Four Play

  FOUR Play

  Stephanie Brother

  Copyright © 2020 by Stephanie Brother

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locations is purely coincidental. The characters are all productions of the author's imagination.

  Please note that this work is intended only for adults over the age of 18 and all characters represented as 18 or over.

  Kindle Edition

  Book cover designed by Kaya Woodward Cover Design

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  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. A really big favor

  2. Isn’t time supposed to heal all wounds?

  3. When will I ever learn?

  4. Lewd or rude, or both

  5. The icy chill

  6. Take no for an answer

  7. Am I being paranoid?

  8. Deep and delicious

  9. Who do you want?

  10. We want to be more

  11. So very wrong

  12. Feeling foolish

  13. Shaken up

  14. Delaying the inevitable

  15. Just say the word

  16. We don’t mind sharing

  17. Watch out for the quiet ones

  18. So exposed

  19. Ready to play

  20. The full experience

  21. A girl could get used to this

  22. Such a dirty girl

  23. Beyond the bounds of my imagination

  24. Some kind of game

  25. Wait a minute. Love?

  26. It shouldn’t be possible

  27. All of them?

  28. No turning back now

  29. Filled with love

  About the Author

  Also by Stephanie Brother

  1

  A really big favor

  “Give me four.” The woman making the request doesn’t even bother to look up from her phone. Her thumbs fly across the screen as she stands in front of the counter.

  “Just four? Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have a half dozen?”

  “No, four is good.” She glances at me for not even a second before returning to her text conversation, or game, or whatever it is she’s doing that is apparently more important to her than her order. “And any kind is good. I don’t care.”

  Of course she doesn’t. And why would she? She doesn’t care that I’ve been here since four this morning. My skin, hair, and clothing are coated in a thin sheen of grease from the fryers, and for some reason, I took pride in frosting the various varieties of doughnuts, even though I had to follow guidelines that were probably decided by a committee in a conference room in some faraway corporate office. I artfully applied the packaged icing that was no doubt manufactured in a factory.

  How could she possibly know that the treats she’s ordering were assembled by an educated pastry chef making the best of a complete lack of job opportunities? I am literally certified to make macarons, profiteroles, éclairs, and soufflés, but I put my best into this job at this chain doughnut shop.

  I offer a smile she doesn’t return as I hand over the small white bag containing her four random doughnuts, then check my watch. Another day done. As I’m about to punch out, the shift leader calls my name. “Maddy, we won’t need you to open tomorrow. Come in at ten instead. Okay?”

  I nod, not having a choice in the matter, or any predictability in my schedule at all, apparently. I hope I can make up the hours later in the week. I clock out and start back to the tiny room in the cramped apartment I share with two other minimum wage workers.

  This is my life, and so far, it looks nothing like I imagined it during all my years spent dreaming of culinary school and an exciting and rewarding life in the big city.

  Halfway through my thirty-block walk home – because buying a bus pass makes it difficult to also pay my share of the rent – my phone vibrates with a text.

  Mom: Hi honey, can you talk?

  Her message sounds innocent but I’m instantly on alert. Mom texts a few times a week but those brief messages are always just little hellos and check-ins. We talk every Sunday evening, so it’s unusual for her to want to talk mid-week.

  Half a block further I turn into a corporate courtyard that will offer some shelter from the relentless noise of traffic, and I click the call button.

  “Hi, sweetie! I didn’t expect you to call immediately. Are you home from work?”

  “I’m on my way home. How are you? Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, yes, everything’s fine,” she says, but there’s a current of nervous excitement buzzing around her words. “How are you?”

  “Mom, I’m fine. What’s going on?”

  Now there’s a nervous laugh. I picture her pacing around the small living room, or maybe she’s still at her shop, obsessively wiping down the counters as we talk.

  After a long pause and a throat clearing her voice sounds more grounded. “I feel funny having this conversation over the phone, and I’d much rather tell you in person, but since you don’t plan to come home until the holidays, and I haven’t seen you in six months, I thought I’d better –”

  “Mom, what is it?” My tone is sharp and I’m gripping my phone so tightly that a twinge of pain shoots up my arm.

  “Oh, Maddy, everything’s okay. I’m calling you with good news. Really good news.”

  I let out a breath but don’t fully relax. Something’s definitely not right.

  “I don’t know quite how to tell you this. It’s probably going to come as a big surprise…”

  “Mom!”

  “Okay, okay. Well, a few months ago, I started dating someone. I didn’t mention it right away because I didn’t think it was a big deal. But things have moved really quickly and… well… last night he proposed to me and I said yes.”

  I can’t make sense of her words.

  “I’m getting married. We’re getting married!”

  I can’t find my words.

  “Mike and I are getting married. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, and I really didn’t expect this, but he asked me, and well, it just makes sense. We don’t see any reason to wait. Not at our age.”

  My mom, who, as far as I could tell, never once even dated anyone since my father left when I was a toddler, is suddenly marrying someone named Mike?

  “Honey? Maddy? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah, Mom, I’m here.” I pull my long brown hair out of its ponytail and shake my head, trying to focus, trying to make sense of what she’s saying.

  “As I said, I wanted to tell you in person. I didn’t mean to spring this on you, but sweetie, I’m so happy, and I couldn’t wait to tell you.”

  A million questions start racing through my head. Who is this guy? What does he want from my mom? Can she trust him? What does this all mean for her? How could this be happening so suddenly? Shouldn’t I have at least gotten to meet him before she made a life-changing decision?

  Then I think of all of the sacrifices my mom made for me my whole life. She went to work at the grocery store when my dad left us, but when that wasn’t bringing in enough money, she started making cakes on the side, and with a lot of hard work she grew that side hustle into her own shop. Now she is not only the most in-demand baker on the little coastal island where I grew up, but people come from the next county for her wedding cakes.

  She worked hard to make her business a huge success, but she was always ther
e for me when I needed her. She made homemade Halloween costumes for me that won contests at school, she threw amazing birthday parties for me when I was little, and when I graduated from high school, she sent me off to the city so that I could pursue my dreams. A painful pang of guilt runs through me when I think about how well that’s not going.

  My mom deserves every happiness, and I hope this is a good thing, but she’s such a nice person that I worry about someone taking advantage of her.

  “You said his name is Mike?” I manage to ask.

  “Yes, that’s right. You might remember him. Mike Harding. He owns the car dealership in Littleton?”

  I start to feel like I’m underwater. My mom sounds far away as she continues. “He used to own the repair shop here on the island but now his sons have taken it over. You went to school with them, remember?”

  No. No. No, no, no, no.

  “Adam, Matthew, and of course the twins, Joshua and Jacob?”

  Nononononononono.

  “Maddy? I know I’m springing a lot on you but I have a big favor to ask. A really big favor.”

  I’d do anything for my mom. Anything. That’s my immediate thought. But after all of this, after this shocking news, after finding out she’s marrying the father of – no, my brain just won’t let me go there. Not yet. I sink down on a stone bench and squeeze my eyes shut as I wait for her request.

  “Mike wants us to go on a long honeymoon. And after that, he wants to travel a lot, which you know I’ve always wanted to do. Maddy, sweetie, I know you’ve always wanted to be in the city and you can definitely go back, but I need you to come home and run the bakery for me.”

  2

  Isn’t time supposed to heal all wounds?

  There are only two cars ahead of me at the light waiting to cross the bridge onto the island, a sure sign that the tourist season is over. Summer is great for business at Mom’s shop but is always a pain in every other aspect, especially traffic and crowded beaches.

  When the light changes, I touch the gas pedal and ease the compact car across the waterway that separates Four Points Island from the mainland. The vehicle is new to me, but very much not new in every other way, shape, and form. I didn’t need a car in the city but knowing I’d need one to get around here, Mom loaned me the money to buy one for the drive home.

  I feel like a changed person, coming back home after having lived away for almost six years, but I’m not sure whether I’ve changed for the better. I’m grateful for all I learned and for the experiences I had – most of them, anyway – but I can’t help feeling like a failure, coming home because I couldn’t make it on my own.

  Sure, Mom needed me here, but we both know she wouldn’t have asked if I had been enjoying the successful career I’d always hoped for. To be honest, I think she was throwing me a lifeline with her request, and while I’m grateful, I’m also ashamed to admit that I needed her help.

  The music I’m listening to suddenly stops. My phone vibrates with an incoming call, and a name I haven’t seen in a long time appears on the screen. Lacy.

  “Hi!” I answer on speaker just as I’m across the bridge.

  “Hi, stranger! A little bird told me you were coming home.”

  “Your bird must be a world-class stalker because I literally just got back on the island.” Lacy always was the first to know everything that went on around here.

  “Sweet! How are you?”

  “I’m okay. How are you?”

  “Good. I’m excited to see you. I never thought you’d leave the city. I know how much you love it there.”

  “Yeah, well, it didn’t love me back.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true. Who wouldn’t love you?” Lacy says, reminding me what a kind, positive person she’s always been. I should have stayed in better touch with her.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing you, too. Maybe next week?”

  “Sure. After the wedding? I’ll bet you’ll be really busy helping with all the last-minute stuff.”

  “From what I understand, it’s just going to be a small ceremony in the park, but yeah, you’re probably right.”

  “I’ll get in touch next week. Welcome home, Maddy!”

  “Thanks, Lacy.”

  There’s a smile on my face for the first time today, and as I pass all of the familiar shops and landmarks, I have the feeling you get when you wrap your favorite sweater around on you on a cool, fall evening. Despite the very mixed emotions I have about coming home, I can’t deny that there’s a sense of comfort here that I’ve never felt anywhere else.

  I hold tight to that warm, fuzzy feeling, savoring it as I turn onto the island’s main street, past the kitschy nautical-themed mini-golf course, where my uncle would always take me when he visited. A little further up is Four Points Island’s best ice cream shop where my team always went after we won softball games, and where Lacy and I hung out watching cute tourist boys in the summer.

  The next business I pass is Harding’s Garage and my lingering smile disappears instantly. The building is bigger now, there’s a flashy new sign out front, and the lot looks freshly paved. Is it wrong that their apparent success makes me angry? Why are they doing well, while I’ve been scraping by in a greasy doughnut shop? Maybe there’s no such thing as karma if the four jerks who at various times teased, tormented, bullied, ignored, and hurt me are living good lives.

  I grip the steering wheel tightly and quickly blink to stem the threatening tears. Isn’t time supposed to heal all wounds? How much time will it take to soften the pain accumulated over thirteen years of my life?

  Looking back, it almost seems like the Harding brothers plotted a tag team plan for making me miserable. When I was younger, Adam and Matt were horrible, either teasing me relentlessly or saying and doing all sorts of rude and hurtful things. I tried to keep my distance from them, but the twins, who were in my grade, were my friends then, and we spent a lot of time together. Chalk that up to life lessons learned the hard way.

  I thought the twins were good guys who just had the misfortune of having the worst older brothers in the world, but ultimately it was the twins, Josh and Jake, who hurt me the most. After that, as if they’d been tagged out, Adam and Matt stopped tormenting me and began purposefully ignoring me in a way that made me feel like I was less than nothing.

  I huff out a sigh and, along with it, a small groan of pain. The Harding brothers were terrible to me, and in a few days, my mom is becoming a Harding by marriage. If the boys got their lovely personalities from their dad, I fear for my mom, I really do. And that is another reason I agreed to come home – to keep an eye on the situation and be ready to step in if needed.

  Since my mom called with her bombshell news, I’ve thought back over all of my interactions with Mr. Harding, but there weren’t many I could remember. When I used to play at the boys’ house, he often wasn’t home, working long hours just like my mom did. Mrs. Harding had died when the boys were young. The twins didn’t even remember her, and maybe the loss of their mother in their formative years was the cause of all of their terrible personalities.

  I recall Mr. Harding being very strict and firm with his sons, but never unkind. In the handful of interactions I had with him, he was always nice to me. I try to take some reassurance from that fact, and I do trust my mom to make good decisions in general, but I’ve never seen her with a man, and you can’t blame me for being wary about their hasty marriage.

  After a deep breath, I let out a long sigh and turn off the main street. Although I won’t hesitate to intervene if Mr. Harding doesn’t treat my mother well, ultimately it’s her marriage, not mine. She may be choosing to become a Harding, but that won’t make me one, and after the wedding ceremony, during which I suppose I’ll be forced to spend a few minutes with the four banes of my existence, I intend to see as little of the brothers as possible.

  One more turn and I’m approaching the home where I grew up. The sun is starting to set, but there’s enough light to reveal fresh paint on th
e house. The landscaping is looking much tidier than usual, too, and there’s a new tree planted out front. The driveway is on the far side of the house, so I don’t see all of the vehicles until I’m pulling in. In addition to Mom’s sedan, there are three pickup trucks in the driveway, all shiny and new-looking, one of them with dealer plates.

  After my long drive, I was looking forward to a quiet evening with mom. Instead, it looks like we have company.

  3

  When will I ever learn?

  The sound of male voices greets me when I let myself in the front door. Loud, deep and laughing, and so out of place in our normally quiet little home.

  I consider turning around, reversing out of the driveway and finding somewhere to kill time until the house is empty later. I could tell Mom I got delayed in road construction. Before I can make a run for it, she bustles around the corner and spots me.

  “Maddy! You’re here!”

  I’m instantly enveloped in a hug that feels indescribably good. Mom smells like cinnamon and ginger. I let myself sink into the comfort she offers until a deep voice interrupts us.

  “Jen? Oh, Madison, you’re here.”

  I separate from Mom to find a large man standing in the hall, a pleasant expression on his face.

  “Hi, Mr. Harding. Yes, I’m here.”

  “Call me Mike.” He holds out a hand for me to shake. “Welcome home.”

  I bristle at the fact that he’s welcoming me back to my own home, but his vibe is friendly, not territorial, so I push my irritation aside.