Chapter 3: Bide: Chapter 1

There are three things in life I know with absolute certainty.

One; the only good thing my parents ever did was give me my horde of sisters, and drop us on the doorstep of Serenity Ranch.

Two; I am destined to a life of pining after a girl who a.) is way out of my league and b.) probably knows me only as ‘that friend of that baseball player.’

And three; Nicolas Silva will never pass up an opportunity to get laid, no matter what consequences he may suffer.

I warned my roommate-turned-best-friend that getting fucked up last night was a terrible idea; hangovers and road trips mix like oil and water. But did he listen? No.

Did he thunder through the front door, drunk off his ass and toting the latest in a long line of giggling women, in the wee hours of the morning? Of course, he did.

Is he now curled up in the back seat of my truck, a grimace twisting his normally handsome face, a sickly green tint to his golden skin, and his brow glistening with a sheen of sweat? Unfortunately, yes—something the man in my passenger seat, Cass Morgan, a trinity of roommate, friend, and teammate, is taking great, mocking pleasure in.

God, this was a terrible idea. I knew it would be the second the eldest of my younger sisters suggested it. But I was blindsided by the shock of Lux, a woman who prefers to be entirely self-sufficient, actually asking for help by subtly implying having a few extra hands around the ranch for the summer would be useful. In my state of surprise, I agreed before I could consider the repercussions of exposing my beloved sisters to my friends.

My equally beloved but lacking in morals and common sense friends.

Twisting in his seat, Cass regards our friend with false pity. “Christ, Nick. What did that girl do to you?”

Brandishing a middle finger, Nick grunts, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Who was it this time?”

Despite the dread bubbling in my gut, I can’t help but join in. After all, I did have the unfortunate honor of bumping into our half-naked houseguest on the stairs this morning. “The one with the claws.” Bright red and fit to gouge an eye out. “Jessie?”

“I thought it was Janice?” Pretending to think, Cass purses his lips, scratching his chin and sliding Nick a look rife with barely hidden amusement. “Care to enlighten us, Nicolas?”

A beat of silence is his only response yet it speaks volumes.

“You don’t remember,” Cass snickers, “do you?”

Nick’s groan echoes around the truck’s interior, and I bet beneath the forearm shielding his face from the sunlight pouring in the window, there’s a harsh glare lurking. “Fuck off.”

A shocked laugh rips from my throat, my head moving in a disapproving shake. God, that’s bad, even for him. No one who knows Nick would accuse him of being soft and sentimental and sensitive to the feelings of the many, many women he coaxes into his bed. It’s not a secret, his blasé attitude towards sex. In-and-out, one-and-down, hit-and-run, all apply to my dear friend. But it’s not like he hides any of that. He doesn’t offer anything different.

But, still. Come on. Her ?

It’s not funny, it really isn’t.

Except, , yes it is.

My humor is short-lived, though. It diminishes as unkempt road turns into a familiar dusty dirt trail, as the place that’s been my home for almost a decade appears on the horizon, as we creep closer to the most important people in my life. A nervous feeling of impending doom settles in my gut. Accompanying it; a familiar sense of calm and, most prominently of all, a fuck ton of anger.

The barn catches my eye first. It’s impossible to miss, a huge wooden structure in desperate need of a coat of paint that makes me frown and kiss my teeth in annoyance because it’s bigger than it was last time I was here. Horses roam free in the nearby paddock, and my suspicions are confirmed when I spot new equine faces grazing.

They fucking renovated again.

If they did up the barn, the guesthouses certainly got some attention too; they’re the real money-makers, the mini fucking chalets rich people and fancy companies pay extortionate amounts of money to stay in and get ‘the real country experience.’

Of course, my grandparents expanded their cash grab. Why wouldn’t they, considering how much money they make from it while doing absolutely nothing other than supplying the funds? The actual work is always shucked onto someone who already has enough to deal with.

Someone who’s lingering on the front porch of our home, three figures hovering beside her, their hands a blur as they frantically wave.

“Quick recap.” Cass and Nick groan in unison as my truck rolls to a stop. Adopting a stern expression, I shift to face both of them, jutting my head towards the girls already tearing toward us. “These are my sisters. We do not fuck with my sisters. If you do, you sleep in the barn with the hay and the horse manure.“

“Sir, yes, sir.” It’s a playful yet sincere grumble; they know how much my sisters mean to me, and they know—because I told them, intricately and repeatedly—the last thing I want is the girls feeling uncomfortable in their own home.

They’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.

Shouldering open the driver’s side door, one foot barely hits the grassy ground before a thundering of squealed greetings fills the air. Four girls race toward me, hair every shade of brown and blonde whipping in the wind carrying excited chants of my name.

The youngest of the quartet reaches me first, knocking the air out of my lungs as we collide. “Oscar!” Eliza screeches, further inhibiting my breathing capabilities by snaking her arms around my neck. Chestnut hair tickles my neck, suspiciously straight compared to the wild, wavy mess I’m accustomed to. Pulling away, my chest pangs at the lack of baby fat rounding her cheeks, but my lamenting is soon chased away by a grimace as I note the black rimming her dark eyes.

God, are fourteen-year-olds supposed to wear that much eyeliner?

Wisely, I don’t voice that concern aloud; the three sisters that came before her taught me to keep my mouth shut when it comes to things like that.

My arms are only empty for a second—the twins are quick to fill the vacant spot. With equal vigor to our younger sister, Grace and Lottie launch themselves at me. Once more, I have to bite down the urge to comment as I twine a strand of Lottie’s unnaturally blonde hair around my finger, a definite change from the usual sandy brown. Swatting my hand away, she meets my narrowed gaze with one of her own.

Again, I choose to exercise wisdom and keep my mouth shut, averting my gaze and finding a small miracle in Grace looking exactly the same. Hair the same brown, eyes the same hazel, no dramatic makeup to be found.

She always has been the easy sister.

Over their shoulders, a face the spitting image of mine lurks, and the goofy smile I’m sporting grows exponentially—I know I’m not supposed to have favorites but, God, Lux is mine.

“Alexandra,” I drawl, coaxing a scowl out of the eldest Jackson sister. She hates her full name as much as I hate mine—the only difference is she actually managed to make her nickname stick.

“Oscar,” she replies in the same tone, glower relenting when I yank her into a hug. “Nice of you to finally make an appearance.”

It’s a snippy joke, I know it is, yet combined with the circles marring her under eyes, almost as dark as the irises that match mine, a knot of guilt settles in my gut. “You look tired.” An understatement—drained is probably a better word.

The second Lux graduated and decided not to attend college, the responsibility of the ranch fell on her shoulders, whether she wanted it to or not. Further education or family business, that was the ultimatum our grandparents gave all of us. Personally, I suspect she chose wrong but, again, not my place.

Lux shoves me away. “That’s how you greet your favorite sister? Seriously?”

“Yeah, Jackson,” an accented croon cuts through the round of indignant huffs Lux’s comment is greeted with, and I swear, more than one of my sisters sigh. “You’re supposed to compliment pretty girls.”

“Stop flirting with my sister.”

“I’m not .” Nick rakes a hand through his dark, curly hair before flattening it against his chest. “I can’t help if I’m naturally charming.”

“Naturally nauseating,” Cass corrects mockingly, slinging an arm around our friend’s shoulders and tossing Lux a wink. “Leave the poor girl alone. It’s bad enough she has Jackson for a brother, she doesn’t need you ruining her life.”

“I would never,” Nick protests dramatically, hitting Lux with puppy dog eyes before pinning Cass with a scowl. “You’d be lucky to have me as a brother-in-law.”

“

.” An exaggerated snort leaves Cass. “Remind me to bulk-buy condolence cards for whatever poor girl’s family gets stuck with you.”

It should be impossible, after spending my entire life surrounded by them, to forget how loud my sisters are. Yet somehow, the sheer volume they’re capable of achieving always shocks me.

Not only loud but hectic, too. Food flying, cutlery clanging, a million conversations happening at once, hard to focus on any one thing kind of hectic. Like four freight trains colliding simultaneously. By the time the guys call it a night and escape to their room, both Cass and Nick look a little shell-shocked. Even I feel a migraine incoming, and I should be used to the nonsense after almost twenty-one years.

The front door screeches as I escape the mayhem-rife kitchen, weathered wood creaking beneath me as I settle on the top step of the porch, tilting my face toward the stars twinkling above me. Besides my sisters, this is one of the things I miss most about ranch life; clear, country skies, nothing but stars for miles.

A moment of peace is all I get before footsteps sound, a body plopping down beside me at the same time a beer, ice-cold and dripping with condensation, nudges my hand. Accepting the drink, I slide Lux a disapproving look as she sips one of her own. She rolls her eyes. “I’m nineteen, not nine.”

“Still not twenty-one.”

“Neither are you.”

Only a couple of months shy, I could argue, but I’m not in the mood to bicker. Instead, I sigh, resting back on one hand and bringing the beer to my lips with the other, an honest admission changing the subject. “This place looks really good.”

More understating; ‘really good’ doesn’t begin to cover it. A single walk-through and a glance at the books proved this place is running smoother than it ever did under anyone else’s control. Dream career or not, Lux is a natural at this.

“It better,” my sister grumbles, her smile weak as pulls her knees up to her chest, resting a cheek atop them. “It’s taken enough of my blood, sweat, and tears. The renovation almost killed me.” Her attempt at humor falls flat, probably because there’s too much truth to be found behind her words.

“They didn’t help?“ I don’t know why I ask when I already know the answer; of course, they didn’t. They never do. Our grandparents’ idea of ‘parenting’ involves depositing a hefty cheque in our bank accounts once a month.

Although, that is slightly better than that of our parents, which involves simply disappearing from our lives altogether.

“They paid,” Lux drawls, the defeat in her tone hiding behind a layer of sarcasm. “That’s enough for them.”

I must not hide my annoyance very well because Lux lays a hand on my knee, patting comfortingly. “It’s fine. I have help.”

I scoff—knowing who her help is, I’m not exactly soothed. “How are Dopey and Sleepy?”

Comforting patting becomes a chastising slap. “

and are great,” she corrects with narrowed eyes, emphasizing the names of the ranch hands our grandparents hired around the time I left for college.

, they said.

, in reality.

Two giant hulking masses of muscles with no brains, good for heavy lifting and not much else, are not the help my sister needs.

“And I have Mark.”

A humorless laugh leaves me. Fucking . God, I’d rather her have no one.

I’ve never liked him, Lux’s boyfriend, mostly because he’s a fucking dipshit. Smarmy, condescending, over-controlling, and Lux is oblivious to all of it. I’ve heard him talk down to her more than once. Try to diminish the hard work she does. Refer to her as ‘nothing more than a housewife’ in a derogatory tone, twisting taking care of our home as an insult and dismissing the fact she does so much more than goddamn housework.

She runs a successful business. She keeps three teenage girls, and herself, alive and healthy, as well as a dozen horses. She does a million times more work than that tool, and she’s a million times too good for him. But every time I point that out, it ends in a fight, hence the warning look contorting Lux’s features.

“You can talk about Mark,” she starts, tone too saccharine for my liking, “if I can talk about Caroline.”

It’s a dirty tactic, bringing up my ex-girlfriend. My sisters’ preferred strategy of shutting me up. “You brought him up.”

“A temporary lapse in judgment.”

“But can I just-”

“So, you really never think about getting back together with her?”

“Nope,” I cut her off with an honest, firm answer. Not once in the two years since the break-up have I contemplated getting back together with my high school sweetheart. It was a final decision, the right decision. It never would’ve worked—she loves the tiny town we grew up in, never wants to leave, and I love this place too but, God, I couldn’t wait to get out.

“Fair enough,” Lux muses over the rim of her beer bottle, and I silently marvel at how adeptly she shucked the attention off herself. “She was kind of weird.”

“She was not.”

“I thought she was gonna follow you to Sun Valley.”

“Shut up.”

“Is there a new girl yet? Just so I know to get slash-proof tires.”

Her question is rhetorical, made in jest, yet still, a glimpse of an image flickers through my mind. Silky blonde hair, enrapturing blue eyes, a sweet yet sultry voice that I could listen to forever, easy.

I shake off that fantasy as quickly as it appears because that’s all it is.

A fantasy.