Struck from the Record
Copyright © 2016 by K.A. Linde
All rights reserved.
Visit my website at
www.kalinde.com
Cover Designer:
Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations,
www.okaycreations.com
Photography: Lauren Perry, Perrywinkle Photography,
www.perrywinklephotography.com
Editor and Interior Designer: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing,
www.unforeseenediting.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Prologue
“Boys! Come help your father!” Marilyn called. She was standing at the top of the stairs that led from the pool of their Hilton Head home down to the beach.
Clay Maxwell looked to his older brother, Brady, for confirmation that they could ignore their mother and keep hanging out at the beach. They always came down here for the Fourth of July celebration with the Atwood family, but a couple of days ago, they had finally made friends with a group of kids nearby. Clay was even more excited because some of them were his own age. One of the girls was pretty, too.
While it was fun, hanging out with Brady and Chris Atwood, Brady’s best friend, all summer, they would treat him like a baby even though they were only three years older. Clay would turn thirteen next month and he’d already dated and dumped a number of girls in his grade. He
wasn’t
a baby.
“Coming, Mom!” Brady yelled back.
Clay slumped his shoulders.
Why did Brady always do the right thing? For once, couldn’t he just ignore our mother and pretend like he hadn’t heard her?
“Let’s go, Clay,” he demanded, all high and mighty.
Brady, the perfect.
Clay rolled his eyes. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
Brady fixed him with one of his best death stares. Clay snorted and turned away. Brady could just stare at his back for all he cared
. I’d be there in a minute! Just like I’d said. Geez!
“You should probably go,” the girl in front of him said. She smiled sweetly.
She was better than pretty
, he decided.
She had the biggest blue eyes ever, her hair was almost platinum in the bright afternoon sun, and her sun-kissed skin looked hot in her skimpy blue bikini. A soft layer of sand clung to her from playing in the water and messing around on the surf all afternoon.
“Yeah,” he agreed.
“Maybe I’ll see you later?” she asked hopefully. Her cheeks turned crimson, and she looked away.
Clay stood a little taller, unconsciously mimicking the way Brady would talk to girls he met on the beach. “Definitely. We’re here the rest of the week.”
“Okay!” Her face brightened.
“Clay!” Brady yelled. “Don’t make Mom repeat herself.”
“Jesus, I’m coming!” he yelled back. Clay groaned. “He’s so annoying.”
She giggled. “I’m an only child. I think it might be nice to have someone nag me.”
“It’s not. Trust me.”
“I’ll take your word for it. See you later, Clay.”
“Bye, Andrea.” He nodded his head and then jogged after Brady and Chris, who were waiting impatiently a few feet away.
“Look, I’m coming,” he said. He spread his arms wide to indicate he was heading toward them.
“About time,” Brady said.
When Clay reached them, Brady immediately pulled him into a headlock. He roughly rubbed Clay’s hair with his fist.
“Brady!” he cried, trying to get loose. “Let go!”
Clay punched him in the stomach as hard as he could, but he might as well have been fighting with a brick wall. Even at sixteen, Brady played an endless amount of basketball and worked out relentlessly when he wasn’t studying. He was solid and much bigger than his gangly younger brother who hadn’t grown into his body yet.
In fact, they had always been night and day in looks as well as personality. Brady was tall with dark brown hair and even darker eyes. He looked just like their father. Clay, on the other hand, resembled his mother’s picturesque beauty with dark blond hair that lightened under the summer sun and blue eyes. Brady was the golden boy. He had played varsity basketball as a freshman at a private high school in Chapel Hill and had been on a state traveling team for years before that. He was smart and active in student government, and
everyone
liked him. Growing up, Clay had preferred lacrosse and soccer but had never liked either as much as Brady liked basketball. His parents had told him he would find
his
thing when he got older, but he knew he wouldn’t measure up to Brady, no matter what he did.
Brady shoved him away, and Clay tumbled forward, landing on his hands and knees in the sand. He glared up at his brother.
“Sorry,” Brady said.
He offered his hand, but Clay pushed it away.
“I don’t need your help!”
“I was just messing around, Clay. Don’t take everything so seriously.”
“Whatever,” he grumbled.
Chris clapped him on the back when he stood.
Clay wasn’t sure how Chris could stand being around Brady all the time. He was such an asshole. He liked everyone to walk in his shadow. As far as Clay could tell, Chris would have been a much better older brother.
Clay followed Brady and Chris up the stairs. His mother was lying on a lounger and only half-watching his six-year-old little sister, Savannah, splash in the pool with Chris’s younger brother, Lucas, who was the same age as Savannah.
“Mom! Look what I can do!” She jumped up and down in the pool. “I beat Lucas in racing!” Savannah yelled. “Mom!”
“Yes, dear. That’s lovely. Keep at it, and you’ll be an Olympic swimmer someday.”
Savannah beamed even though Clay was sure she had no idea what that meant, but it quelled her curiosity, and she went back to playing. His mother was talking to Chris’s mother, Gina Atwood, who had a one-year-old Alice bouncing on her lap.
“Mom, what did you want?” Clay asked. “I was hanging out with my friends.”
Marilyn looked up at him but turned her smile toward Brady. “There you are, boys. Your father is about to start grilling and wants your help.”
“Got it,” Brady said. “Is he in the study?”
“He wants
all
of us to grill?” Clay asked, exasperated.
“Your father is very busy, but he wants to spend time with you on our family vacation, Clay. Give him a chance, would you?” she asked. Her tone said there was to be no arguing, and she was irritated with him to boot.
“Don’t listen to Clay. He’s just in a bad mood because he had to leave his girlfriend behind,” Brady teased.
“Another one?” Marilyn asked.
“She’s not my girlfriend. She’s just a friend.”
“
Right
,” Brady said under his breath.
“Well, if you want to invite your…friend over for dinner, there’s plenty to go around.”
“Girlfriend,” Brady repeated.
“She’s not my girlfriend!” he yelled, punching Brady in the shoulder. “Stop being such an asshole.”
“Language, Clay!”
“He started it!” Clay yelled back.
“Enough. Both of you. Can’t we just have one day of peace without you two bickering?” she asked. She turned to Chris’s mother, apologetically saying, “I’m sorry, Gina. Boys, you know.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice. I get it.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Now, go in and help your father. And I don’t want to hear any more complaints from you, Clay Alexander!”
Clay cringed. He knew she meant business when she used his full name. “Fine.”
He sulked past Brady and into the overly air-conditioned house. He found his father with Chris’s father, Matthew, in the study. By the time Clay got up the nerve to walk through the door, his shoulders were straight, his chin was raised, and he held all the confidence his father, Jeff, expected of a Maxwell son, all the confidence that had been instilled in him from a very young age.
“Dad,” Clay said, “Mom said you needed us.”
Brady and Chris showed up a minute later. They were laughing boisterously at something Brady had probably said.
Show- off
.
But the laughter cut off abruptly when they walked into the study.
Their father wasn’t uncaring or unkind. He was a great dad actually. He’d just had a strict upbringing, and even when he tried to relax his standards toward his sons, he never seemed to manage it. The only one who got away with anything was little Savannah, and she got away with
everything
. His little angel could do no wrong.
“Come in and have a seat, boys. It’ll just be a minute while I finish up this memo,” Jeff said.
“Chris, why don’t we go get the steaks out of the refrigerator?” Matthew said. He walked around the desk and moved over to Chris.
“Sure thing. You’re going to let me grill yours this time, right?” he asked, elbowing his dad in the ribs.
“I don’t want mine black and burned!”
“Aw, don’t be so hard on me. That was my first time, and Pepper loved it,” he said, referencing the Labrador they had at home.
“Well, Pepper isn’t here, and I don’t want her to have any more of my choice sirloins!”
Chris cracked up.
Clay could hear them joking back and forth all the way down the hallway. He wondered what that must be like as he turned back to his own father. He was handwriting the memo that he would mail off to his secretary in D.C. to type out and deliver for him.
It shouldn’t matter that Clay couldn’t joke around with his dad. He was important. A sitting senator in Washington. He drafted bills and created legislation, turning the tide of the country. It made his absences in their lives acceptable. And as Clay’s mother continually reminded him, they were incredibly fortunate, and he should act like it.
Brady and Clay took the open seats in front of their father’s desk. His leg bounced impatiently.
If we were going to have to sit there for another half hour, waiting for him to be done with his paperwork, why had he bothered to call us to help him grill?
“Sorry,” Jeff said. He pushed the paperwork away from him. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. One day, you’ll understand.”
“I already understand,” Brady said.
His father smiled a politician’s smile. “I believe you do.”
“I get it, too,” Clay said immediately. He didn’t. Not really. Sure, he understood the work his dad was doing, but he thought it was crappy that it came before his family.
Clay didn’t want a family. Then, there would be no one in his life to disappoint.
“One day, Clay. One day at a time,” his father said.
Clay’s face fell.
“Now, tell me about your day while we go get the grill started.”
Brady launched into a story about the day’s events. He had a knack for telling stories in a way that made the listener feel like they were actually there. Even Clay could get engrossed in his brother’s stories, but he saw the fabrications and exaggerations for what they were.
