A Long Time Coming

Present day . . .

“Got somewhere important to be?” JP asks me from across the plane, his eyes fixed on my bouncing leg.

“Just eager to get the hell away from you,” I answer, a typical brother response.

“Cute.” He lets out a deep sigh. “I hate being away from Kelsey, but the trip to New York was good, right? Setting up our second rent-controlled building feels good.”

A few months ago, JP approached me and our other brother, Huxley, about utilizing our fortune for good and offering some rent-controlled buildings in major cities. The buildings would offer a safe, clean, and fresh place to live, providing assistance to those who might need it—like daycare facilities for single parents, financial classes, and access to a market with wholesale food. The point of the project is to help those who need it the most. It’s been a successful and rewarding venture.

“It does feel good,” I say as I pull my phone from my pocket while the plane taxis to the bunker. I open the text thread I have with Lia, and I shoot her a quick text.

Breaker: Landed. Picking up the goods. You have everything cued up and ready to go?

My phone buzzes right away with a reply.

Lia: I’ve been ready, just waiting on you.

Breaker: Sorry, poor weather held us up. Be there soon.

“Who are you texting over there?” JP asks, trying to get a look at my phone.

“Lia,” I answer.

“Ahhh,” he announces with realization heavy in his tone. “That’s why you’re so eager to get off the plane. You want to go spend time with your girl.”

“First of all, she’s not my girl, she’s my best friend, and if I have to keep saying that to you, I’m going to fucking explode. And secondly, she just got a brand-new glass Yahtzee that we’ve been dying to play.”

“Glass Yahtzee?” JP asks. “That seems like an extremely bad idea. Isn’t the point of Yahtzee to shake the dice?”

“Yes, but this presents another level of a challenge: shake the dice without breaking the cup.”

JP stares at me, his face devoid of expression. “You’re going to slice your hands open. Does this glass Yahtzee come with a warning?”

“Yes, of course. It’s a play-at-your-own-risk situation. And we want to risk it. Don’t worry, though. Lia has prepared a hard surface with a blanket. We’re being smart.”

“Being smart would not be playing glass Yahtzee,” he mutters while shaking his head. “Do not call me when you need stitches.”

“Not like you would answer the phone if I did.”

JP rolls his eyes in a dramatic fashion. “I’m a newlywed, for fuck’s sake. Sorry if I want to spend every waking moment with my wife.”

“I don’t think you actually are sorry,” I say just as the plane parks and the flight attendant opens the door and lets down the stairs.

I gather my bag and move past JP to the exit, where I stop suddenly. Huxley, our older brother, steps out of his car, shuts the door, and leans against it with his arms crossed. Sunglasses cover his eyes, but it doesn’t hide the scowl on his forehead or the tension he’s wearing under his perfectly tailored suit.

“Uh, JP? Why is Huxley here, looking like he’s ready to kill?”

“What?” JP asks as he moves toward the exit as well. He pokes his head out and says, “I don’t know. Did he text us?”

Instead of exiting the plane to see what the issue is, we both search through our phones for a text message or email and come up short.

“Nothing,” I say.

“Fuck,” JP says. “That only means one thing. Whatever he needs to tell us, he doesn’t want to be traced.”

“What?” I ask. “Dude, you’ve been watching too many secret operative shows. That is not why he’s here in person. Maybe . . . maybe it’s good news. Maybe he has something special to tell us and wants to see our reactions in person.”

“How does it feel living in a realm where unicorn crap tastes like strawberry ice cream?” JP gestures toward Huxley. “Look at him, the scowl. He’s not here to pet our heads and tell us what good boys we’ve been. Clearly, we fucked up somehow. Just have to figure out how.”

“Will you two get the fuck down here and stop gabbing?” Huxley yells.

“Dude, my balls just shivered,” JP says, gripping my shoulder.

“My penis totally just turtled.” I step to the side and push JP forward. “You first, you’re older. You’ve experienced more life than me.”

“Barely,” he says, trying to move me toward the exit first, but I plant my feet on the floor and hold steady. Since JP’s been married, I’ve spent more time at the gym while he’s spent more time in Kelsey—with all due respect—so I have a few pounds of muscle over him at the moment.

“Just get out there before he gets even madder.” I push at JP. “You know how he hates when we—in his terms—clown around.”

“Quit clowning around,” Huxley yells.

“See,” I whisper-shout.

“Don’t push me,” JP says, leaning his weight into me, his back to my chest. “You’re going to make me tumble down the stairs.”

“Oh, good idea. If you tumble down, then there’s a good chance you could get injured, and whatever he’s here for will be put on a momentary pause while we assess your injuries. That will give us some thinking time. And maybe if you’re willing to break a bone, that will grant us at least a few days.”

“Oh yeah, let me just throw myself down the stairs.”

“That’s the spirit,” I say while patting him on the back. “Close your eyes. It will be over in a second.”

“Jesus Christ,” JP mutters before he makes his way down the stairs.

I follow closely. “Oh, I see, going to fall closer to the ground. Smart.”

“I’m not going to fall, you idiot.”

When we reach the ground, Huxley opens the back car door to his Tesla S and says, “Get in.”

I can hear JP gulp as I say, “You sure you don’t want to at least fake an injury?”

“I think it’s too late, man,” he says as he climbs into the car, and I follow.

Once we’re in the back, Huxley slams the door, causing JP and me to flinch. When Huxley climbs in the front seat, he doesn’t bother to look at us. Instead, he grips the steering wheel and lets out a long, pent-up breath.

A sigh of discontent. Great.

After a few seconds, he turns to face us and says, “Has Taylor been in touch with you?”

“Taylor, as in our lawyer?” JP asks.

“Yes, our lawyer.”

We shake our heads. “No, I haven’t gotten anything,” I say.

“What’s going on?” JP asks, his voice growing serious.

“We’re being sued for misconduct in the workplace.”

“What?” I shout. “By whom?”

Huxley lifts his sunglasses, and his eyes narrow in on me. “Your former employee.”

“Uh, excuse me?” I blink a few times. “What the hell for?”

“Let’s see, hostile work environment and wrongful termination.”

“Wait.” I shake my head, trying to get a grip on what he’s saying. “Who the hell was this?”

“Gemma Shoemacher.”

“Shoemacher?” I ask, eyes wide and disbelief heavy in my tone. “As in the girl who would secretly slip into my office, rearrange my shit, hang up pictures of her relatives, decorate for holidays, and then just leave? The absolute psycho who would corner me in the break room and ask me when my next dentist appointment was so she could watch me get my teeth cleaned? The girl who made me an advent calendar for Christmas and inside each box was homemade thumbnail drawings of me? That girl?”

“Were the drawings good?” JP asks.

“How the fuck is that relevant?” I ask him, losing my temper.

JP shrugs. “Just genuinely curious.”

“I mean . . . watercolor on a small surface is quite difficult, so maybe—”

“Enough about the paintings,” Huxley says. “This is fucking serious. Not only has she sued us, but she’s also soiling our reputation on social media. She’s spreading lies about how we conduct business and how Breaker created a hostile environment for her and berated her in front of fellow employees.”

“That’s not fucking true,” I say. “I was never hostile, even when she ‘accidentally’ tripped me while I was holding my morning coffee. I’ve been nothing but kind to that woman, and the reason she was let go was that we found out she was the one going around to everyone’s office and stealing their daily to-do lists. She had a whole collection of them filed away in her desk.”

“Well, she’s spinning a story and attacking our business, and unfortunately, she’s getting attention.”

“What does that mean?” I ask.

“It means, because she’s using the right platforms, she’s getting tons of views and now, media coverage. This has happened in the past twenty-four hours.”

“How the hell does that happen?” JP asks.

Huxley shakes his head. “No fucking clue, but we’re fielding calls about it. Lottie said she heard some employees talking about it in the break room before quieting down as she entered. We’re losing credibility by the second.”

“Because someone is lying,” I say, anger heavy in my voice.

“Yes, but the public seems to be clinging to her story. Therefore, we need to take action while Taylor and his team gather evidence for a countersuit. She has no leg to stand on, no evidence, just her word and her friend who doesn’t work for us anymore. But we have security footage, we have the evidence that you’ve gathered, Breaker, over time, and we have all of her social media posts that have been screen recorded. Defamation will be what takes her down.”

“Okay, so . . . what should we do?” I ask.

“For one, you need to take a step back.”

“What?” I roar. “No fucking way. I’m not resigning because someone spreads lies about me. That makes me look guilty, and I’m not guilty. I’ve been nothing but respectful and professional to that woman.”

“I’m not talking about resigning,” Huxley says, his jaw growing tight. “We just need you to take . . . a mandatory vacation. Just so it looks like we’re doing the right thing while we investigate her allegations, which means you need to not be in the office.”

“That’s bullshit—”

“He’s right,” JP says. “If this was with any other employee, we’d ask them to go on sabbatical while we investigate the allegations. You shouldn’t be treated any different.”

“But I didn’t fucking do anything,” I say.

“We know,” Huxley says. “But just because we know you’re innocent doesn’t mean everyone will believe it. We’re in sensitive waters here, and we need to make sure we exercise due diligence in the investigation. If we do this right, conduct the investigation correctly, then hopefully it will set a precedent for any future employees who try to do the same.”

“I’m afraid to say it,” JP adds, “but he’s right, man.”

I glance back and forth between my brothers, letting their common sense sink in. “Fuck,” I mutter as I lean back against the seat and push my hand through my hair.

“It’s for the best, Breaker,” Huxley says. “And while you’re gone, we’ll be sure to split up your responsibilities between me and JP.”

“Hey now, I didn’t agree with that,” JP says but then quickly quiets when Huxley gives him a scathing look.

“It won’t be for long. Maybe a week or two,” Huxley says. “In the meantime, if we have questions, we’ll communicate in person. I don’t want to leave any sort of paper trail.”

“So then what the hell am I supposed to do for the next one to two weeks?” I ask.

“Maybe help Lia with her knitting,” JP says. “I know you know how to knit.”

I glance at Huxley, and he says, “Knitting might keep you busy.”

“Fuck off . . . both of you,” I say right before I exit the car and head straight for mine.

“YOUR FOOD IS SMELLING up the entire elevator,” Mrs. Gunderson says as she stands as far away from me as possible, her umbrella tucked under her arm. It barely ever rains in Los Angeles, yet she carries around a large black one every day . . . just in case.

“Thank you for pointing that out,” I say to her as the elevator slows and then beeps, indicating our floor.

“Sarcasm is the devil’s tongue,” she shoots at me before heading toward her door. I walk in the opposite way and right past my door to the apartment next to mine. “Pre-marital sex is also the way of the devil,” she shouts before walking into her apartment.

“I hate that woman,” I mutter as I knock on Lia’s door three times, kick the footer, and then say, “Walla-walla-bing-bang.”

Lia is quick to open the door, her familiar freckled face easing the tension roaring through my body.

I remember the first time I ran into her in the hallway of my dorm. She was unsure of herself but also so confident that she couldn’t help the things flying out of her mouth. Her vibrant red hair and mossy-green eyes under her purple-rimmed glasses stood out, but it was her pure honesty that really drew me to her—unlike anyone I’ve ever met. And now, I can’t go a day without talking to her.

“You didn’t say ching-chang,” she says with a smirk.

“Ching-chang wasn’t a part of it.”

She points her finger accusingly at me. “I knew it.”

Chuckling, I open my arm that’s not holding the food and pull her into a hug. “Missed you.”

“Missed you, Pickle,” she says, using my nickname that she gave me one night after a misspelled pickle during a Scrabble game. “What took you so long? I started to tear apart the dessert I got us.”

“You don’t want to know.” I sigh, and we both walk into her apartment.

I remember the moment she found this place. She’d been looking for about two days and then came across this building in Westwood. She had no idea if they had apartments for rent, but she liked the flowers out front and the Jamba Juice across the street. Lo and behold, when she inquired, there were two apartments right next to each other. She called me immediately and told me I was moving. We’ve lived here for the past five years.

Whereas my apartment has more windows and open space, Lia’s has more character, with exposed brick on almost every wall. And the way the individual apartments wrap around, our bedroom walls buddy up, and our balconies sit across from each other over the atrium in the lobby.

“I do want to know what took so long because glass Yahtzee can only wait so long, and if you’re raging, our game is going to end short.”

“Who says I’m raging?” I ask as I set the food on her pristine white kitchen countertop. I have the same one, and we try to compete on who can keep theirs whiter. It’s so stupid, but fuck, I think she’s winning.

“I’ve known you for a decade, Breaker. Pretty sure I can tell when you’re simmering in rage. What’s going on?”

Taking a seat on one of her barstools, I rest my arms on the counter. “I don’t want to ruin the night. I haven’t seen you in over a week, and the last thing I want to do is talk about work.” Or lack thereof, thank you, Gemma Shoemacher.

“Yes, and since I haven’t seen you in over a week, the last thing I want to do is eat dinner and play a fragile game of Yahtzee with a grump. Now tell me what happened so we can move on and have fun.” She sets two plates on the counter and adds, “I’ve been planning this night for a few days now. Do not ruin it.” She threateningly points her finger at me, which I knock away.

“Fine, but we’re not harping on it, okay?” I drag my hand over the back of my neck. “I’ve thought about it enough on the drive over here. I just want to forget it.”

“Fine, now spill.” She empties out the carton of lo mein and divides it equally on our plates.

“Do you remember that one girl who used to work for me, the one who made me that advent calendar?”

“Remember her? I still have every picture she drew of you in a box in my room. December 17^th will forever be my favorite. The way she accentuated your nostrils was pure perfection.”

My nostrils resembled two giant life rafts on my face, but of course, Lia thought it was the greatest thing she had ever seen.

“Gemma is my hero. Sad she got so crazy and you had to let her go,” she adds.

“Yeah, well, she’s suing us now.”

Lia pauses, smirks, and then shakes her head. “Oh, Gemma, bad, bad move. Don’t mess with the Cane brothers and their business.” She glances up at me. “What’s she attempting to get money out of you for?”

“Claims hostile work environment, beratement from me—”

Lia lets out a large guffaw. “Beratement . . . from you?” She points the fork in her hand at me. “That’s laughable. I don’t think you could hurt a fly if you tried, let alone berate someone in a workplace.”

“I know . . . but she’s on some sort of warpath, claiming wrongful termination and all that other bullshit. She’s posted it on social media and is now getting press attention because we’re Cane Enterprises. Anything to bring us down.”

“Yeah, but she’s being a total moron because you can’t go and make up lies on social media like that; if you’re caught, you’re effed.” She tops our plates off with some General Tso’s chicken. “So is Huxley countersuing?”

“How do you know that?”

“Please.” She licks the sweet yet spicy sauce off her fork. “I’ve known you and your family long enough to have witnessed the hard work, dedication, and many hours you’ve put into building Cane Enterprises. No way in hell is Huxley going to let some stalker—albeit a rather comical one—get away with tarnishing the brand and the business you three have spent so long creating.”

“Yes, they’re putting together all the evidence they need to present their case. I don’t think we’re in it for the money because we don’t need it, nor are we in the business of putting people in debt, but Huxley wants to set a precedent. Make sure that people know not to fuck with us.”

“Probably smart because this girl has opened the door to the possibility of lawsuits, and if you end this correctly, no one will want to go up against you.”

“Yeah, that’s the plan.”

“So what’s the problem? Sure, maybe your ego is slightly tarnished, but when has that ever affected you before? Remember the time in college you were mistaken for the third-best Scrabble player rather than the second? You took that like a champ.”

“You’re just full of laughs today, aren’t you?”

“Just trying to cheer you up.” She pulls two Sprites from her fridge and deposits one in front of me, and then she takes the seat next to mine. Our shoulders bump as she gets comfortable. When she picks up her fork with her left hand, bumping into my right, she says, “You took the wrong seat.”

“I was pre-occupied. Deal with it.”

“Are you really going to be grumpy all evening? I was looking forward to a nice night of will we slice our hands open or will we not?”

“I’m sorry,” I huff while pushing the chicken around my plate. “I didn’t mention one thing. The guys said I can’t go to work. I have to take time off until they figure this all out.”

“So what you’re telling me is that you were just granted a vacation, and you’re complaining about that, why?”

“Because people will think I’m in trouble or did something wrong when I didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve worked hard to maintain genuine relationships with my employees, and if I’m not there, what will they think of me?”

“I can see why that would bother you,” she says. “You do tend to pride yourself on the way you treat people, and this is a slur to your character.”

“Exactly. It’s really shitty,” I say, my voice growing heavy.

“Hey,” Lia says, turning toward me. “The people who know you will understand the circumstances. They know you’re not some tyrant, running up and down the hallway like a lunatic, yelling at the first person you run into. And the other people, the ones who might believe Gemma, well, they’re not people you want around you anyway.”

“I know you’re right,” I say softly. “Just can’t seem to wrap my head around all of it.”

She pulls me into a hug, and I rest my head against hers. “It will be okay. If anything, Huxley is relentless, and he won’t rest until your name is expunged of any wrongdoing.”

“I guess so.” She releases me, and I let out a low breath. “I’m sorry about all of this. I’m totally bringing down the night.”

“It’s okay. How about we put glass Yahtzee on hold for now in case you have intermittent episodes of rage. We can’t risk the slivers. Want to play cards out on the balcony?”

“Maybe we can watch a show. There’s a new documentary called The King of Kong that I want to watch.”

“Oh, I saw that the other day when I was scrolling through what to watch with Brian,” Lia says, talking about her boyfriend. “I suggested it, and he gave me the side-eye. We ended up watching some sports game.”

“Some sports game?” I laugh. “Not even sure what sport?”

“A ball was involved.”

“Well, that narrows it down.”

She chuckles. “Either way, I’d love to watch it. Shall we start it now? Bring our food over to the couch.”

“If you’re cool with that.”

She tips my chin up and, in a gooey voice, says, “Anything for my pickle.”

“BRIAN WOULD HAVE HATED THAT DOCUMENTARY.”

That’s because Brian is a douche.

But I keep that comment to myself.

“Yeah, didn’t quite scream something Brian would have enjoyed.”

Lia shifts and then pokes my stomach. “You going to be okay? You’re usually a little more chatty when we watch documentaries.”

“Yeah, I was just thinking. I’ll be good, though.”

“You know, if you need to talk about it, I’m always here.”

“I know.” I take her hand in mine. “Thanks, Lia.”

She gives it a squeeze. “You’re welcome. Now get out of here and go to bed. You look like trash.”

I smirk. “Can always count on you to deliver the truth.” I pull her into a hug and give her a kiss on the top of her head. “Night, Lia.”

“Night, Pickle.”

I let go and then head to my apartment just as she closes her door. I strip out of my clothes, splash some water on my face, and then brush my teeth. Once I’m ready for bed, I plug my phone in to charge, slip under my covers—naked—and then place my hands behind my head and stare up at the ceiling.

The entire night, I kept wondering why I was so affected by this. I know Huxley will take care of it. I’ve been getting texts from him all night about how we’re going to make sure Gemma doesn’t speak another word about me, but even with that reassurance, I still feel . . . weird.

And I think it comes down to her attack on my character. Gemma attacked the one thing I take great pride in, and that’s being a good guy. Between my brothers and me, we all have different personalities.

Huxley is the grump, the domineering, the take-no-prisoners kind of guy.

JP is the funny one, the easygoing guy, the instigator at times.

And me . . . well, I’m the levelheaded—the sounding board—and the good guy.

So having my name slandered with vehement lies is just so fucking painful. I’ve worked so hard at being above reproach.

Respected.

Trusted.

And someone people could rely on.

For the most part, I’ve accomplished that, but this . . . this just makes me think that maybe I didn’t.

I scrub my hand down my face just as a light tapping comes from the other side of the wall.

And just like that, a smile spreads across my face.

Reaching up to the wall, I rap my knuckle four times.

Like clockwork, she knocks three.

Four knocks for four letters in love.

Three knocks for three letters in you.

It’s something we’ve done ever since we shared a wall. It’s a gentle reminder that even though I’m angry, irritated, or even sad, at least I have Lia, my best friend, the one person who can so easily put a smile on my face. I don’t know what I’d do without her.

I don’t even want to think about it. Even when things in my life are out of balance, there’s one very solid, very predictable constant. Lia.