Dirty Sexy Secret (Green County Book 1) Read online

  The morning after talk is about four fucking years overdue, and Hazel might be pissed, but I’m done playing this by her rules.

  If it’s effecting Nora and Eli it’s gone on far too fucking long.

  The thing about small towns is that they’re small. Nothing really happens here. It’s the beauty of the place, the whole reason I fell so fucking hard for Green County when I moved here. Dad’s latest duty station. Another military brat in a town full of them.

  On the surface, Green County looks perfect. Idyllic. Fucking Mayberry in the middle of corn-fed Kansas.

  But the more I look around, the more I think we’ve got a problem. It’s something they don’t show the outside world. And I am the outside world, to some degree, even after Green Co rallied around us.

  Do you remember that day? So many people don’t. It’s easy to forget.

  October 28th. 1996. Most of the country thought we were moving out of Bosnia. We were. It was a quiet time for the military.

  For a military brat, there’s nothing quite like peace. Nothing that’s quite as comforting.

  It wasn’t supposed to happen—that’s the tragedy of it.

  But a plane crash is a plane crash.

  Green County was home to Sanders Army base and it lost twenty-seven soldiers in one morning. The entire country paid attention, descended on the County like a fucking horde, demanding to know what went wrong.

  Here’s the thing, though. Most of the people left behind were families. Kids and their surviving parent.

  There were four, who weren’t.

  Four kids who were orphans. One—Anna Winters--got out clean, got picked up by an aunt and whisked away as soon as legally possible.

  The other three. Well. The military and Green Co had no idea what the hell to do with them.

  Nora stepped in. She was lifelong Army, retired now, and living a quiet sort of life. She owned a diner on the edge of town that the boys from base swore by and truckers liked to stay in. She kept it clean, kept a few cabins out back to let truckers and drunk soldiers crash in, and made a decent living.

  And she took those three orphans in. Raised them as her own, gave them everything she could, and if Green Co and the Marine Corp kicked some money her way for publicity and survivor benefits, she tucked that in a little fund for each of them.

  Sometimes family is the blood your born to.

  And sometimes. It’s the woman who steps up and takes you in when the world is falling apart. It’s the gentle giant who becomes your best friend and brother, even if he was born in Germany and you were born in California. It’s the quiet green eyed young man who’s so eaten up with grief and unspent anger that you creep around him for months before you find him, broken down in the basement, and crawl into his lap, because you get it.

  Fuck, you get it.

  Family isn’t just the people you’re born to.

  It’s the ones who chose to love you.

  Nora taught me that. So did Eli, the brother of my heart. And so did Archer. Although he stopped being my brother, a long fucking time ago.

  I sit back and rub my eyes.

  Stare at that last line.

  Fuck.

  This isn’t what I’m supposed to be writing. I’m supposed to be doing an expose on the criminal underworking’s of the County—and there were underworking’s, even if the entire County looked the other way—and instead I was rambling on about family.

  This is why I got dismissed from the paper in Boston.

  Ok, no it’s not but fuck it probably had something to do with it.

  A knock on my front door jerks my head up and I frown. Coffee. I need more coffee. I glance at the corner of my desktop and mutter a curse. No wonder my back hurts. I’ve been working almost nonstop since I got home from CinSations, ten hours ago.

  At my feet, Smith growls, a low, furious note that rumbles through his chest.

  Antisocial mutt is more like me than is probably healthy. If I gave a fuck, I might even do something about it.

  “Stay,” I order, half-hearted, and stand, making my way to the door. He follows me, a half-formed noise in his throat.

  Brandon Archer stares at me through the thin glass, his expression tense.

  Six months. I had a damn good run before he pinned me down. Not as good as I wanted—if I had my way, we’d never do this, spend our lives in our respective corners.

  I pull open the door and stare at him.

  “Our shit is effecting Mama, Hazy. Time to be adults about it.”

  “Don’t wanna,” I say, sticking my lip out in a pout and he breathes a laugh that rubs against my skin.

  The problem with Archer is that he’s too much. He was too close growing up, too angry and too mean, and then he was too sweet, too gentle.

  And then he was too fucking hot, and any idea that he was my brother, something I’d always struggled with, vanished in want.

  Here’s the way it worked.

  They died. And we lived. Nora did what she didn’t have to do, picked us up to keep us out of the group home, and gave us a family. A broken family, but Nora reasoned that no one would understand our collective loss, and individual hell, quite like each other.

  It was a twisted sort of logic, but it also made all the sense in the world, and it fell, so fucking easy, into place.

  In a time when breathing was hard, we were easy.

  But Archer had never been easy. He didn’t know how—he was the oldest, older than Eli by four years and me by five. He felt the lost more than we did, and he was angry. God, he was angry. That’s what I remember about that first year.

  The crushing grief, and Archer’s furious anger.

  It gave way. Even Archer couldn’t maintain fury in the face of Nora’s calm practicality and Eli’s wild, infectious enthusiasm. They coaxed him out of his fury.

  And he coaxed me out of my grief.

  And then I fell for him, so hard that it stunned even me, and I ruined everything.

  “We’ve been doing things we don’t want to do for years, Hazel ,” he says, and I shiver as his voice wraps around my name. “We both fucked up. Time to pay the piper and talk shit out, because Nora is gonna kick my ass if I miss another family dinner, and if she doesn’t, Eli will. Dude’s my partner. I can’t avoid his sulking.”

  I laugh a little at that and sigh. Let him in. “Come on. You talk while I cook.”

  Archer’s eyebrow hitches up at that, and I shrug, turning away. “I’m starving.”

  I feel him following me into the little farmhouse. It’s not nearly as nice or as spacious as Gabe’s down the road, five acres and a line of trees over, but it’s mine.

  Once upon a time, my parents wanted a house. And then Mom died, killed by a drunk driver. Dad couldn’t give me stability or even a mother, hell—he couldn’t even give me him, thanks to the Corp. But he bought a house, and hoped that would be enough for a kid reeling from the loss of her mother.

  After he died in the Green Co Crash, as the national media dubbed it, Nora rented the place out and put the profits in my account.

  When I graduated and went off to school, I had more padding then I had any right to, and a house, if I wanted it.

  It made everything falling apart a little easier to bear, if only just because I didn’t worry that I’d end up homeless or on Nora’s couch.

  I mean, Mama Nora would take me in. She was pretty fucking fantastic and would love for me to come home, even for a weekend. Nora missed us. Even if she kept it to herself, she missed us like crazy.

  It was a mutual feeling though.

  “Isn’t that your lunch?”

  I glance at Archer and where he’s frowning at a box lunch from CinSations.

  Shit.

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  His green eyes go flinty and he frowns at me. “What the fuck, Hazel?”

  “I was working. I didn’t get hungry,” I say, defensive, and his scowl deepens. He grabs my arm and pushes me onto a stool at the bar. “Sit the fuck down before yo
ur blood sugar crashes.”

  “Jesus, Archer, I haven’t fainted since high school.”

  He ignores me, rummaging through my cabinets before he makes a satisfied noise and emerges with a sleeve of saltines and a jar of peanut butter. He leans against the counter across from me and makes me peanut butter cracker sandwiches, and I’m thrown.

  Not by his actions, but into the past.

  When I was a little girl, I was the one that was easily forgotten. Not Nora’s fault. I wanted to be forgotten. I wanted her to focus on Archer. He was older than me, when that October storm destroyed our world. Sixteen, and all this bottled rage. For the first six months, everyone was wrapped up in keeping Archer from self-destructing. He fought too much, raided Nora’s bar, and stowed away in a five different trucker’s cabs. He made it all the way to the Canadian border once, before Nora caught up with him and dragged him home.

  Eli pulled him out of his rage.

  Eli with his easy smiles, and his nightmares. With his bright days and black nights. Eli was, of the three of us, the one who handled shit. He smiled and answered the questions directed at us in public, kept me tucked close so I wasn’t dealing with too many questioning stares.

  He kept seeing his friends, stayed on the basketball team, and drank himself stupid to keep the nightmares at bay.

  Archer quit running, because Eli needed him. Because when Eli crawled into Archer’s bed, the nightmares didn’t come. When Archer was in the other bed, Eli didn’t need to drink. Because when Archer joked with him and insulted him, when Archer dragged him to the garage, and made him learn basic car maintenance before he banished him to the stool and fetching tools, he made the fake smile Eli gave the world real.

  Nora was right. She knew we’d need each other to heal. As the six-month mark passed, and Green County was infested with reporters looking for soundbites and the photos of the Airplane Orphans, it didn’t sting as much as it should have. Because Archer and Eli were on their way to healthy.

  “Hey,” Archer says, jerking me out of my memories and nudging the plate of crackers at me, with a glass of chocolate milk. “Eat.”

  I wrinkle my nose at him. “Archer, I’m not thirteen. I can have real food.”

  “Real food takes time to cook, and you aren’t playing with knives or fire when you’re tired and about to have a sugar crash. Eat your snack like a good girl.”

  I snarl, and he crosses his arms, his face impassive and unimpressed.

  “If I eat this, will you leave me alone?”

  He doesn’t blink, but I grab a cracker and bite into.

  Bite down on the hungry moan that wants to spill out because, fuck, I was hungry. I chew and swallow thickly, and take another bite, and ignore the way Brandon fucking Archer is staring at me, his expression too damn smug.

  “What the hell do you want, Archer?” I demand.

  “Wanna know why you came home, for one,” he says easily, reaching out and swiping one of my crackers. I growl and he bares his teeth at me in a parody of a smile.

  Bastard.

  “You answered your own question. It’s home,” I say, smiling tightly. It’s not the truth, but it’s as close as I’m willing to go with him.

  “You remember that time when you were, I dunno, maybe thirteen. The summer Nora paid me to babysit you and Eli?”

  I frown at him, but give a slow nod. It was, in the privacy of my own mind, what I called our Golden Summer. It was when everything was safe and we were happy, before—everything that came after.

  “Why?”

  “Remember that first week, when Eli and I would go swim in the lake for hours, and you would hide in your room with stacks of books. You told me so many fucking lies to get out swimming. Because you didn’t want to admit the truth.”

  I flush and he grins. “You didn’t know how.”

  “I don’t understand the point of this.”

  His eyes darken, going from grass green to the shade of a deep forest, flecked through with gold. “You didn’t have to lie to me, then, Hazel. You’ve never needed to lie to me.”

  That softly, calling me out on my lie.

  And I still can’t force the words out. I nibble at my snack and watch as Archer pries the cracker he stole apart, and slowly licks it clean.

  And holy shit, I can’t watch that. It’s almost pornographic, the neat, quick little licks that catch the peanut butter until the cracker is clean and his lips are shinning, and the tip of his tongue is caught between his teeth.

  His smirk is slow and sexy.

  “I’m coming to family dinner, Sunday. You think you can fake it for a few hours, for Mama?” he asks, and I nod, my throat too dry to do anything else.

  He grins at me like he knows what I’m thinking and then turns away and digs in the pantry again. That gets my attention because what the hell is he doing?

  “What the hell are you doing?” I demand.

  “Looking for food. What the fuck do you keep in this place?”

  I shift uncomfortably on my chair. I hate when he calls me out on things. It makes me feel like a little girl again and I’ve never really liked that from him.

  “I haven’t gone shopping recently,” I say defensively.

  Archer sends me an arch eyebrow look. “Clearly. Get dressed.” He grins when I hesitate and it’s coaxing and warm. “Come on, Hazy-eyes. We’re going shopping and then I’m going to cook for you.”

  Panic flares as hot as desire, and I shove them down where I can ignore them for a few minutes longer. “What? No. I have to work and you have to leave.”

  He grins at me and moves around the counter to come stand next to me. Too close. I want to back up, want to give him space. Want to run to another room. Stubbornness keeps me in my seat.

  The smile is pure Archer, all smug and knowing and older brother and I hate that look on his face. He can look at Eli that way but I hate when he looks at me like that.

  “Do you know how long it’s been?” he says slowly “Since we hung out just me and you and Eli.”

  “I dunno.”

  Since before he left, before I left, before everything that came between.

  “Too long.”

  “Archer, I can’t,” I say softly.

  “Hazy, there’s nothing you can’t do.” The stubborn gleam slides away, and he touches my cheek gently and every inch of me wants to lean into that touch.

  Every inch of me wants to slap him away.

  That’s always been my relationship with Archer.

  Pull him close, push him away—all of the dichotomy that is us.

  “Are you going to call your brother or am I,” I say pushing out of my chair and scurrying away. I throw over my shoulder, “I’ve got to get dressed.”

  And even though he knows I’m running, he lets me.

  I’m used to not being comfortable. I’m used to feeling out of place even here in Green County where I’ve always been home. But this feels right. This has always felt right: me behind the wheel, Eli in the passenger seat, and Hazel leaning up between us, fooling with the radio and fighting with my brother. I don’t think I realized how much I missed it—how much I missed her—until she’s back, a laughing, sniping presence in the backseat that rubs against my skin.

  It makes me wish for more and the thing is I know that we need to fix what’s going on between us.

  I know I need to apologize for that night and try to make her understand but for right now? For tonight, she’s here and not running. Eli is here and laughing and it’s like my family has come back together.

  After the accident, I fell apart.

  I was self-destructive and drank too much and caused all kinds of hell for Nora. I was a little shithead, wrapped up in my own grief. Everyone looked at our little family and they saw the orphans. They saw people who had lost everything.

  Even Nora had lost something, although we don’t talk about it much. But her son died in that accident too. Not just our fathers.

  She pulled us together and we were held
there by the shared strength of our grief and I hated them for it.

  I hated Nora for shoving me with people who meant I couldn’t forget.

  I hated them because they understood and I didn’t want anyone to understand.

  But then. They needed me. And that made all the difference. That is what pulled me out of my grief.

  Eli and Hazel belong to Nora—they needed her. They needed that mother who cared, who was a little bit too cold and a little bit too warm and a little bit too everything.

  I never needed her, not the way that they did.

  She was a friend. She’s still is a friend and I love the woman more than life. I owe her everything—she kept me on track and she pushed me to be better than I was.

  But she wasn’t mine.

  Eli and Hazel —they were mine.

  When Nora left and worked all night at the truck-stop, Eli still had nightmares and I was the one who took care of him.

  When Hazel fell apart, this skittish, cold creature hiding behind her books and social anxiety and her quiet, I’m the one who pulled her out of it. The one who made her put her books down and the one who made her laugh.

  I’m the one who made her come back to life.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t like Nora. Because I adore her.

  It’s that I needed to be needed and Eli and Hazel gave me that.

  So being here with them, like this, is right in a way that hasn’t been right in too many years. I know that most of the reason it’s been wrong is my fault which makes this bittersweet and all the more special.

  That’s probably why when I pulled up, Eli just hopped in the car and didn’t argue with me. Probably why when I said let’s do dinner with Eli, Hazel didn’t put up more than a token argument before she retreated and got dressed.

  I know she’s still uncomfortable with me and having Eli as a buffer helps. I like having my brother around—there’s a reason he’s my partner even if GCPD hates it.

  “What are you going to cook?” Hazel asks.

  I slide a glance at her from the corner of my eye.

  “Shouldn’t you cook?” I ask, and Eli laughs. Bastard.

  Hazel smirks and I can hear the smile in her voice. “This was your idea. You’re cooking and I’m going to drink.”