Now, though, he wanted to know her.
Caleb collected a few dirty mugs and Hershey wrappers, cursing Dalton’s messiness. Then he moved Tristan’s laptops from the countertop to the table. The guy had about four of them, and they cluttered every room. He shared a roof with his brothers but didn’t see them much. He’d thought after their long talk on the porch they would spend more time together, but it seemed they were on different schedules. Last time they actually sat together was to watch a baseball game on a rare empty Sunday afternoon.
A faded memory sprung to life.
Junior league. He’d been damn good at baseball, racking up some trophies and acquiring a nice curveball and sinker as a relief pitcher. Decent at bat, too. He’d been hanging with his friends to check out Dalton’s game, which was a few hours after his. Cal remembered the taste of hot dogs and Coke, the sting of the sun on the bleachers, the solid smack of the ball against the bat.
When Dalton got up to bat, they were losing by two in the final inning, down to the last out. Cal surged to his feet with Tristan, and they cheered him on. The intensity and pride on Dalton’s face told him how important it was to be the game winner. To finally be able to go home to their father and say he was good at something.
Dalton struck out, and they lost the game.
Cal had a date that night. Tristan had plans with his friends. They cut out on both promises and stayed home with Dalton. That night, his mother cooked a huge meal and baked fresh apple pie. She got out the old photo albums, and they spent the night sifting through memories, eating pie, and sharing laughs.
He remembered that night she sat on the edge of his bed and spoke words he’d never forgotten, almost as if she knew one day they’d be battling to get back to one another.
There is nothing more important in this world than blood. Your brothers are part of you, and your soul won’t be complete without them. Make sure you take care of each other, but more important, make sure you forgive each other . . .
“Caleb?”
He spun around. She shifted her bare feet, tugging down the oversize navy T-shirt that held the Pierce Brothers logo. It was so long, she’d chosen not to put on any bottoms, and her legs remained bare. She’d scrubbed her face clean, and he spotted the faint freckles scattered over her nose, the natural pink of her lips, the soft gleam of white skin under the kitchen light. Lust hit him fast and hard, taking him down faster than Mayweather could punch. An overwhelming primitive need to growl and pin her beneath his body blasted him in waves. Holy crap, he’d never felt this intense before. Especially when a woman stood in front of him with no trappings, looking a bit vulnerable from the evening’s chaos. Caleb tamped down on his inner beast and tried to keep his hands busy.
“Good, you found something to put on. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
A ghost of a smile slid over her lips. “You’re such a proper host. No, I’m good. I just wanted to thank you.”
He lifted a brow. “Can I record this?”
She gave a deep sigh. He tried really hard not to stare at her breasts straining against the faded shirt. “No, I mean it. It was very sweet of you to offer your house. I just hate to be a bother. I can take care of myself.”
He nodded. “I never doubted that, Morgan. But sometimes it’s okay to lean on people, too. I know we had our ups and downs, but you’re part of the team. We look out for each other.”
“Like your brothers?”
“Yeah.” He thought about the tangled mess he and his brothers had made of their relationship. He wondered how to fix it. Wondered if it could ever be fixed.
Maybe he needed to step up and try again. A meal shared might go a long way toward them having some fun together. God knows they used to make him laugh, from Tristan’s dry wit to Dalton’s rowdy pranks. Sure, they’d fight, but before the epic falling-out, they’d been close most of the time.
Curiosity filled her voice. “Why don’t you and your brothers get along?”
A personal question, but he gave her points for trying. Funny, he realized he was rarely alone with Morgan. Other than the night he kissed her, they were always surrounded by workers and teams and salespeople. For now, in his mother’s kitchen, late at night, he relaxed a bit. Caleb never spoke about his personal business or family history. But damned if the craziest stuff didn’t pour out of his mouth like he was one of the fucking real housewives and loved to gossip. “Dalton slept with my fiancée. Tristan hates me because he thinks I froze him out of the business and forced him to leave.”
Her tiny gasp hit the mark. She wanted honesty? Fine. There. He just hoped she could deal with it.
He watched the emotions flicker over her face. She took her time responding, but when she spoke, she sounded calm. “Did he really sleep with your fiancée? Did he fall in love with her?”
“Nah, he wanted to prove a point.”
“Did you love her?”
He stiffened. Holy crap, this was getting deep. Did he love Felicia? Ever? Yes, in his own way. As a boy, not a man. Not that he’d ever admit it to Dalton. “Yes, I did. But looking back, it wasn’t the kind of love that could last. It wasn’t the real kind.”
“What’s the real kind like?”
Energy swirled between them. He began loading the dishwasher to distract himself from his raging hard-on. “I don’t know. I guess the kind that grows as you age. The kind that can handle daily stress, and kids, and work schedules. Felicia was excited about marrying into the family business. I think she liked the fact that I’m successful rather than who I really am.”