore.

  Either way, that’s exactly what I want. I’m so tired of the pain of just being alive and now I have to feel this?

  The pain of death. The excruciating bullshit of the circle of life. It’s all a fucking joke. Every bit of it. Life. Love. Death. As if we’re all just pawns in God’s hilarious game, enduring the messiness of it all for his entertainment.

  I hit a bump and my bottle goes flying across the cab of my pick-up. I reach for it, swerving across the road, and correcting the truck just in time to keep it from flying into a ditch.

  How ironic it would be if I died first, I thought.

  And then I realized what a selfish prick I was being. I thought of Mama, how shattered she must be. Not to mention Dad, the one who was actually going to die, with his days numbered like a fucking death row inmate or something.

  I yanked on the wheel of the truck, turning it around completely, and heading back to my family, back to where I belonged, back to where, if possible, I could be of some sort of help, and find some way to help ease the pain of the two best people I know.

  On the way, I vow to keep my shit together, for however long it takes. To be there for both of them, no matter how ugly it gets.

  Just like they had been there for me. I may be the black sheep, but they’re still my family. And that’s all I’ve got. It’s all I’ve ever had, really. No matter how much I tried to push them away.

  I owed it to them. And now I’m finally determined, for once in my stupid fucking life, to do the right thing.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LILY

  “Come on, Lu,” I prodded my old golden lab, Lucy, along the sidewalk. Her hips were giving out, her kidneys weren’t doing well at all, but she was still trudging along, even if she was moving as slow as molasses.

  We walked past the Italian restaurant on the corner and wistfully I stared in at the couples dining together. They all looked so happy and it only served to make me more miserable by reminding me of what I was missing out on.

  I sighed as I thought of my boyfriend, if you could even call him that anymore. I rarely saw him anymore and when I did, he was either kissing my father’s ass or being a total ass to me. Of course, not at the same time. My father would kill him if he knew the way he treated me when he wasn’t around.

  Not that I just ‘let’ him treat me like that, though. Not without fighting back and demanding he show me respect. But he had a way of twisting everything I said and making everything seem like it was my fault somehow, and by the time I was finished standing up for myself, I was left feeling confused and so mixed up, I just shut up to make the arguing stop.

  It was a vicious cycle and I’d tried to walk away countless times. But no matter what, after every fight, after every break up, he’d show up with flowers and an apology, begging me until I took him back.

  It wasn’t something I was proud of, that’s for sure. That’s why I tended to keep our troubles to myself, just to save myself from embarrassment. So, our friends didn’t really know what an ass he could be, unless he slipped up in front of them. My family certainly didn’t know, because he would never dare slip up in front of them. He knew better.

  Somehow, when my father was present, he had a lot more control over his temper. It was funny how that worked.

  But lately, like I said, it was rare to see him at all. This time of year, when the rodeo was ramping up, all of our lives were crazy busy.

  There definitely wasn’t much time for long, drawn out, romantic dinners, even if he was the romantic type.

  Which he wasn’t.

  Tonight, I had a rare night off from helping my Daddy at the practice pen that he ran. Of course, by now, it was so much more than just one practice pen. He had two arenas and a couple of barns, surrounded by acres of pasture. They stood on the same property as the home he’d built for my Mama after we moved away from Sugar Hill.

  They’d both begged me to stay in the extra room, but I needed my own space to study when I wasn’t there doing the books for them or practicing barrel racing. Which wasn’t much time at all.

  Sure, I had school work to do, but I was pretending I didn’t. I was almost done with my Wildlife Biology degree, and I was applying for veterinary school very soon. These few stolen moments to myself were extremely valuable and I intended to spend tonight snuggled with my sweet Lu and binge watching crime dramas for the rest of the night.

  If my elusive boyfriend decided to make an appearance, then so be it. I’d learned long ago not to count on him.

  But that was just as well, because it meant more Bluebell peach ice cream for me.

  ***

  It was almost midnight when Lu started barking. I heard the knock on the front door of my apartment and groaned. Sleep had found me on the couch hours before. The television threw ripples of light around my living room as I blinked myself awake on the couch.

  “Lily! Open up!” I could hear the slur in his voice already.

  “Hey,” I said, opening the door, then moving to the side and letting him in. I sniffed the air as he walked past, a wisp of something musty catching me off guard.

  “Hey ba
by,” he slurred, as I closed the door behind him. He plopped down on my couch and grabbed my remote.

  “What’s this shit?” he asked, before flipping the channels.

  “I was sleeping,” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes.

  He looked over at me and turned off the television, rubbing his cock through his jeans. I stood watching him, as always, drinking in his good looks. It was impossible not to. His chiseled chin, his all-American blue eyes, his perfect smile.

  “Come here,” he ordered. I obeyed, sitting next to him on the couch.

  “What have you been doing?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I had the night off, I stayed home with Lucy,” I said. He grabbed my hand and pulled it over on top of his already throbbing cock. “What did you do?” I asked.

  “I went out. Had some drinks. Now I’m here,” he said, pushing his cock up into my hand. “Come on, baby,” he pleaded gently, dipping his head down to kiss my lips. “Take off those clothes.”

  “Actually, I think we should talk,” I said, reluctantly squeezing his hardness. “We haven’t seen much of each other lately…”

  “We’ll talk later,” he said, his mouth kissing my neck. I shuddered under his touch, despite myself. “Come on, Lily, take off those shorts, baby.”

  “Only if you promise we’ll talk later,” I replied, my body responding to his hands that were running over my thighs.

  “I promise, baby,” he grunted. “Come on.”

  “Okay, okay,” I relented, standing up and removing the shorts and t-shirt I was wearing. He stood up in front of me, quickly shedding his clothes until he was standing naked, strong, and so fucking sexy in front of me.

  His cock stood at attention between us and he pulled me close, skin sliding against skin, his hands running over my curves as his lips found mine. He pushed me back onto the couch roughly and sank his hard cock inside of me quickly, too quickly. I winced in pain for a moment, until he was sliding smoothly and I began pushing my hips up to meet his powerful thrusts.