Walk on the Wilder Side by Serena Bell

3

Brody

“What the fuck, Brody?”

My brother has ambushed me from behind while my best friend Connor and I are cleaning my other boat. A small one, it currently sits on the trailer at Wilder Adventure headquarters, also known as the barn outside Gabe’s house.

Spoiler: Jennifer and her friends’ reviews did not mention that I rescued Chicklet from sure death. Only the lousy snacks, the bad attitude, the lack of toilet paper, and the rapid acceleration.

I slowly turn around to find Gabe standing there with a sheaf of printed papers and a furious expression. My own anger meter goes from zero to highway speed, because with Gabe it’s always like this—there’s nothing I can do that won’t make him mad, and no way for me to win.

“What’re you so pissed about?”

I try to keep my voice level, but it’s a lost cause. Clark, Kane—even Easton—can keep their cool around Gabe. I’m the only sibling who loses it every time. It’s because Gabe and I are so close in age, and we had to compete from the very beginning for our parents’ affections—a battle I gave up on winning sometime around sixth grade.

“This last batch of reviews—what the fuck, Brody?”

“We’ve already established that’s the question,” I say dryly.

There’s a small snort of laughter that only I hear. Connor is hidden behind the boat, out of Gabe’s view, which puts Connor in the awkward position of either being an eavesdropper on a family conversation—or having to pop out in the next few seconds like a jack-in-the-box.

He doesn’t pop.

I can’t blame him. I wouldn’t want to show my face to Gabe if I didn’t absolutely have to.

I wouldn’t have chosen this morning to clean the boat if I’d known Gabe was around. I thought he was in Portland with Lucy, on a marketing research mission.

Gabe scowls. “You deliberately sped up the boat to capsize someone’s dog? They want to know why you’re bothering to offer these nights out, since you obviously have no interest in being a good host. I’d like to know the answer to that, too.”

I only saw the reviews day before yesterday, but of course I’ve known this moment was coming since last Sunday. It’s almost a relief to finally be here.

And I can answer his question, no problem: “I’m hosting the nights out because you told me to.”

The red deepens on Gabe’s face.

“I’ve had it up to here with you, Brody. Clark, Kane, Easton, they’re all doing everything they can to make this work. Lucy’s killing herself coming up with great ideas. Books-in-the-Boat was a stroke of genius.” He throws his hands out. “It’s like you’re hell-bent on undermining everything. Do you even give a shit if this business is successful?”

Of course I do.

That’s what I should say. It’s the truth. And those words might defuse this situation, especially if Gabe could hear how much I mean them.

But ever since I was the little kid in Gabe’s shadow, part of me can’t stand to let him win and have all the spoils and pats. So I do dumbass shit like this:

I shrug.

You can practically see the rage meter top out. His face turns even redder; his brows lower. He looks like a bull that’s about to charge. And even though part of me feels like crap, another part of me scores a perverse thrill from getting to him.

Brothers, man. It’s a fucked-up relationship.

“That’s it, Brody. I’m done cutting you slack. If you don’t get your act together and make this work, I’m cutting you out of the business when we allocate mom’s shares.”

My heart kicks up to a gallop. “You can’t do that.”

He crosses his arms. “I sure as fuck can. And I will. If you don’t start bringing in tourist money and good reviews, I will. You have till the end of this summer, or I’m done with you.”

He shoves the papers into my chest, turns, and strides away. The papers fall to the ground, where they’re picked up by the wind and whipped into the trees. A moment later, he swings himself into his Jeep, revs the engine, and roars out of the driveway.

I stand there, a little stunned. More than a little stunned.

I didn’t think he’d get that mad.

“Well, shit.” Connor steps out from behind the boat.

I’d forgotten he was there. Always good to have someone witness your lowest moment.

Or your second lowest, anyway.

“He’s pissed.” Connor raises both eyebrows.

“Thanks, dude,” I growl.

“You should have told him why you did it. Why you sped the boat up.”

I’d told Connor the whole story, how they were talking smack about me and Zoë and baby Justin, and I lost my shit. Connor had hmmmed sympathetically. Connor has always been like that, a good friend no matter what kind of asshole moves I pull. I can’t tell you how many times in my life he’s been there for me after I blew up something that mattered to me—an exam, a class, a job, a relationship, my engagement. He always takes my side.

“You should tell Gabe the truth about Zoë and Justin.”

I shake my head.

“Why are you protecting her? She’s not worth it. After what she did.”

“But Justin is,” I say.

Connor gets quiet. He knows there’s no arguing with me about Justin.

I realize I’m still holding a dripping sponge, and set it back in the sudsy bucket. “What was I fucking thinking, Con? Marriage? A lifetime commitment? Maybe for some guys, but not for me. I should just thank my lucky stars it imploded when it did.” Before I had a chance to fuck it up.

“Maybe you’ll feel different at some point,” Connor says.

I shake my head. “No. I thought I could be that guy. A dad. A husband. Whatever. Someone people could admire. But it’s too much fucking work.”

“You know, people do admire you.” He thinks about it a second. “Except when you’re capsizing their dogs and denying them toilet paper.”

I think about this for a moment, then shake my head. “Not Gabe. If he admired me, he would have tagged me to run the business—or at least me and Clark—when he thought he might move to New York City to be with Lucy.”

Connor doesn’t try to argue, because he knows it’s true. “You could make him admire you.”

“How so?”

“What if you stopped fighting him all the time? If you did what he wants, instead of making him drag you kicking and screaming?”

The thought makes me want to hurl. Connor must be able to see that on my face, because it’s his turn to shake his head. “Well, you don’t have much of a choice at this point, do you? If you don’t shape up, he’s going to cut you off, and then what?”

“Then maybe I’ll open my own business and not have to deal with his shit.”

Connor squints. “Is that what you want?”

I think about it. My dad, my brothers, the business we built. About what it would mean to ditch out. About how it’d make me feel to be on the outside.

That makes me want to hurl, too. I shake my head. “No.”

Connor paces back and forth a few times along the side of the boat, then slaps a hand on his thigh. ”I have an idea.”

“What’s that?”

“My mom’s got this new business. One of those sell-out-of-your home things. Beauty stuff, like body wash and perfume and shit. She does these girls’ night parties. Women love them. My mom can’t keep up with all the requests. I bet that would work for your boat. And my mom coordinates the food and wine and everything. You could redeem yourself without having to personally kiss a lot of ass. They do the party, you just supply the location.”

Huh. I don’t hate the idea.

“You’d still have to buy TP,” he says, always practical. “And not forget the bug wipes.”

“I can totally handle that much. Jesus, that sounds like a fucking dream. I’m all over that.”

“The only thing is, my mom broke her foot, so I don’t know about the whole boat thing.”

“Well, shit,” I say. “How’d she do that?”

“Stepped off the curb wrong in town, twisted it in the storm grate.”

I wince. “That sucks.”

“Yeah. But she said she was maybe going to ask Rachel to help her out, so I guess Rachel could do it.”

You know the buzzer sound that signals the end of, well, anything? That’s the sound that just zapped through my brain.

“Wait, Rachel’s home?”

I try to make it sound like, “The Ducks have the early game?” or “You up for grabbing a pizza and a couple of beers?” but it still comes out sounding more like my sixteen-year-old self than I’d like.

Luckily Connor doesn’t pick up on the fact that I just insta-reverted to my teenage years. “Yeah. Some shit hit the fan for her and she’s regrouping.”

Rachel is Connor’s younger sister. Her hair is long and thick and not-quite-black. Her skin is a warm, light brown. She has dark brown eyes and a mouth that, in recent years, has made me think about blow jobs.

Okay, who am I kidding? Her mouth has made me think about blow jobs for way longer than I want to admit.

It’s the lower lip. It’s full and sulky and she licks it when she’s nervous. I’m not sure whether it’s the peek of tongue or the glossy sheen left behind that drives me so wild, but there you have it.

My life plan, since late high school, has been to avoid Rachel Perez at all costs, because that lip—her whole mouth, in fact—no, make that everything about her, inside and out—feels like a clear and present danger.

It is a threat to my sanity and, more urgently, to my friendship with Connor.

However, because life is what happens when you’re busy making plans, Rachel is everywhere.

She saw me last month when Len Dix taunted me in Oscar’s Saloon & Grill and I punched his lights out. She doesn’t even live here; she just happened to be in town from the East Coast to visit her mother. They were taking a family ski trip for her mom’s birthday.

And now she is, possibly, the only thing standing between me and a simple solution to my business problem.

Because I don’t think my sanity would survive being alone on a boat with Rachel.

“Do you really think Gabe would kick you out of the family business?” Connor asks.

Right. In corner one, we have the threat to my sanity from Rachel Perez. And in corner two, we have the threat to my livelihood and family life from Gabe Wilder.

Vegas has no idea where to put its money. God damn.

“You know what?” Connor says. “Forget I said anything. It’s a bad idea.”

“Wait, why?” I demand, although I’m pretty sure I know what he’s thinking.

“I don’t want you and Rachel on a boat together. She’s a mess, and so are you.”

I raise my eyebrows, and he clarifies. “She was waiting for her boyfriend to propose, and it turned out he was screwing another woman.”

I’m already figuring out how to kill this asshole. My hands ball into fists. Whoever he is, he’s going to die if I ever meet him.

“And you’re still a mess from the Zoë thing. You’re both hurting, and you know how hotheaded we all are when we’re hurting.”

Yeah, I do. I was a total rage-ball in the wake of Zoë’s betrayal, and Connor was patient with me while I worked through a world of fighting and fucking. Well, mostly fucking. There was just the one fight. The one that Rachel unfortunately witnessed.

But yes, I do know how hotheaded we are when we’re hurting.

“Give me some credit, Connor. I’m not a total dog.”

He gives me a look that suggests this is in doubt. (Ouch.) Connor, like every other older brother I know, is insanely protective of Rachel. But if Connor thinks he’s the only reason Rachel’s off limits to me, he doesn’t know me very well. Or, well, Rachel.

From the time she was a cute little kid, Rachel has always been a star student. A good kid, a model daughter. She has always had a life plan, and the idea that she would ever honestly want anything from me except what most women want—the bad boy fantasy—is laughable.

No. Rachel is safe from me, except in my dreams.

And I’ll have to find some other way to save Brody’s Boat and my relationship with my brothers.