Cheap Trick

  Cheap Trick

  A Dawson Family Novel

  Emily Goodwin

  Cheap Trick

  A Dawson Family Novel

  Copyright 2019

  Emily Goodwin

  Cover photography by Braadyn Penrod

  Editing by Contagious Edits and My Brother’s Editor

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, 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 or places is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  To those who are still trying to figure out who they are. Remember…you are enough.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Thank you

  About the Author

  Also by Emily Goodwin

  Prologue

  Danielle

  One year ago…

  Someday, I’ll stop lying to myself. When I say I’m going to get my life together, I’m going to actually do it.

  Someday…just not today.

  I pull PJs out of my suitcase and sit on the bed, looking around the room. It’s been over ten years since I’ve been here, and everything is exactly the same, from the pale yellow wallpaper to the faint smell of lavender that fills the house. Gathering up my PJs and toothbrush, I silently move through the hall and into the bathroom, changing and getting ready for bed.

  It’s been one hell of a day, and I’m exhausted. But of course, as soon as I lie down, I’m wide the fuck awake. After tossing and turning for an hour, I get up and go into the kitchen, finding a bottle of wine in the back of the pantry. I uncork the wine and take it onto the back porch, taking solace in the quiet chorus of crickets.

  The screen door slowly creaks open, startling me. “Can’t sleep?” Grandpa asks, stepping onto the porch.

  I shake my head. “It’s probably the jet lag.”

  Grandpa laughs. “I didn’t know you’d get jet lag traveling from Connecticut to Indiana.”

  I nod. “There’s like an hour time difference. It might take me weeks to get used to this.”

  Grandpa’s eyes go to the bottle of wine in my hand. “Are you sure you’re okay, kiddo?”

  I force a smile, trying hard to hold up the front that I’m A-okay. It’s what I always do, but right now, I’m just tired. “Yeah, I am.” My fake smile grows wider.

  Leaving’s always been an option, and it’s what I’ve done over the last few years. When Roger and I broke up, I applied to grad school two states away. When grad school got hard, I took time off to work and build my resume. And when I got let go from my job, I spent three months volunteering in Costa Rica.

  And here I am in Indiana.

  “Really?” Grandpa’s knee cracks as he crosses the porch, sitting on a rocking chair next to me. “Because those who are fine don’t sit alone in the dark drinking cheap wine out of a bottle.”

  I let my eyes fall closed for a few seconds before taking a breath and turning to my grandpa. “I wanted to warn Diana and keep her from being disappointed later in life, but I get the blame for Peter being a Grade-A douchebag and it cost me my job…it feels like I failed. And then when I look back at my life, I see there’s been a lot of failure in there.”

  “How lucky you are that you get to fail. You can only fail if you’re living, and that’s not something you should ever take for granted.”

  Tears burn at the corners of my eyes, and I bring the bottle of wine to my lips, taking another drink.

  “And you know what else is good about failure?” Grandpa asks. “After each failure, each fall, you get up and you try again. And you might fail again, but you get back up. Each and every time, you get back up.”

  Throat tight, I nod and look out at the farmland. There’s a barn not far from the house, and two of the three horses have their heads hanging out the open Dutch doors. I’ve always considered myself more or less scrappy and have been able to climb and crawl out of some shitty situations. But once I’m standing on my own two feet again, I’m lost. “I don’t know where to go after I get back up.”

  Grandpa smiles. “Let’s start with getting you a decent drink.”

  “There’s a place open around here?”

  “Eastwood is a small town, and every small town has at least one good bar. And I mean one. Getaway is open until three of or four AM some nights,” he says, waving me back into the house.

  “Grandpa!” I exclaim, faking shock. “You stay out until three AM? I thought I was going to be the crazy partier rocking the ship here. You’re gonna have me beat.”

  “I could drink you under the table, kid.” He gives me a wink. “Go change and meet me in the truck in five minutes.”

  “Deal,” I say with a laugh. Normally, I’d do my hair and makeup to go to a bar, but tonight I don’t give a damn. I throw on jeans, a black top, and red heels. I cave and put on mascara and lip gloss, but I’m still ready in just about five minutes. I comb my hair with my fingers as I walk through the old farmhouse and outside, getting in the passenger side of my grandpa’s old pickup truck.

  “Lucky for us, the bar isn’t far from here,” he says and pulls down the driveway.

  “Isn’t everything ten minutes from anything? The town is small, right?”

  “Small in the sense of population, but we have a lot of farmland.”

  “Yeah. I forgot how peaceful it is out here.”

  “I still don’t understand how your mother could leave all this behind,” Grandpa says ruefully. He turns on the radio right after that, flipping through stations. Only country music comes in.

  The bar is crowded for a Thursday night. I feel like I’m walking through a movie set or something with all the pickup trucks parked in a gravel parking lot. Music drifts from the bar, and people sit on tailgates, talking and laughing. I hate that I love it so much.

  Grandpa goes right up to the bar, and the bartender knows his name.

  “Hey, Fred,” he says. “What are you doing here so late?”

  “I’m taking my granddaughter out for a night on the town. She just got in from the east coast,” Grandpa tells him.

  I turn around, taking it all in. This place is pretty damn neat, actually, and is filled with a lot of people my age and not the rednecks and truckers I thought would be here. I’m stereotyping, I know, and I feel bad about it.

  “Ellie,” Grandpa says, and I don’t have the heart to tell him I don’t go by that anymore. “This is Logan. He owns the joint.”

  “Co-owns,” someone else says, coming up behind me. I turn, and dammit, my heart skips a beat. Because this man is all sorts of gorgeous. Tall and muscular. Deep hazel eyes. The perfect amount of stubble covers his chiseled jaw. “Right?” He looks at the guy Grandpa is talking to. I take a step to the side so I can see him and do a double-take.

  Because that man looks just like the hottie who’s behind me. I look back. Holy shit. They’re identical twins.

  “Hey,” the one my grandpa introduced as Logan says. His eyes meet mine and I recognize something in them. A distance, maybe? A longing for the thing that will finally make his empty heart feel full? I only know because I feel the same way. It’s a strange moment, one I can’t fully explain, and one I’m blaming on the old bottle of cheap wine. But I see something in him, something that differs him from his twin, and I know from that moment on, I’ll always be able to tell the two apart. “Welcome to Eastwood. First drink’s on the house.”

  “Thanks,” I tell him, feeling a bit of color rush to my cheeks. Grandpa gets two guys at the bar to give up their stools. We sit and he orders me a bourbon on the rocks. I’ve been a cheap wine drinker my whole adult life. I’m a lightweight when it comes to the hard stuff.

  I sip my whiskey faster than I intended and am drunk by the time I finish my drink. Grandpa gets up to throw darts with someone he knows, and I tell him I’m going to stay at the bar, happy to just people watch.

  Logan sets another bourbon on the bar top, switching it out for my empty glass. “Second one’s on the house too. You look like you’ve had a night.”

  I cock an eyebrow, not sure if I should take it as an insult or not. “What gave that away? It couldn’t possibly be the fact that I came to a bar at one AM on a Thursday with my grandpa.”

  Logan laughs and my God that man is gorgeous. I slide the whiskey over and take a sip, trying to look seductive but end up clipping
the glass against my teeth and sloshing it down my face.

  “Are you going to be in town long?” Logan asks, grabbing empty glasses from the bar.

  “I don’t know,” I reply after I take another drink. Really, I have nowhere else to go. Eastwood was a last resort, and I’m tired of running from my problems. They tend to find me no matter where I go. But I have no reason to stay. Logan gets busy and I turn around, drink in hand, and notice a now hiring sign hanging in the window by the door.

  I bite the inside of my cheek, mind going a million miles an hour. Before I have a chance to actually think this through, I spin back around in my barstool and set my drink down.

  “Hey,” I say, getting Logan’s attention. “You’re hiring?”

  He nods. “You interested?”

  I smile. “Yeah. I am.”

  Chapter 1

  Logan

  “That is disgusting, sis,” I tell Quinn, shaking my head as I watch her pull maraschino cherries out of a glass of vodka with a spoon. “You know I can make you a real drink, right?”

  She pops one in her mouth and nods. “I do, but I kinda like this. Actually, go ahead and make me one. You still owe me for filing your taxes.”

  “You want another drink on top of that?” Dean raises his eyebrows, playing the part of concerned older brother too well. “Haven’t you had enough?”

  “Fuck, you’re so lame,” Owen quips, clapping Dean on the back. “Drink as much as you want, Quinn. On the house.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” Quinn laughs, getting another cherry out of her cup. “I have a very small window to enjoy alcohol before Archer knocks me up again. Like tonight.”

  Dean wrinkles his nose, put off as always by the thought of his childhood friend marrying—and knocking up—our sister. “That’s even more disgusting than the vodka-cherries.”

  Quinn laughs, enjoying poking at Dean. I go back around the bar, making drinks for a few customers before bringing Quinn a Jack and Coke, trading it for the glass of cherries. It’s a weekday night, but the bar is busy, as it always is. I go back and forth between filling drink orders, cleaning up spilled booze, hassling Owen to do his fucking job, and talking with Quinn and Dean, who are waiting for Archer to get off work to join them.

  A storm is blowing in, and the power flickers. We have a generator, but it’s still a pain in the ass to deal with. Though storms always seem good for business. People still come in despite the weather, but those who are already here tend to order an extra drink and wait out the rain.

  I’m wiping down the bar top when a clap of thunder booms overhead, rattling the windows. I look up at that exact moment, and the door to the bar swings open. Danielle walks in, and a feeling I try to ignore bubble in my stomach. Her long, brunette hair is down today, hanging in waves around her face. The white t-tank top she has on is speckled with raindrops. Immediately, my mind goes to what she’d look like if her shirt were completely drenched.

  She looks through the crowd, meets my eye, and smiles as she makes her way over. The whole world stops when she’s around, and looking at her now isn’t much different than looking at her for the first time. Her sea-green eyes shine no matter how dim it is in the room. The energy around her is magnetic, drawing you in even if you try to resist.

  And trust me, I’ve resisted.

  I push all feelings aside, trying to convince myself Danielle is just one of the guys, and smile back.

  “You must really miss me,” I quip, raising my eyebrows as Danielle comes up to the bar. “I mean, to come in on your day off just to see me.”

  Danielle snags a seat at the bar and rolls her eyes. “Busted. Those secret photos I have of you weren’t doing the job. My plan was to ‘accidentally’ leave my phone out and hope you’d take the hint I need a dick pic or two.”

  I laugh as I reach under the counter for a glass. “I’m sure I can get you at least a dozen dick pics. Can’t promise it’ll be of mine. You can’t handle all that.”

  Laughing, Danielle makes a show of running her eyes up and down me. It’s meant in fun, but her smile starts to fade and a flush comes to her cheeks. Blinking rapidly, she looks away, reaching up for a strand of her hair to twist around her fingers.

  “What are you doing here?” I pour whiskey into her glass and slide it over.

  She brings the glass to her lips and takes a big sip. “My grandpa has a lady friend over.” She shudders. “And Adele doesn’t like to drive in the rain so she’s staying the night.” She takes another sip of whiskey and slowly shakes her head. “I didn’t want to risk overhearing anything.” She sets the glass down, looking up at me with wide eyes. “And it also made me realize that even dear old gramps has a better love life than I do.”

  I hate that I like hearing that. I don’t want her to have a love life with anyone who’s not me. I laugh again and set the bottle of whiskey on the counter in front of her.

  “You need this tonight. Drown your sorrows. And Quinn is here. Maybe you can take one of her cats and slowly start living out your fate as a crazy cat lady.”

  “Thanks, Dawson,” she spits and takes the whiskey. Snickering, I step to the side, taking a drink order from one of our regulars. I give Mr. Fenton his beer and lean on the counter in front of Danielle again.

  “Your sister would never give up one of her cats.” She finishes her whiskey and pours a little more in her glass.

  “Never hurts to ask.”

  Danielle cocks an eyebrow. “I’d rather keep my head.”

  I laugh again and see Archer walk through the door of the bar. “Ask him first. He’ll gladly give you two or three.”

  Danielle turns and sees Archer. She shakes her head and turns back around. “He’s so whipped. He’d come home with another two or three if Quinn really wanted them.”

  “Sadly, I think you’re right.”

  Archer looks around the bar for Quinn and Dean but sees us first. Danielle waves and he comes over, saying hi before going over to join the others. Danielle pours another splash of whiskey in her glass and gives the bottle back to me, and then goes over and sits by Quinn as well.

  I’m nonstop busy for the next half-hour or so, and for the life of me can’t find Owen. He’s probably in the office hooking up with someone, making me not even want to go looking. Danielle’s not the only one lacking in their love life.

  Owen has set me up on more dates than I can count over the last few months. We even went out with another set of identical twins. I ended the night early and Owen took them both home. He still won’t let me live that down.

  But they don’t measure up.

  “You just gonna stand there with your dick in your hand?” Owen comes up behind me.

  I turn, cocking an eyebrow. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “It’s basically what you’re doing.” Owen runs a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it out. He was hooking up, that fucker. “If she wasn’t so damn good at telling us apart, I’d make a move, have her think it was you, and force your hand.”

  I shake my head, opening my mouth to say some smartass comment back when Danielle stands and waves us over.

  “It’s not too late to go trade clothes,” Owen tries.

  “You smell like a cheap hooker. Even Scarlet could tell us apart tonight.”

  Owen chuckles and attempts to fix his hair again. We both have a cowlick on the back of our heads, making our hair naturally messy. It bothered me when I was younger, but now I know how to make the rugged look work for me. Owen grabs a beer and pops off the top.

  “You’re drinking away your paycheck again.”