Falling for Millie Kay Page 2

  Elliott punches me hard on the shoulder and I chuckle, barely feeling it.

  I punch him back and he glowers at me.

  We’re all big guys and fairly used to quite a bit of rough play since we have known each other for over fifteen years.

  Nolan laughs, slapping Dex over his back. “He has a point, you know: you keep complaining about this fucking bro-cation thing and we’ll end up wearing a damn T-shirt spelling it out before you can blink.”

  I smile, shaking my head.

  The bastard would do it too, probably going as far as throwing all of our clothes away to force us to wear the horrible things for our entire stay here in Monroe. It would be just right up his alley.

  We walk up to the main desk and we’re soon greeted by the general manager, Ford Jones, who I believe is actually one of the owners of this place.

  He politely explains the ins and outs of our stay here and sends us on our way.

  Short and to the point, just as I like it.

  This is totally my kind of hotel.

  When we decided to do this, we had a look online together and found this amazing little town, a veritable frosted gem in the mountains, and then we stumbled onto the website of this sprawling family-owned resort that had anything and everything we could possibly need to unwind for the next few days. Monroe looks a little bit like a mini Aspen and just as different from our hometown as a place could get.

  There is no traffic, no smog, gigantic trees are all over the place, snowed-capped peaks are within reach, and a sky so blue it doesn’t even seem real extends over your head as far as the eye can see; we couldn’t help but fucking gawk around like a bunch of idiots all the way up to Fall Mountain.

  The entire place looks like something people would put on a Christmas card and I already feel like the stress is rolling off of me.

  The plus is that we’re just a stone’s throw away from Denver, so if something gets fucked up in one of our construction sites, we can turn back and be there within the hour; this is what finally sold us on really taking this vacation. There was no way we would risk putting even a short flight between us and our buildings’ sites in such a crucial ‘make it even bigger or fucking crumble it’ phase for our company.

  We just closed on one of the biggest contracts we’ve ever landed since we opened Foundation First, our construction company, and Elliott got this idea that since it happened to be close to Thanksgiving we should forgo our usually tradition of spending the holiday with Nolan’s parents and his baby sister — he’s pretty much the only one amongst us who doesn’t have a completely dysfunctional or entirely non-existent family background— and go away together for a long weekend of skiing and relaxing, just as ‘bros’ hence the annoying little name for our vacation.

  Whatever you want to call it though, Elliott was absolutely right in telling us we needed it, since I can’t even remember when was the last time we actually took off from one of our work sites for longer than a lunch break.

  With the exception of Nolan, who was lucky enough to have great parents, we all came from pretty much nothing and we’ve been each other’s support system since the day we met.

  Dex and Elliott met when they were very small and have had each other’s back ever since. I wasn’t so fortunate and I can’t remember having real friends up until I met Nolan and then Dexter and Elliott at a workshop class in high school. Nolan is the only one who knows what a real family is, and he’s been the glue that keeps us all together and sane since day one.

  The only stability we have ever had was the one provided by him and his family since we were all lacking in that department. My friends never knew what having real parents meant before we met and as for me, I did have parents, but they weren’t very much deserving of their titles.

  I was the only child of a selfish couple of alcoholics who more often than not forgot they had a son to think of.

  They were never there for me, not even once emotionally and, frequently enough, not even physically, since they were used to disappear for days on end leaving me to my own devices.

  The first time they ‘forgot’ about me is my very first real memory of my childhood. I was maybe three or four then, I remember waking up in my bed and calling for my mother and then my father and getting no answer.

  I don’t know how long I cried, then I got hungry, I stood up and I went in the kitchen and made my very first meal for myself, with one of the few eggs and the slice of bacon I found in the otherwise empty fridge.

  When I got thirsty, I looked all over the place for some water but had no luck, there wasn’t any coming out of the faucets in the dingy ‘house on wheels’ we called home, I hunted every jacket and every pair of jeans I could find for a few coins and finally got enough to buy a bottle at the closest grocery store. It took me hours to find it; I had never been outside alone before.

  I actually managed to buy some sliced bread, aside from a bottle of water and they had to last me a while.

  There was a calendar on the rickety round table in our kitchenette, I picked a pen and drew circles around the days until my parents got back.

  I didn’t know from which day I was supposed to start or even if it was the right month, since I couldn’t read yet, but I still remember there were five wobbly black circles on it when they finally dragged their drunken asses home.

  Then there were the times they were home and acted like I didn’t even exist.

  Sometimes I would go outside to play and when I got back the door would be closed and no amount of knocking would get them to come open it, since they were probably passed out on the floor.

  Then there was the never-ending social workers’ parade when I got older. Not that it helped anything.

  In school they would call me ‘white trash’ and bully me to no end because I was quiet and different, tall and lanky. They did stop the bullying and the teasing when I grew into myself, but the other kids never befriended me until I met Dex, Elliott and Nolan.

  By the time I was fourteen and a bad case of cirrhosis had taken away the sullen stranger that was my father, I had spent countless nights sleeping outside alone, sometimes even in the snow. I hoped and prayed my mom would stop drinking after he died and finally recalled she had a son, but she never did.

  If anything, things got even worse for me. She started to have strange men over all the time and they thought beating me up could be part of whatever deal they had going on with her, so I decided to just sleep outside more often than not, until I was old enough to actually ask for help and be finally listened, but then being in the system was even worse and there was no helping my mother with her addiction: she passed away as soon as I was out of high school, by then at least I was no longer completely alone.

  I don’t know what I would do without these three guys, they are the only family I’ve ever had, the only ones I know I can trust blindly with anything.

  I remember how we started talking about building houses by chance when we were kids. We all loved the idea of putting together something most of us never really had and then our dream grew from there. We even had our roles picked out, I would be the head carpenter, Elliott the electrician and the plumber, Nolan would be the superintendent in charge of planning and scheduling on our construction sites and Dex would manage the ‘behind the scenes’ of the company and anything that had to do with numbers, and when it came to actually building stuff, we all would be hands-on and that’s exactly how we do business: we might be the bosses, but we still love getting our hands dirty; that’s the best part of the job after all.

  We all busted our asses all the way through college, we did well in school, we worked I don’t know how many construction jobs to save the money we needed to start off and then four years ago when we were in our late twenties we finally managed to build our very own construction firm from the ground and we haven’t stopped working ever since, trying to establish ourselves and best our competition every chance we got until the harrowing wo
rking hours and the sacrifices we made started to pay off big time.

  There was a time when we could barely keep our heads above water, but now we’re all doing more than okay financially and we’ve begun to get bigger and better contracts, the last one being the best of them all.

  Now the problem is that after these many years focused entirely on our careers and our company, we seem to have completely forgotten how to take it easy, hence this attempt at ‘detox’ from our workaholic ways just in time for Thanksgiving.

  I might fuck with Elliott just to piss him off, but I know he’s right: we almost killed ourselves to make it and now that we have, if we don’t slow down a bit, everything will be for nothing.

  I mean, we have a lot to show for when it comes to our chosen professional paths, but we have no lives.

  Shit, I can’t even remember the last time I dated someone, and I don’t know… I’m starting to feel like something is missing, though I don’t know what it is; it’s not like I’m looking to settle down or anything, there’s still time for that, but something’s gotta give, and maybe a little downtime here in this beautiful resort, away from my everyday life, will help me figure out what is it.

  Chapter 3

  MILLIE KAY

  I feel a smile pull at my lips. This is shaping up to be the best Thanksgiving ever.

  I chug my homemade cappuccino down too fast and I nearly scald my tongue, then I scarf down one of the freshly baked Nutella croissants I pilfered from PJ’s kitchen and get a move on things. Today is D-day and I can’t wait to get started.

  Our resort is teeming with guests and we have a full day planned for the most adventurous ones so they will be well-entertained while those who feel like being utterly lazy will be pampered in the spa by Sadie’s staff.

  All the programmed activities and excursions for the day are set and my team will take care of coordinating everything in my stead while I pick up the last of the stuff PJ needs for the dinner and the greenery I need to decorate the main hall where our special Thanksgiving party will be held.

  I look outside the frosted window at the fresh layer of snow and then up at the pure white sky and I sigh.

  It’s only six a.m., but I have a million things to do before tonight. Fourteen hours are definitely not enough, but thank God, my siblings never drop the ball, our aim is to make Thanksgiving unforgettable every year and this time it won’t be different.

  It really looks like it will snow again, though: gotta get down the mountain and then back up here ASAP.

  I look down at my fuzzy orange and brown Pumpkin official Thanksgiving PJs, a present from my twin, and I smile.

  It’s show time, baby.

  I ask Siri to play ‘Comfortably Numb’ by the Pink Floyd, snatch my wireless headphones from where I left them on my kitchen’s table and put them in my party-planning tote bag along with my scrapbook, my iPad and my phone and then I start to get ready for the day.

  I pick up my underthings —feeling no shame at the fact that each piece of them is Thanksgiving-themed and covered in little turkeys—, a pair of blue jeans, my favorite Smashing Pumpkins’ ‘Zero’ long-sleeved tee and all the orange ‘winter gear’ at my disposal, alongside with a warm brown jacket, and throw everything on my bed.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’m bundled up from head to toe and running out of my cabin like I’m on fire, my winter boots sinking fast in the plush, powdery snow as I walk up to the hotel to meet with Ford who’s gonna drive me to Monroe in his truck to help me with the million and one errands I need to see through before the party.

  I look down at my smartwatch and smile to myself. No way I would find my brother in his office yet, and I know exactly where he is.

  I slalom through the still silent halls of the main hotel and rush into the kitchen’s pantry, my excitement barely contained.

  Ford is gobbling down a slice of PJ’s special Pumpkin, Toffee, Pecan three-layered cake.

  “She’s so gonna murder you when she finds out,” I tell him without announcing myself and he jumps a little before turning to look at me.

  “It wowd be oally wowt it,” he mumbles as he chews.

  I look at the time again.

  “She told me she’d come up to start on her feast at precisely six-thirty so you have like five minutes top to finish that,” I tell him and when my eyes fall on a batch of chocolate and cranberry muffins, I can’t help but steal one for the drive.

  “You ready to go?” I ask him.

  He shakes his head. “Can’t.”

  “What? Aw, come on, Ford! You promised! I’ll never make it if you don’t come with me and help me lug all the heavy stuff…”

  I don’t just have to go pick up some last-minute supplies for the party and stuff Sadie and Sue Ellen need, I also have to deliver to the local soup kitchen several pies and dishes PJ made over the last two days especially for them.

  My brother gulps down the last of his cake, dusting some icing sugar off his fingers and then shakes his head with a sigh. “I know, MK, I’m sorry. I wish I could help you, but you saw how much snow we had last night, right?”

  I nod.

  “Well, there’s so much of it plopped on the roofs of most of the cabins now that they could collapse under its weight if I don’t shovel it off ASAP and most of the maintenance team has the day off so they can be with their families so I have to do it myself.”

  I sigh. He’s right: there’s no one else who could do it.

  “I can still help you carry all the stuff PJ made and you can take my truck, but I can’t drive down to Monroe and spend half the morning there and leave the cabins as they are.”

  I nod. “No worries, bro. This is a major crisis, I understand. I’ll go alone and I will power through all the stuff so I can come up and help you myself as soon as I’m back.”

  He smiles down at me and hugs me briefly. “Thanks, lil sis… now let’s get out of here before we have to face Pixie’s wrath for messing with her goodies.”

  “You’re fuck out of luck, brother dear,” PJ’s tinkling voice rings from the kitchen’s entry and we both turn to look at her, he with his mouth still dusted in sugar and me with the muffin still clutched in one hand.

  “Put that down, you’ll spoil your dinner!” she scolds me, looking so much like our mother it makes me smile.

  I stick my lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. “Aw, come on, baby sis, just one muffin…”

  Ford sticks his big hand in the basket and fishes out another,

  “Make that two, PJ,” he says, giving her his best puppy eyes.

  She folds her arms over her chest and takes a step back to glower up at him and then at me, her eyes descending way lower since I can barely reach our brother’s shoulder with the top of my head.

  “You’re unfuckingbelievable! Both of you! Fine, steal all of my hard work, you’re both coming up to help me bake more as soon as your done with your stuff.”

  “Deal!” I tell her, smiling at her. We all love baking with her, she’s amazing in the kitchen and makes the whole cooking experience super fun.

  She taps her foot, attempting to stare Ford down from her diminutive height until he caves.

  “Fine. I’ll help you make more in the afternoon as well, but only if you let me eat a few as we go…”

  Our sister shakes her head. “You gotta be fucking kidding me!”

  I laugh. A few years ago my twin got the idea to keep a toll of how many times PJ said the word ‘fuck’ or a variation on it and then she had to bake us a cookie for each swear word she uttered. We could only sustain it for a couple of months, though: she swears so much not even our combined sweet teeth could keep up with it. She almost put us all in a sugar coma near the end.

  PJ’s scowl deepens. “Now get out of here, both of you! Don’t make me resort to bashing you over the head with a frying pan. Fucking thieving sweets-junkie stealing all the crap I make,” she mumbles and screeches when our brother easily picks h
er up, turning her upside down as we both laugh, and she swears up a storm.

  —*—

  I scowl into my steaming cup of cinnamon and orange-peel green tea. This is shaping up to be the worst Thanksgiving ever.

  What a difference can a couple of hours make!

  I got into town without a hitch and with time to spare, I managed to pick up everything that we needed back at the resort for the party, I volunteered at the hospital for a couple of hours and finally I delivered all the food PJ’s made and then just as I was about to get back in the truck a flipping full blown blizzard started up from nowhere.

  I mean, this is freaking Colorado: we’re used to being in this kind of weather more often than not; hail, snow, and gale-force winds, you name it: we pretty much see it all, and as a native, I could feel in the air that another snowfall was in the making even this morning, but dang, this came down fast and hard, a veritable avalanche.

  I hurried out of here as soon as I saw the first silvery chains of snowflakes float into the cold wind and it only took me a couple of minutes to make it onto the dirt road that leads up to the mountain, yet there was already a thick layer of snow onto the ground.

  Now, had it stopped snowing, I would have been just fine, Ford has had the tires chains on since the start of September, so going back to Fall Mountain would have been quite easy, but it didn’t.

  The more I drove up, the stronger the wind billowed against the truck and the thinner the snow got until it pretty much looked like exploding gusts of icing sugar raging all over the place.

  Things pretty much went downhill from there and in a matter of seconds there was zero visibility and I felt like I was driving in a cloud. No person worth their salt would attempt to climb up the road leading to Mountain Fall if they could not see a foot from their nose and so I did the only sensible thing I could think of, I turned the truck around and drove back down to Monroe and I’m pretty much stranded it seems, with no hopes of getting back home for Thanksgiving.