Wrapping Up: A Rainier Family Novel

  Wrapping Up

  Ashton Cade

  Copyright © 2019 by Ashton Cade

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  1. Eli

  2. Garrett

  3. Eli

  4. Garrett

  5. Eli

  6. Garrett

  7. Eli

  8. Garrett

  9. Eli

  10. Garrett

  11. Eli

  12. Garrett

  13. Eli

  14. Garrett

  15. Eli

  16. Garrett

  17. Eli

  18. Garrett

  19. Eli

  20. Garrett

  21. Eli

  22. Garrett

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Running Off

  About the Author

  Also by Ashton Cade

  Eli

  I’m enjoying a hot bubble bath after a long day at the clinic, soft music playing, candles flickering all around me, a flute of champagne in my hand, a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries on the lip of the tub.

  It’s glorious.

  Or, it would be if it weren’t for that weird sound interrupting my music. I don’t know what it is, or where it’s coming from. It’s nagging at me, even if I can’t focus on it. I try to enjoy my bath, reach for a strawberry, but my fingers don’t get there.

  The music stops, the steam slipping away until I’m jolted awake.

  My phone. It’s my phone ringing.

  Groaning, I reach out for it, eyes glued shut with crust.

  “Hello?” I mutter, voice groggy, raspy and rough.

  “Is this Eli Sanders?” the authoritative voice on the other end asks.

  That gets me a little bit more awake. There are no good reasons for someone to be calling in the middle of the night. Instantly my blood is pumping a little faster running through the possibilities. Some kind of emergency in town? Mass casualties?

  My brain always goes to the worst possible conclusion right away.

  “It is,” I say quickly, rubbing sleep from my eyes, thrusting my fingers through my hair to get it in order before my feet are on the floor. I don’t know what to expect from this call, but four words in that tone tell me enough to know I won’t be going right back to bed. “Who is this?”

  “Sorry to call you at this hour, Mr. Sanders. This is Officer Rainier with the Umberland Police Department.”

  My throat goes tight—the urgency is lessened by his pleasantries, but having the cops call at two in the morning still isn’t good news.

  “Is everything all right?” I stammer out, flipping on my bedside lamp.

  “Is there any chance you’d be able to come down to the station tonight?” Officer Rainier—Ryan’s his first name—asks, sounding hesitant to do so.

  “Yeah, sure I can. But what’s going on?” Already I’ve got socks on, and I’m pulling up a pair of sweatpants, tightening the drawstring before I tie it in a knot.

  “We got a report of some vandalism in progress. Picked up the perpetrator and he asked that we call you instead of his parents. Normally that’s not how things go, but after everything he’s been through and—”

  “Wait, you’ve got Craig at the station?” I ask, fury making my voice tremble. Okay, so fury might be a strong word. Disappointment? That doesn’t seem strong enough.

  Craig’s a good kid. I know he is… Somewhere in there. Somewhere deep in there. But he’s always struggled. He’s got plenty of reason to. That’s why I hoped to be a good role model for him. I wanted to show him that you can come out of a shitty situation, a broken home, and still pull yourself up and make something out of your life you can be proud of.

  Of course, hearing that he just got picked up by the cops for vandalism makes me question how good a job I’m really doing here.

  “I’m afraid so,” Ryan says with a sigh and a click of his tongue. “I know the kid’s had some trouble,” he says, his voice lowering over the phone, like he’s moving away or covering it to not be overheard. I can imagine him doing either. I don’t know Ryan super well. About as well as you can know the head cop in a small town when you’re the main nurse at the only clinic around.

  Which is to say we’ve met a time or two. We’ve commiserated over tough cases, senseless violence, kids in situations they should’ve been saved from…

  Craig fits into that last category.

  “I don’t want to see him wreck his whole future over this,” Ryan continues, voice still low and hushed. “I know the guy that owns the place he trashed, and asked him to come down here too. Hoping we can all sort this out for Craig’s benefit,” he says, warming my heart.

  “Yeah, of course. I’ll be there in less than ten.”

  “Don’t speed just ’cause you know I’m not there to catch you,” he grumbles good-naturedly.

  Like I said, Ryan’s a good guy. All the Rainiers are. They’ve had the benefit of growing up in a big, loving, supportive family. Things kids like me and Craig could only dream of.

  But at least with Ryan, he gets that. He understands how hard it can be for kids that don’t have that. I appreciate that he doesn’t want to ruin Craig’s life over some dumb mistakes he made as a fifteen-year-old. Who hasn’t done stupid shit as a fifteen-year-old?

  “You got it, Officer,” I answer, hanging up, my heart in my throat.

  What in the world am I going to say to Craig?

  What was he thinking?

  That’s probably the most important thing. When a kid like him lashes out like this, it’s for a reason. Craig’s dad’s been out of the picture for a little while now though—thankfully. He was the first of many men in Tina Shannon’s life to mistreat her and her son. Or at least the first I saw. He’s the one that broke her, made her a disinterested alcoholic who doesn’t seem to care if the guys she brings back from the bar beat up on her kid just for having the guts to defend her from their abuse.

  Tina’s got a boatload of problems of her own, but none of them are mine except Craig. Craig came into the clinic for stitches after another one of his mom’s “boyfriends” was talking down to her, calling her worthless and all kinds of other horrible things. He stepped in, tried to defend her, and nearly lost sight in one of his eyes for his trouble.

  Normally, I don’t say anything. We were taught in medical school to treat the situation as delicately as possible, to assess if the patient wants help before offering our thoughts. But in this case, I figured someone needed to stick up for Craig. No one else was going to. So I told him that. He needed to look out for himself. He couldn’t let his mom or the guys in her life make him do something that was going to stick with him forever.

  Of course, being about thirteen at the time, Craig didn’t let on that he heard a whole lot of what I was saying. At least not until he came to the clinic another day when he wasn’t injured. Just to talk.

  Apparently, I’m one of the few adults that makes sense to Craig. He’ll listen to me when he won’t listen to anyone else.

  Which makes facing this problem trickier.

  I’m not his parent by any means, but I am kind of an unofficial big brother, and I don’t want to see him throwing away his future for some dumb kicks. At the same time, he has to know I’m here for him. I can’t have him shut me out by being too angry or disappointed.

  I have no idea how I’m going to handle this.

  No idea at all.

  Not even by the time I’m walki
ng into the police station, butterflies in my stomach. I want to do right by this kid, and I feel like it’s up to me to make a difference in his life, but if I make a mistake, if I do it wrong, it could ruin everything I’ve done so far.

  No pressure or anything.

  “Hey Eli,” Craig mutters from the chair by the officer’s desk he’s in. His hands are cuffed in front of him, and he looks sullen, defeated.

  “Hey,” I say, sighing as I sit in the chair next to him. “I don’t know how much help I’m going to be here since I’m not your guardian or anything—”

  “I know,” Craig says, adding a shrug. “But I didn’t figure my mom would answer.”

  Right. Knowing Tina, he’s not wrong. Poor kid.

  “What happened?” I ask, watching him tense up a little. I realize it’s not from my question though, it’s Ryan walking back toward his desk with another man at his side—his brother Garrett.

  That’s whose place he trashed? Come on.

  “Well, I took a look at the damage,” Garrett says, stopping in front of Craig with a stern look on his face. It’s a look I’ve never seen from the normally carefree guy.

  Garrett’s not someone I know well, just another one of the townsfolk I know by scars and illnesses over the years. Last year Garrett cut himself bad enough he needed stitches across the heel of his palm. The whole time I was working on him, I was trying to ignore his dark green eyes ringed with bronze, his healthy tan, the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that belied how much time he spends in the sun—and all the time he spends laughing.

  And now he’s here again, completely justified in being pissed off at my surrogate little brother, but I’m getting indignant on Craig’s behalf anyway.

  “It’s going to cost a few thousand to replace and repair everything. The only construction company in town is Trevor’s, and they’re booked out through winter. Gonna cost even more to get someone to come in from out of town to do it,” Garrett says, arms folded across his wide, muscular chest, his mouth a hard line I wouldn’t have thought possible from the always-smiling guy.

  “Charges are based on the estimated damage. If it’s high enough, we’ll have to charge you as an adult. These won’t be getting wiped off your juvie record,” Ryan says, like he’s explaining it to Craig, who’s gone from defiant to looking legitimately scared.

  “I didn’t… I didn’t think it was—”

  “No, clearly you weren’t thinking,” Garrett snaps quickly. “You weren’t thinking about how much time and energy and blood, sweat, and tears I’ve poured into building my business from the ground up. You weren’t thinking about how you were destroying something that means so much to me, were you?”

  Craig scowls, but he’s chewing on his bottom lip, and I rest my hand on his shoulder.

  “Wrecking his future with charges like that isn’t going to help you recover what you’ve lost,” I argue, looking between the Rainier brothers for some sympathy. Now I understand what Ryan meant when he said he knew the guy whose property had been damaged. Cute.

  “You’re right,” Garrett says, surprising me and Craig both. “I don’t want to see him punished as much as I want him to understand what he’s done. I’m willing to forgo pressing charges if Craig will come help with repairing the damage and work off the cost.”

  “Wait, you want me to work for you?” Craig splutters, looking horrified. I scoff. Kid doesn’t know what a good deal he’s getting out of it. “I don’t even have a car. I’m not even old enough to get a job. Isn’t there something about child-labor laws—”

  “There’s something about having a felony charge when you’re fifteen. Don’t be stupid,” I hiss at him, turning to face Garrett with the best smile I can manage, even though I’m pretty sure it’s a grimace. “I’ll make sure he can get there to work, don’t worry,” I say, standing up to hold out my hand.

  Craig might not have any idea what kind of slack Garrett’s cutting him here, but he’s practically a saint for letting Craig learn his lesson this way. It’ll be good for both of them, but not many people would be willing to undertake the kind of commitment of working with a kid like Craig.

  Garrett’s hand—the same hand I stitched up less than a year ago—greets mine, clasping his fingers around, mine closing around his. A tingle thrills through me. It shoots right up my arm, across my chest, and then sizzles through my veins, all over my body.

  I’m not even thinking when I take his hand, still holding it, and turn it over, looking at the thin white scar left behind. Had he not come to me for stitches, it would have been a fat, ugly, jagged scar, shiny and wrinkled across the fleshy part of his palm. Instead, it’s nearly invisible, the faintest hint of a white line from the base of his thumb to the center of his wrist.

  “Admiring my handiwork,” I say, looking up to his bemused grin. He’s not sure what I’m doing, that much is clear from his uncertain smile, but he’s also not pulling away or being alarmed by it. I drag my thumb over the line—it’s smooth and flush, not even the tiniest bump to mark its presence.

  I realize I’ve been holding his hand too long, even as a physician checking on an old injury, and I drop it quickly, looking up to find his eyes dark as the forest at night, shaded, hungry, and warm.

  “He can start tomorrow,” I say, thankful my voice doesn’t fail me. When did it get so hot in here? And the air… has it always been so thick and hard to breathe in the station? Or is that only because I’m standing five feet from Garrett Rainier and I can’t remember my own name all of the sudden?

  “See you then,” Garrett says, his tone making me think he really means me, not Craig.

  But that’s crazy. He’s not interested in me. I think Garrett is—sadly—the one straight guy in the Rainier clan. At the very least, he’s had girlfriends in the time I’ve been in Umberland. Girlfriends. No boyfriends. Doesn’t bode well for my chances.

  “Come on Craig, let’s get you home,” I mutter, waving for him to follow me. I need to get away from Garrett before I say or do something foolish. And with Ryan there to witness it? Yeah, I don’t really need that kind of humiliation out there with a guy that’s practically a coworker.

  I wait until we’re in my car and it’s started and moving down the road before I look at him with a heavy sigh.

  “I don’t wanna hear it, okay?” he mutters, crossing his arms.

  “Well, you’re gonna, because clearly you need to. What were you thinking? Busting up his greenhouse? What did he ever do to you?”

  “Nothing,” he mutters, eyes still cast out the window at all the darkened houses blurring past.

  I sigh.

  “You’re getting old enough now that this stuff is going to stick with you, Craig. I know that’s hard to think about because your braings not fully developed, but—”

  “Could you not with that?” he grumbles with a huff.

  “With what?”

  “That crap about my brain being underdeveloped—”

  “Well it is—”

  “It is not!” he shouts.

  I narrow my eyes at him, take a deep breath, and steady my nerves. “Craig, it’s not just you, buddy. No one’s brain is done growing until they’re older. It’s just like getting to your final height, but it’s harder to tell when it happens because it’s in your brain. The part that’s good at making decisions and looking at the future, it’s one of the last parts to finish growing. I’m not saying you’re slow or dumb or anything like that, okay? It’s just like when you’re learning to walk or talk or anything else. There’s stumbling along the way to making good choices, and I wanna help you get through it.”

  He huffs, but I see some of the tension leave his shoulders. His arms are still crossed tight across his chest, but the armor’s lowered a bit. It’s something.

  “The point is, our laws don’t take that into consideration. Even if someone’s brain isn’t fully grown up until they’re twenty-five, once they’re a certain age, the law considers them adults. And if you do something bad
enough, that age can be as low as fifteen,” I say, making that point very clear. “You don’t wanna know how hard it is to get a job or an apartment or anything like that with a record, trust me.”

  He sighs. “I’m sorry, okay? I was just being stupid. I know I’m just—”

  “You’re not stupid,” I say firmly, his jaw dropping slightly with a retort he doesn’t let loose. “I’ve known you long enough that you can’t get away with that with me,” I tell him. Other people might let him go on that self-pity tirade, not know how to deal with it, and back away. It’s become an easy out of tough conversations for him, even when it’s not heartfelt, which I suspect is the case now.

  “What were you angry about?” I ask instead.

  It’s not malice. It’s never malice with this kid. He’s just got a lot going on between his ears and doesn’t know how to express it or work through it.

  “I dunno,” he says, shrugging and glaring intently out the window, determined not to look my way even a little for risk of accidental eye contact.

  Fine. I’ll leave it alone for now. I don’t buy it for one second, and I know he’s holding back, but whatever it is, it’ll have to wait.

  We’ve gotta get some rest before work bright and early at Garrett’s tomorrow.

  Garrett

  After I get back home from the station, I kick off my shoes and fall right into bed.

  What a day.

  Starting your day with a pre-dawn hike and ending it with a post-midnight trip to the police station is a recipe for exhaustion. Ask me how I know.

  As tired as I am, though, I don’t fall asleep right away. I’m more awake than I should be, and there’s no question as to why.