Only a couple of years ago, he was a happy, healthy kid, and the worst thing he’d ever dealt with was skinning his knee on the pavement when trying to do tricks on his BMX. Then, BOOM, out of nowhere, the headaches started. Next came the seizures, and within a few months, he was diagnosed with intractable grand mal epilepsy. All of our lives were turned upside down in the blink of an eye.
My mom has been amazing throughout it all. Despite her rapidly dwindling savings account due to outlandish medical bills, ridiculously priced prescriptions, and things I don’t even understand, like deductibles and coinsurance, she’s stepped up and been the best parent either of us could ever imagine, doing anything and everything necessary to take care of both of her boys, and never losing her cool. Up until the time I graduated, I helped with what I could, mostly staying at home with Caleb in the evenings so she could work a second job, although I did manage to do some odd household projects for a few of our neighbors on the weekends for a little cash.
I’m still not sure how she’s coping, because I’ve definitely needed some serious stress relief to prevent me from going crazy since this all began. Sex has done wonders, and thankfully, Lila and the few other girls I’ve been with were more than willing to give it up whenever I need it. Who knew pounding your cock inside a chick works just as good as Prozac? And tits? Those puppies make better stress balls than the squishy things they sell in stores.
I’m definitely gonna need to work on a steady hook-up once we settle in here, though it shouldn’t be hard to find a willing participant. It never has been before. I thought perhaps I’d found one when I walked into the dining room tonight and first laid eyes on Hudson—a girl too fucking beautiful for her own good—but when her douchebag for a date showed up not long after, I took it as a sign.
I don’t mess with other dudes’ girls, no matter if they’re fucktards who kiss their dates at the door like a weak-ass pussy or not. I just don’t do it. While her sisters are all pretty too, and damn, there are a bunch of them—like every guy’s favorite gang-bang fantasy; they even look very similar to her—they simply don’t have something she has. However, I can’t quite put my finger on what that something is.
Even though a couple of them made it evident they were definitely interested, I know if I hook up with one, I’m going to end up wishing and pretending they’re her. I’d maybe even call them her name at an inopportune time, which just ain’t right either. I may be a cocky shit sometimes, but I’m not a dick. My mom would beat the living daylight out of me.
For now, I need to focus on finding a job and a place to live. Figuring out a warm body to release my pent-up tension on will come later. Finally closing my eyes, I drift off to sleep fast, but end up dreaming of cold, snowy January days spent on the side of a mountain with a certain flaxen-haired, rosy-cheeked beauty at my side.
The morning sunlight filters through the thin white curtains, waking me from my unfulfilling sleep earlier than I would like. Prying my lids open, I scan the foreign room, momentarily forgetting where I’m at, but the stylishly rustic interior of the cabin quickly clues me in. As does my straining morning wood from my hot-as-fuck dream last night.
Mom is sitting on the oversized beige rocking chair with her feet propped up on the matching ottoman, thumbing through something on her iPad. Her chocolate brown hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she’s got her glasses on, which she only uses to read. I lie still for a few minutes just staring at her, realizing how young-looking she is, and wonder why she never dated after Dad left eight years ago.
“You’re up early,” she says without even looking over at me. A mother’s intuition is something I’ll never understand.
“Yeah, that sun is bright,” I rasp, my throat filled with morning cobwebs. Pushing myself up to a half-sitting position with my head and shoulders propped up against the wooden headboard, I rub my sleepy eyes. “Whatcha doin?”
Lowering the tablet to her lap, she smiles in my direction. “Some research while I wait for you boys to get up. I was too excited to sleep.”
“Research on what? You want to drive the city today and take a look at those apartments we chose?”
“Yeah, this afternoon we will, but first I need to go to the store so I can fill out the paperwork and meet up with Luke. I’m supposed to meet him for lunch at noon,” she replies, referring to the assistant manager position at a ski shop she’s already been hired for. “I’ll ask him if he knows of any restaurants or bars hiring a bartender, or if he recommends anywhere for you to apply.”
Apparently, this Luke guy is someone she went to high school with, and when she contacted him on Facebook about moving here, he offered her a job. At first, it all seemed a little too good to be true to me, but after checking out the store and him online, it turned out to be legit. Mom thinks it’s God opening doors for us. I think the guy saw her profile picture and thought working side-by-side with her everyday would be a good idea. Either way, I’m happy she’s got a decent paying nine-to-five gig lined up, which will give me the opportunity to bartend or wait tables at night.
“So what are you researching?” I ask again.
A wicked gleam flashes in her eyes as she lifts up the rectangular, stainless steel device that came with the room. “Reading up on how to use a vaporizer,” she giggles.
“Oh, my God.” I shake my head with laughter. “Are you stoned? Where did you get the weed?”
“No!” she exclaims, covering her mouth as soon as she realizes how loud she is. Ensuring Caleb is still sound-asleep, she continues in a softer voice, “No, I haven’t tried anything yet, but last night, when I first got to the dinner, they were handing out little packets to the adults who bought a happy-hour drink. I was just curious on how it all works. Back when I was young, we had joints and hookahs; that was it. Now, it’s all so…fancy.”
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and propel myself off the mattress, still chuckling lightly. “Before you go all Iggy Azalea on me, why don’t we start with some coffee and breakfast? And we probably need to wake up—”
I don’t even finish the sentence before Caleb begins to twitch in the bed. It starts with a few choppy kicks and jabs of his arms, but within a matter of seconds, he’s in a full-blown grand mal seizure. Rushing to his side to make sure he doesn’t tangle in the sheets or fall off the bed, I turn him on his side as Mom sprints to guard the other side of the bed. This is how we’ve spent every single morning for the last six months. It’s become the norm for how he wakes up. And it tears me up every fucking day.
A few minutes later, the jerky movements subside and he slowly opens his eyes, first looking up at me and then shifting his gaze to Mom.
“Did it happen again?” he whispers timidly.
“Yeah, bud, it did,” Mom crawls onto the bed next to him, kissing his forehead, “but we’ll find out today where we can get what we came for. We’re gonna fix you all up.”
Grumbling a string of expletives, he rolls over and buries his face in the pillow, and I’m tempted to get him started on the vaporizer right this minute with whatever stuff Mom got last night, but I know I can’t. There are certain strands of weed specifically designed for people with epilepsy, and I need to find out which local dispensaries carry those.
“Come on, man.” I nudge his shoulder. “I’m gonna shower and change, then you do the same, and we can all go grab breakfast. You’ll feel better once you’ve got some food and caffeine in you.”
“You think the sisters will all be at breakfast, too? ‘Cause that’ll most definitely make me feel better.” He turns to look at me, the corner of his mouth tipping up mischievously.
“Something tells me it’s not simply a coincidence that my two teenage boys chose a resort for us to stay at that’s ran by a family with six daughters,” Mom teases.
Caleb shoves himself up to his knees, shaking his head insistently. “We had no idea. Did we, Crew?”
“Nope, no clue,” I concur.
He slowly slides o
ff the mattress and onto the floor, as he often gets dizzy and has trouble balancing after a seizure. “Like you said last night, Mom, this place is magical. They provide awesome food, weed, and hot chicks. They should rename it Heaven on Earth.”
She sighs and throws her hands up in the air with defeat, but the silent laughter in her eyes gives away her true feelings. “Would you two please shower? No girl is gonna want to get within ten feet of either of you if you don’t wash that funk off.”
Just the thought of all those sisters makes me realize my shower is going to run a little long.
Nearly an hour later, all three of us are dressed and ready for our first full day in Colorado. As we stroll toward the main house, I ignore my growling stomach and take a few minutes to take in the scenery around me. I’m not usually the poetic type who stops to appreciate the beauty of nature around me, but I can’t help but be humbled at the surrounding landscape.
The place looks like the front of a postcard. Several well-kept, quaint cabins are positioned in a semi-circle around a luxurious lodge, all set among scattered pines and wildflowers on the side of the snow-capped mountainous backdrop. Add in the clear, bright blue sky and the cheerful songs of the morning birds, and I think Caleb may be onto something about the whole Heaven thing.
When we turn the rounded corner in the dirt path, only a few yards from the front steps of the main house, I see a girl standing on the opposite end of the wraparound porch, her head bobbing up and down to whatever music is flowing from the earbuds tucked underneath her long, braided pigtails. At first, she’s completely oblivious to our presence as she digs through the tan wicker basket she’s toting on one arm, but as we grow closer, she either senses our approach or sees us out of the corner of her eye, and lifts her gaze to meet ours.
The moment my eyes meet hers, the breath hitches in my lungs and I stop dead in my tracks, completely caught off-guard by the sight of her. Hudson—wearing an old, plaid, flannel button-up, black leggings, furry boots, and not a drop of makeup—might actually be the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen.
And suddenly, I realize I’m the farthest place from Heaven I could ever be. Only in Hell would a creature so beautiful be dangled in my face, along with the knowledge that I can’t have her.
My morning chores start early. Like sunrise early. Every single day.
That’s the thing with a bed-and-breakfast—the guests kind of expect breakfast each morning. And from the time I was about thirteen, it’s been my contribution to the family business.
Well, that and my horticulture skills, which is my true love.
After being kept awake by bizarre dreams that I can’t recall, I only manage about four hours of sleep before my alarm clock buzzes at its usual pre-dawn hour. Drowsily, I crawl out of bed, throw on some warm clothes, not caring in the least if they match or not, and braid my hair into two pigtails—one of my go-to styles to keep my long locks out of my face. Once I take care of the normal business in the bathroom, I shrug on my jacket, step into my boots, and slip in my earbuds before heading outside, careful not to wake up anyone else in the house.
The overwhelmingly pungent scent of the thriving cannabis plants greets me the second I open the door to the smaller of the two greenhouses. Smiling at the sight of my babies, organized in perfect rows throughout the rectangular space, I pick up the clipboard off the work desk to my right and begin my rounds.
Watering, adjusting for maximum light absorption, and charting stages of growth are only the basics in cultivating marijuana. These plants, especially the more exotic strains I’ve recently crossbred, truly need to be cared for several times a day with a lot of patience and dedication. Even the smallest change in the environment can cause them to stress, which most often leads to producing weed that can’t be harvested.
It takes me about an hour to attend to everything necessary, and as I’m locking up behind myself, the first glow of the morning sunlight begins to peek out from behind the rocky horizon, letting me know I’m right on schedule. After nearly six years of doing this, I’ve just about mastered the timing into an exact science.
The larger greenhouse is chock full of a wide variety of garden vegetables and fruits, along with a small area where I grow all of the herbs we use in the kitchen. A fusion of edible aromas permeate the air, causing a rumbling in my belly that kicks me into high-gear, knowing as soon as I finish up here, I’ll be able to enjoy a delicious breakfast before I begin preparing everyone else’s.
At a little past eight, I’m finally making the short trek to the main lodge with the fruits of my labor—quite literally—in tow, looking forward to a piping-hot cup of coffee to help me thaw out from the morning frost. However, when I reach the porch, I can’t remember if I dropped the baggie of the Pink Lemonade buds into the basket that I promised my dad I’d bring for him to try. Stopping to sort through the onions, potatoes, and parsley, I find what I’m looking for, relieved I don’t have to double back.
Lifting my gaze back to the front door, I’m startled to find Mary, Crew, and Caleb moving in my direction, oblivious to their approach with Ween jamming out in my ears. I have every intention of wishing them a friendly good morning right away, but when my eyes lock onto Crew’s, something funny happens. A wave of awareness that those green eyes are the same ones from my forgotten dreams last night crashes through me, leaving me short of breath and lightheaded.
In my half-asleep state this morning, I hadn’t allowed my mind to drift off to recall yesterday’s events, not thinking about my uninspiring date, or the gorgeous stranger and the way he’d rattled me at dinner, which was probably part of the reason my date only seemed ho-hum.
“Good morning, Hudson,” Mary says cheerfully once they’re within a couple of feet of where I’m standing. Her curious eyes dart back and forth between me and Crew, who stopped walking when I looked up at them, but she doesn’t say anything else.
Somehow finding my voice, I rip my stare from his and curl the corner of my mouth up in a friendly expression. “G’morning!” I exclaim a little too excitedly, over-compensating for my brief moment of idiocy. “You guys are up early. Did you sleep well?”
“I did,” Caleb nods, grinning roguishly as he opens the door for all of us, “but it would’ve been much better if you were curled up next to me, keeping me warm.”
With eyes as big as saucers, Mary gasps and lightly smacks him on the side of the head. “Caleb Anthony, you apologize right now. I did not raise you to speak like that to women. What in the world has gotten into you lately?”
He steals a glimpse over at Crew, who’s now joined his family and doing a poor job of hiding his amusement, and then returns his eyes back to me. “It wasn’t meant to be disrespectful, Hudson. It’s just that you’re a beautiful girl and I’m a strapping stud, so now that I’ve turned fifteen, which is when Crew bagged his—”
“What he means to say is he’s very sorry and won’t speak to you like that again.” Crew steps in between me and his little brother, the smirk gone as he spears Caleb with a fiery stare. “Wasn’t it, bro?”
Caleb rolls his eyes and sighs, annoyance written all over his face. The entire time, I’m trying hard not to laugh, because honestly, I think the stuff that comes out of his mouth is hilarious. If they knew some of the things my family has said…Grams alone could probably make all three of them blush multiple shades of red.
“It’s okay. I’m not offended at all.” I tousle Caleb’s hair with my free hand as I walk past them inside. “You’ve seen the size of my family. There’s not much that can faze me.”
They follow me into the lobby area and across the wood floor to the dining room. “I’m assuming you’re here for breakfast. You can sit wherever you’d like. I’m gonna put this basket down in the kitchen and get the coffee started, and then I’ll be back to find out what you’d like to eat.”
Unexpectedly, they choose a different place than where they sat yesterday, closer to the wall of windows, which I find odd, because nearly all
of our guests sit in the exact same chairs every time they eat here. It’s almost as if they claim a ‘spot’ for the duration of their stay.
Though, I really shouldn’t be surprised; there’s nothing about this family that’s been normal from the moment they arrived, beginning with the fact I can’t remember the last time we’ve had a teenager, much less two, at the resort. Families that visit Breckenridge usually stay in town, closer to the action, not out here, where people come to relax in the peace and quiet.
I realize I’ve been awkwardly staring at them sitting at their table—though luckily, they’re too busy admiring the view outside to notice—and hurry to the back to get set up. Thankfully, Doug already has the coffee brewing and is chopping produce for the morning rush.
“Morning, sunshine.” He kisses the top of my head as I dump the contents of the basket onto the counter. “How’s the new stuff lookin’?”
“Good, I brought you some to try out,” I reply, leaning back into his affectionate touch.
I’m very close to both of my parents, but my dad and I share a special bond that is indescribable. I’ve been the only one of all six daughters, since Denver is still too young, to show any interest in horticulture. I can’t even count the hours Doug and I have spent in the greenhouses together, bonding over our love of everything green.
“Awesome. You want to sample some too before I leave?” He reaches in his pocket and tosses a pack of zigzag papers on the counter. “I even have these with me.”
Laughing, I shake my head as I pour a cup of java, not bothering to add any cream or sugar—another shared trait of ours. “Nah, I’ve already got customers out there, and then I have class today. I’ll wait until I get home this afternoon.”