Page 9 of Best Kind of Trouble
“He’s coming as my Emotional Support Travis.”
“Are you good with that emasculating description?” I ask him, trying to break the tension. Maybe get a hint at what they’re up to.
“Yup,” he says, squeezing her close. Her curly hair must be tickling his nose, but he shows no sign of discomfort.
“Well, by all means. Let’s pack into a tiny space together, because that’s not at all suspicious.”
Travis laughs, and Hannah jabs him playfully with her elbow and says, “Just be cool, and it’ll be fine. If anyone asks, we’ll say someone puked in the bathroom and we’re getting cleaning supplies.”
I nod to Cormac. “You good?”
“Yeah,” he says, “I think I’m going to head out.” He gives Travis a hopeful look. “But I’ll be in touch about the band?”
“Yes,please,” Travis says, giving him a fist bump.
Then Hannah’s shuttling both of us toward the storeroom. She’s five foot two, and Travis and I are both over six feet, but no one can say my sister doesn’t have hustle.
A couple of minutes later, we’re all sealed into the small space together, Hannah still radiating nervous, excited energy. I feel the buzz of it in my own veins. Hannah’s like that, capable of transferring her excitement to others. It’s a gift you have to accept, like it or not.
“What is it?” I ask.
“That other favor you promised me,” she says slowly, nearly breathless. “You meant it, didn’t you?”
My heart beats harder in my chest. “You know I did.”
She looks at Travis, a silent communication passing between them.
“Hannah?” I say, never much of a patient guy. “I didn’t come in here to watch you make out with your boyfriend. Aren’t you going to tell me what this is all about?”
My sister looks me dead in the eye and says, “I’m calling in that other favor.”
CHAPTER THREE
BRIAR
“It’s going to be okay,” Sophie says, her voice upbeat, her smile fixed. “Hannah has a plan. I know she’s not usually a planner, but she really seems to be onto something this time. She had that look she gets in her eyes.”
Sophie and I are sitting on a couple of chairs in the big warehouse at the back of Big Catch Brewing—no decorations, no food, just a bunch of kegs, a few scattered chairs, and the muted sound of other people’s fun. As soon as Hannah and Sophie saw me, they pulled me back here and dressed me in a sweatshirt Hannah grabbed from the merch section up front. I’d told them my sob story through chattering teeth. Every word made me feel more pathetic, reminding me of how little I’ve changed since I was first sent to boarding school as a six-year-old.
The second week of first grade, a girl named Melly stole my American Girl Felicity doll, and instead of demanding that she return her to me, I watched in silent misery as she gave Felicity haircuts and had tea parties with her. The worst part was that Melly was supposed to be my friend. My mother and father had told me tostick close to her like glue, because she was thedaughter of one of their best friends, a real estate developer who always gave Dad the “good deals.”
Good people, my mother said.I know they raised her right.
I did get my doll back eventually, but only because my house mother finally figured out what was going on and forced Melly to return her to me and apologize. It wasn’t much of a victory, though. Melly’s apology was insincere, and my relationship with Felicity never recovered. From that point on, I only ever saw accusation in her hollow green eyes.
I’ve tried towork on myselffor years. There’s been yoga, therapy, meditation, and art. But at my core, I’m still that frightened little girl who wasn’t daring enough to ask for her doll back.
I know without asking that Hannah would have punched Melly in the face, or maybe stolen her teddy bear to give her a taste of her own medicine. I want to be strong like that, but I feel my father’s recipe for success hanging over my head—always poised to crush me. Now, the weight of the brewery is on my shoulders too.
I have the building. The supplies. The beer. The profits. But I have nothing else.
If you can make it back from this one, I’ll know you’re a real Sterling.
But I’mnota real Sterling in any way that matters.
I’m a thirty-one-year-old failure, who’s tried to play the game, several times, and only gotten through the first few rounds.
Sophie starts rubbing my back again. “You’ll see. Hannah seemed really confident.”
