They set impossible expectations and hound any guy that looks at me, because the answer when asked “Who is good enough for me?” is no man. No man is good enough.
Which is why I have to date on the sly.
My mother knows almost everything there is to know about me, because as a woman who was once a victim in a dangerous marriage, she made sure I knew to never keep boy secrets from her. She provided me a safe space to speak, a place free of judgment, and an environment rich with information, so that if I was ever curious about something, I could ask her rather than risk finding out the hard way.
In exchange for my utter trust, she promised to never hound the guys I considered suitors, and when asked questions by my overbearing brother, she was to remain tight-lipped and naïve. It’s a system that has worked well for us, despite the fact I know she’s had to hold her tongue a time or two. It got us through my disastrous virginity-loss episode when I was sixteen. The equally disastrous time a guy felt like when I said no, it was a mere suggestion, rather than a declaration.
My brother has remained blissfully unaware of my adventures, even when my mother had steam pouring from her ears. But we had a deal, and she knew I could take care of business when I needed to.
I’m not just a yoga teacher at that fight gym I grew up in. Logic demanded I would learn to fight too – not competition style, like my brother, but self-defense, so now I teach classes to women five days a week, just like the first raven-haired Conner woman before me.
I guess some mothers pass down pearls to their daughter. Brooches. Wedding gowns.
My mom handed down honesty, brutal and uncensored, but with it, she gave me power, so that if I should ever find myself with a man just like my father, I wouldn’t end up hanging from a chandelier with a rope around my neck and paralyzed from fear for what that man would do to my children when I was dead.
Switching off the car engine, and snagging my phone, I check the screen and smile when – speak of the devil – Brenten’s name flashes up with a call. I watch my mom through the windshield, grab my keys, and answer on the go. “Hey. How was your day?”
“Hey.” His voice is a smile, his soft grunt, a kind of hug. “Busy. And yours?”
“Busy,” I reply and slam my door closed. Mom looks into my eyes for a moment, then to my phone, then she turns away with a smirk and leads me into the house. “I’ve been roped into baking for my brother this afternoon, then dinner with everyone over at his place. Thank god it’s Friday, huh?”
“Tell me about it,” he huffs. “I swear my days are getting longer. They dragggg,” he chuckles. “So, your brother’s, huh? That’s…” He searches for the least offensive thing to say, only to settle on, “a bummer.”
I snort and drop my keys on the kitchen counter as Mom walks into the pantry. “Yep, my brother. I hate that I love him.”
“I was hoping we could get drinks tonight,” Brenten tries for seductive. “We could head into the city maybe, stay someplace nice, get some dinner. It’s the weekend, after all.”
“Or, you could come to Ben’s place with me,” I offer and turn away when Mom snickers. “Everyone else is going as a couple. I’d be the odd one out.”
“Yeah?” Brenten grumbles. “I’m pretty sure that’s the way your brother prefers it.”
“But only a rookie would actually listen to him.” I tuck my phone between my shoulder and ear, and hip-bumping my mom aside when she stands at the sink, I pump soap into my hands and start washing them. “I learned a long time ago to nod when Ben speaks, then do the thing that I was going to do anyway. It’s best that I keep my plans to myself.”
“So, city?” Brenten asks hopefully.
“No.” I slap the faucet off and dry my hands on a towel. “I’m going to Ben’s. I want to go to Ben’s, but you’re welcome to join me.”
“Liv…”
“And I promise to protect you.”
My mom walks out of the kitchen with a shake of her head. Maybe she made that promise about never interfering, but that doesn’t mean she likes the man I’ve been dating for the last several months.
Brenten Pierce is the local prosecutor in his three-man office, after being transferred out of a city firm and into our small town a little more than a year ago. He claims to be the best prosecutor at his firm… but since there are just two of them, the third employee being a secretary, I guess it’s a fifty-fifty race for that ‘employee of the month’ plaque they may or may not hang every month. He jokes that he’s the director of jury intake, and a specialist in the special crime’s unit… and, well, there’s a reason Aunt Jules thinks he’s somewhat of a self-important douche.
Brenten is nice. He’s just a little dry when it comes to humor, and after being transferred here, he feels he has to work that much more doggedly to prove to his superiors that he’s worthy of a corner office in the city again.
To the people who live here, this town is a haven for family and community. But I guess to a guy who was born and raised in the big city, he might consider this place an ultimate hell that he can’t wait to escape.
Brenten works tirelessly to prosecute the same clients Aunt Jules often tries to defend. They work on opposite sides of the law, so it’s natural they hold… well, not animosity, but nor is there love. There’s merely an acceptance of existence, and at family dinner, there’s Aunt Jules calling the guy ‘a pencil-dick twat bag’ – her words, not mine.
Ironically, in addition to my prosecutor-boyfriend, and my defender-aunt, my cop-stepfather rounds out the trio as the guy who arrests folks and tosses them to the courtrooms.
And here I am in the middle, trying to fake some semblance of a normal dating life.
“Brenten?” I stop at the doorway between the kitchen and living room, and lift a brow when Mom stretches across the couch. She was supposed to help me bake, but until I hang up… “I’m going to dinner at my brother’s house. That’s non-negotiable. But I would love for you to join me. You have to get used to these people eventually, right? I mean,” I lower my voice, “if you want to be with me…”
Brenten remains silent for a moment, his breath in my ear the only thing I can hear, until finally, he sighs. “The Hart twins…”
“Rob and Luke?”
“Yeah, them. Are they going to be there?”
“Uh…” I turn back to the kitchen and frown. “I don’t think so. I mean, it wouldn’t be unheard of, since they’re family, but Ben didn’t mention them.”
Brenten groans. “Can you check? Because those guys aren’t all that pleased with me right now.”
I burst out laughing and draw my mom’s curious eyes up. “What did you do?”
“What did I do?” he blusters. “What did I do? I did my job. You should ask them what they did!”
“Well?” I swallow down my laughter and press my fingers to my lips before I offend him. The Hart twins are… unique, in their own criminal way. They steal things, explode things, crash things, and all around make nuisances of themselves around town. And along the way, they break hearts – or so the legend goes. “What did they do?”