Too long hayes brothers.., p.1
Too Long: Hayes Brothers Book 6, page 1
Copyright © 2023 by I. A. Dice
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Editor: Dave Holwill
eBook Cover: Dez Purington at Pretty in Ink Creations
PROLOGUE
Colt
READY.
A girl wearing a skin-tight, white top and a skirt so short her ass is showing points her manicured finger directly at me.
Same old, same old. You’d think they’d change how they start the races. Mix it up a bit, but no. Always the same routine.
Tonight, Chantel, the main organizer’s baby sister got the privilege. She’s turning eighteen tomorrow, and according to Curly, starting a race is a plausible gift. She’s smiling coquettish smiles, five feet from my hood, as she gets the crowd going.
The dry desert wind cuts through the night, breaching my car, every particle charged with palpable excitement. I can fucking taste the gasoline and the metallic tang of adrenaline in the evening air. Cars with neon underglows cast halos across the beaten airfield tarmac while people rush around, cash whirling from hand to hand with the speed of thought.
Thirty seconds left to place bets.
A cacophony of blaring horns, deep bassline, and chatter fills my ears. It’ll linger like an echo long after I get home. It always does.
A beefed-up Ranger with flame decals guns its engine. The exhaust’s roar mixes with the beat pumping out of its speakers—a background track for the girls dancing around it.
I fucking love it here.
Steady.
Chantel’s finger moves left to point at my opponent, Otis, sat at the wheel of his Supra.
It’s a sweet ride. Not as sweet as the custom V12 Camaro parked nearby, though, and not half as powerful. It has no chance against my Challenger, but that didn’t stop Otis running his mouth fifteen minutes ago, saying he’ll swallow me whole and spit me back out.
Wishful thinking.
Since I started racing almost three years ago, I only lost twice. Tonight won’t be the third. No, tonight, I’m taking Otis’s five grand and leaving it in the homeless shelter’s mailbox. I do that every weekend. Instead of hoarding the cash I don’t need, I choose between soup kitchens, homeless shelters, and animal rescue centers. They’ll make better use of the cash than I would.
I make enough in my day job.
Chantel lifts both hands, sending one last pointed stare at us before she drops her arms.
Go.
I floor the gas pedal immediately. The Challenger shoots forth, gaining speed faster than the onlookers can comprehend. Three seconds and I’m already a car length ahead of the cocky teen. He’s new here. Lacks experience, reflexes, and—by the looks of things—quite a bit of horsepower.
He could use a lesson in humility... a lesson I’ll gladly provide. Colt Hayes: self-proclaimed ethics teacher.
One, two, three: zero to sixty. Five, six, seven: one hundred miles an hour... Sixteen, seventeen: one-fifty on the clock. Half a mile in less than nineteen seconds.
Time to break.
I throw the car sideways, drifting around a metal barrel that marks the halfway point. Otis catches up with me on the drift exit point, but as soon as I press the gas, I fly forward.
Adrenaline courses through my veins, my heart pumps blood faster, and I feel alive.
More alive than I usually do.
I shouldn’t be here today. I should be at my parents’ house for the monthly get-together. My brother Cody made it abundantly clear I can’t be late because our older brother—he didn’t mention which—has some important news to drop.
It hardly matters. Regardless whose news, it’s definitely another wedding or pregnancy announcement. And that’s why I’m here, not there. That’s why I’m not impatiently awaiting the news like Cody is.
I dread the elated high that settles over the whole family whenever my brothers announce something big. The endless congratulations, cheers, and smiles...
Never aimed at me.
I love my family. I’m happy they’re happy, but I’m also incredibly aware I’m alone.
No big news.
No small news.
No news at all.
It’s tough being the last single Hayes. Even our three-years-younger sister Rose is in a two-year-long relationship. She’ll be dropping engagement news soon, I bet.
Seeing how happy my siblings are, I’m jealous. That’s all. I want what they have... I just can’t fucking find it.
So here I am... racing. Chasing my own brand of high. Chasing the only thrill that makes me feel remotely happy.
Shaking off the depressing thoughts, I focus on the stretch of tarmac ahead. I’m twenty-four, for fuck’s sake. There’s still time to find my happy ever after.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. Too bad it’s harder to believe as the days pass. I didn’t even think about a wife and kids until Conor fell in love with Vivienne. It got worse when, against all odds, Cody went with Blair.
Now that I’m the last man standing, I feel like an outcast in my own family.
In my chaotic, unpredictable life, racing is the constant that keeps me grounded and relatively patient.
The engine roars beneath me, marshaling my thoughts. Not even flying a hundred and thirty miles an hour down the straight keeps my head in the game these days.
Still, I try.
I started racing for fun, but as the years went by, fifteen seconds of adrenaline rush turned into my escape from reality. Something to keep me centered, focused, and sane.
I grip the steering wheel tighter. Every nerve in my body tenses like a drawn string. It’s the good kind of nerves, exciting, freeing... until everything changes.
In the side mirror, I catch a flash of the Supra gaining unnatural speed. He’s on my tail within a second, not a feat he could pull off without a nitrous boost.
Looks like he didn’t get the memo. Curly doesn’t allow this shit here. It’s fucking dangerous.
This will be Otis’s first and last race.
I’m in a losing position, waiting until the fucker leaps ahead, but before I can fully register it, there’s a sudden jolt as the Supra’s front end clips my rear bumper, sending my Challenger into a spin.
Not good. At this speed, spins are never good. My mind fucking soars as I try to regain control. The world blurs. Neon colors and sharp lights from the sidelines whip past. Tires scream against the beaten tarmac so loud I can’t hear anything else. My heart jackhammers in my chest as I grip the steering wheel with all I’ve got, fighting against the violent swing of my car. But it’s too fast, too sudden.
And then I notice where I’m heading. Directly at the neatly parked cars ahead. Time slows, each millisecond dragging like I’m underwater, every movement slow, exaggerated. The front of a Dodge RAM flashes before my eyes, and the realization hits like a punch to the gut.
This might be it.
The end.
Game over.
The distance between my Challenger and the RAM evaporates and no matter what I do... nothing works. The steering wheel has no effect. Slamming the brake doesn’t change a thing.
The only way to stop is to crash.
Memories whip through my mind. The infamous life-flashing. My brothers, my parents, my friends. Countless laughs and fights. Endless family dinners filled with pregnancy, engagement, and wedding announcements. The happiness surrounding me daily but is never my own.
My life doesn’t have the same sweet taste my brothers get to savor, and in this slow-motion descent into death, I realize I haven’t truly lived.
Regret gushes through me. The thought of dying before I found my purpose terrifies me more than the impending crash. Amid the noise of screeching tires and distorted shouts, a haunting quiet fills my head.
I haven’t found my meaning yet.
I can’t fucking die.
It’s too soon.
And just as this thought sinks, I hear the deafening sound of my Challenger colliding head-on with the RAM.
Metal twists.
Glass shatters.
The pungent smell of gasoline fills my nose. My head jerks back and the seat belt cuts into my chest as the exploding airbag almost gives me a heart attack.
For a moment, the ringing in my ears overpowers everything. Then, slowly, muffled gasps, shouts, and cries filter in. It’s blurry around, like I’m looking through a dense fog. I think it’s my eyes before I realize clouds of smoke are hissing from the hood. Or what’s left of it.
Blood fills my mouth as I shake uncontrollably, crushed between the bent steering wheel and the seat.
Distant shouts, thumping of feet against the tarmac, panicked cries... it all comes and goes as if someone’s tapping the mute button again and again and again.
My mind’s swimming. Every breath is a chore as my lungs struggle against the weight pressing down on my chest.
A voice breaks through, mu ffled but familiar.
Cody?
No.
He’s miles away. Or maybe he’s right here, pulling me out of this twisted metal coffin.
No... it’s not him. It can’t be. My mind’s playing tricks on me as it slowly switches off.
Darkness threatens to pull me under, the weight of regrets even heavier. It’s fucking painful... maddening, excruciating. A mental anguish rivaling the pain that floods every inch of my body.
And so when the darkness comes, I don’t fight.
ONE
Colt
THREE YEARS LATER
“IT’S TIME!” Conor booms, storming into my house without so much as a courtesy knock. He’d bite my head off if I did the same. “You ready?”
I cock an eyebrow over the screen of my laptop, surveying him with Cody in tow. Dressed to paint the town red, they’re an unfamiliar sight. I can’t recall the last time we went out together. It must’ve been before Conor’s twins were born.
“I’m missing some information,” I say, my eyes darting to the family birthday list on the fridge. The Hayes clan now totals twenty-seven. While my memory’s great, remembering that many birthdays is a struggle.
A quick scan confirms I haven’t forgotten any looming celebrations. There’s nothing till the twins’ fourth birthday next month—a party I’m already prepared for. My assistant bought the gifts and cleared three hours in my schedule.
“Nothing in my calendar includes you two today,” I add, my attention snapping back to the screen.
Undeterred, Cody rolls up the sleeves of his jersey, perching his butt against my kitchen island. “We offer our sincerest apologies for failing to arrange a beer-drinking session in advance. Would you be oh so kind and fit us in for an emergency meeting this fine Friday evening?”
Asshole.
He’s close enough for a well-aimed punch to his bicep that wipes the smartass smirk off his face.
“To the point, Cody. What’s up? Trouble in paradise? You need a shoulder to cry on?” My eyes flick to Conor. “Or is it your paradise that’s in trouble?”
“Actually, it’s yours,” Conor chirps, making himself at home as he rummages through my fridge, probably searching for beer. “We’re staging an intervention.”
Asshole number two.
Though I admit, they got my attention.
My veins pulse, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air. Pushing my laptop aside, I scrutinize them both, wondering if they figured out my well-kept secret.
If so, how much do they know?
A quick appraisal tells me they don’t know shit. They’re positively buzzing underneath their forced gazes of condemnation. If they knew, they wouldn’t be doing this alone. Our four older brothers, younger sister, their better halves, and our parents would be here, armed with moralizing speeches that wouldn’t differ much from those they dished out three years ago while I lay in a hospital bed, barely hanging onto life.
Oh, and I’d be sporting a black eye and a split lip by now.
“Again, some info missing. Either spit it out or say goodbye,” I clip, accepting a Corona from Conor.
“We’re going out,” he clarifies.
“No shit, Sherlock. I gathered that much.”
Cody plops down on the bar stool, elbows hitting the counter. “You work like a fucking robot, bro. You barely have time to breathe, let alone meet someone, so we’re going old school and making things happen.” He grins, misplaced pride flashing in his eyes.
I doubt whatever they have in store tonight was his idea. Every scrap of Conor’s attention is taken up by his sons these days. No room in his head for brilliant ideas.
“Logan was reminiscing the other day about the bets he used to make with Theo and Nico,” he continues. “One evening in particular gave us an excellent idea.”
Not rolling my eyes proves a struggle. I know what he’s talking about. It’s one of Logan’s favorite stories. Not just because those bets helped him get together with Cass, but also because Nico had been helping him all along while Logan thought Nico wouldn’t accept him and Cassidy being together.
“If you say—”
“Express Dates!” Conor finishes my sentence, wearing a Joker-style grin. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”
“Only from a mile away,” I shoot back. “And the answer is, as you very well expect, a loud, resounding no.”
“Give us one good reason why not. What harm will it do?”
“Other than annoying your wives?”
Cody tears the bottle from his lips mid-chug. “Fine, so we lied. It wasn’t exactly our idea. The girls are in on this. They know where we’re going and approved this mission.”
Conor smirks under his nose. “We’re your wingmen, bro. Not participating. We’ll be at the bar in the next room. If you find someone, great. You’ll take her home or whatever. If not, there’s always beer.”
“The answer’s still no. You two are so busy with your lives that you hardly ever have time for a drink. So, like the good brother I am, I’ll fit you into my schedule tonight, but I’m not wasting half the evening getting turned down by desperate women.”
They share a loaded look, crossing their arms in perfect sync. Their stance, combined with the holes their eyes burn in my face, quickens my pulse.
I don’t need to hear what they’re thinking.
We were born with a nonverbal way of communicating—triplet skill, I call it—and right now, I read them like a book.
I’m off my game. I should’ve trusted my instinct the moment they said intervention. They do know, and they’re ready to use that knowledge against me.
“Fuck,” I hiss, running a heavy hand down my face. “How did you find out?”
Cody chugs the rest of his beer, inspiring Conor to follow his lead. Once they’re done, he grabs two more from the fridge. Looks like wherever we end up tonight, I’m the designated driver.
Unless they ordered a taxi.
I fucking hope they did because numbing the humiliation with bucketloads of beer is my best bet right now.
“You really thought we wouldn’t figure it out sooner or later?” Cody scoffs, taking his bun apart only to redo it exactly the same. “Give us some credit.”
“You followed me again?”
“Not this time. If it makes you feel better, it took us a while to catch on.”
A while? It took almost a year and a half. That’s not a while.
“I’m guessing you started again when you bought that cocktail bar in Pomona, right?”
“A little earlier,” I admit. Playing dumb won’t save me. They wouldn’t be here, suggesting Express Dates, if they didn’t have leverage. Interestingly, they kept my secret safe instead of ratting me out to the whole family.
“Told you,” Conor pokes Cody’s ribs before setting the second beer bottle beside my half-empty one.
I guess a taxi it is.
“What gave me away?”
“Your mood.” Conor opens the fridge again, fetching a fruit bowl my maid prepared for my midnight snack. “You were throwing hissy fits every day after you left the hospital, and then suddenly, you were just... calm. Composed. At first, we thought you met someone. I mean, we thought you were smart, so we didn’t think you’d be racing again after you almost fucking died. But weeks turned to months and with no girl in sight we scrapped that idea.”
With a defeated sigh, I finish beer number one, clutching the second cold bottle with both hands. The lack of someone significant in my life, that one special person, might be why I ended up clinically dead for over four minutes.
My brothers have been building their families for years. It took a toll on me, the odd one out. The only single brother out of seven, always alone at family gatherings, always alone at home, always missing something.
Cody’s right. I work like a robot. Always have. Racing is my time-out from that and the loneliness that increases with every Hayes who goes down on one knee.
Before the accident, I still believed my time would come. Even though it was taking longer than I hoped, I thought one day love would just happen for me on its fucking own.
Everything changed the night of the crash.
Once I was discharged from the hospital, I spent six months in physiotherapy, growing ever more desperate with each passing day.
Once back on my feet, I signed up for every available dating website and went on countless dates, sometimes juggling three or four in a single evening, but nothing ever stuck.
