Page 61 of Free to Judge (Amaryllis Heritage #2)

The edge of pain. I push through it. I know how far I can go before I’m in danger.

With my playlist driving me, I’m determined to conquer the last part of the mountain trail in front of me.

My stride is sure over the uneven terrain in the early Connecticut summer warmth.

Reaching for my running belt, I snag my GU Energy Gel and take a quick slurp, knowing I need the extra push of energy to make it to the summit.

As I climb higher and higher, the early-morning heat of the summer sun burns my skin.

Beads of sweat fall faster between my breasts and are captured in my running top.

My blue running shorts brush against my skin, reminding me with barely a wisp of movement that they’re there.

Thin tree branches occasionally lash out at my bared stomach, but I ignore them as I thunder past.

I lean my body forward a little as the incline increases. I’m almost to the top. The trees are starting to thin out, so I know I’m close.

Jumping from side to side in a half run, half lunge, I maneuver the final yards to the top of the stone steps that level out at the end of the trail to the sweeping view of the Berkshire Mountains, overlooking my hometown of Collyer, Connecticut.

I hold my arms over my head in victory, while taking in deep breaths as OneRepublic pours into my ears.

Another personal battle conquered.

I’ve been working my way up the difficulty of this trail for a long time. Sure, I’d hiked it almost as soon as I’d heard about it at Tabor’s Sporting Goods, but it’s not the same as running it. Not to me.

Once my breathing is back in its normal range, I unsnap my running belt and sit on a smooth, rocky ledge to enjoy the view.

I can’t say much about the natural wonder around me, other than recognizing poison sumac enough to avoid it, but I see beauty in the hummingbirds darting around in the early Saturday-morning light.

Hoping to get a decent picture my sister Holly, a photographer, will appreciate, I pull up my phone app and quickly snap a few.

After a few photos, I attach them to a message in our family chat, saying, “Finally conquered this bitch running. I am so getting extra mocha today.” Knowing this will only piss off my brother, Phillip, who constantly bemoans the need for exercise but loves extra-rich lattes, I hit Send with a smile.

It’s difficult to explain how I lose myself while running. I’m in my head, but I’m out of my own thoughts. I’m hyperaware of my surroundings, and often I can forget my day-to-day frustrations.

Today, my thoughts have been wandering to things I so rarely think of while I’m out running.

Sex.

Great sex.

Phenomenal sex.

And my thoughts, of course, jump to sex with Keene Marshall.

He’s my newest brother. At least according to my adopted sister Cassidy.

Phillip, Emily, Cassidy, Corinna, Holly and I aren’t what you would call a conventional family.

We adopted one another as we found each other, gradually becoming a cohesive unit.

You’d never know it started as a result of the kind of abuse people only read about in the newspapers. Well, we lived it.

Cassidy never knew her blood brother Keene existed until she fell in love with her now husband, Caleb Lockwood.

Through her courtship, Cassidy met Caleb’s best friend, Keene.

I roll my eyes at the memory. Did they recognize each other?

No. Have an immediate kinship? Hell no. It was more like a Roman fight to the death, with Cassidy delivering the final blow when she realized Keene was the man I hooked up with the night of our brother Phil’s wedding.

It took a while for them to tolerate each other, and then Keene began to realize little things about Cassidy that should have been obvious to someone searching for their long-lost sister for the last seventeen years.

My childhood crush, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, would have had apoplexy at how long the two of them took to figure out they were related. The clues were right there.

Now we’re all adjusting to our new normal. Our family has grown so much from the six of us who had originally moved here.

We all get on our knees every day and thank God that Phil married our brother-in-law Jason.

Divine intervention was definitely involved, with Phil literally falling into Jason’s life.

Cassidy’s recent intimate wedding ceremony to Caleb a few months ago didn’t leave a dry eye.

Not even mine. Quickly, I do a sanity check.

Jesus, I wonder if my other sisters are dating?

Letting out a breath, I realize I’m safe from the family expanding, other than Cassidy’s upcoming baby. The men Em, Holly, and Corinna typically date aren’t the kind you’d bring around the family dinner table. And no one should expect me to bring anyone permanent into our circle.

I’m at a loss on how to handle the situation with Keene.

I shake my head, thinking about how much has changed in such a short period of time.

Keene is a member of our family now, meaning I have to stop thinking about the incredible sex we had at the Plaza Hotel in New York the night of Phil and Jason’s wedding.

And at my house the night of Cassidy and Caleb’s wedding.

Groaning, I roll into a sitting position and bring my forehead to my knees. I know I’m not solely to blame for what happened; Keene was an active participant. God, was he ever.

It can’t happen again. Despite my openness to meeting someone, I haven’t gotten laid since. It’s not like I’m saturated with chances to meet a ton of men. Most of my time is spent working as the lawyer for our wedding- and event-planning business.

Time to stop daydreaming about what Keene did with his sexy mouth and get on board with our new reality.

I stand and walk toward the edge of the rugged terrain, making myself a promise that somehow, I will get past this lingering desire I have for him so I can help Cassidy settle into her new family dynamic.

There has to be someone alive in this world for me to have a relationship with, where it won’t be so complicated.

Where they’ll accept that I just want companionship.

And smoking hot sex.

Heading down the running trail on the opposite side of the way I came up, my legs eat up the miles at a much-faster pace on my way back to Collyer.

Toward my well-deserved and anticipated mocha.

The town of Collyer is more alive as I make my way back toward its center.

Every quarter of a mile or so, I hear the toot of a horn or see a random arm shoot out to wave.

When I see Ava and Matt, the owners of The Coffee Shop, roll up next to me riding Matt’s Harley, I laugh and try for a quick sprint to outrun their Hog.

Matt guns it and salutes me before taking off.

Knowing they’re on their way to open the place my highly anticipated mocha is located encourages me to increase my stride.

I turn down Pine Lane and run the last quarter mile at a sprint.

As my foot touches our property, my arm immediately raises for me to see the stats on my tracker. About six miles in a little over an hour and fifteen minutes, including my break on the mountain summit. I smile and slow to a walk on the lush green grass surrounding the farm.

Walking down the lane to my house, I inhale the cool morning air and admire everything we’ve worked for.

About ten years ago, after we all became emancipated and decided we’d had enough of life in the South for a while, we moved to Collyer.

Not long after, we went in together and bought a piece of land about a mile and a half off Main Street.

It was a choice piece of real estate that ate up a good portion of our savings.

Fortunately, Phil, Emily, Corinna, and Holly, the more artistic members of our family, saw the vision of what it could be.

I still cringe, remembering the look on my siblings’ faces when I told them it would take years to realize our dream. Even now, as the chief financial officer and chief counsel of Amaryllis Events, our family wedding and event planning business, I’m always the buzzkill.

Luckily for us, we got the land for a fraction of what it would have cost had it been fully developed.

Over time, we’ve taken the worst-looking property in Collyer and turned it into a showplace.

Our dream is a reality—one we talked about in the darkest hours before dawn when we’d hang out gorging out on junk food in our trailer in South Carolina.

We dreamed of a place where we could grow old together and no one knew who we were or where we came from.

Where the only thing we could see was beauty outside our window, instead of trash from the nearby trailer.

And we did it. The six of us who never should have succeeded.

Leafy green Connecticut oaks towering over the drive provide shade for me to cool down as I walk back to my cottage on our property.

When we renovated, we each chose our individual home site, based on the seven foundations already located on the property.

My home is situated on the farthest original foundation, which backs up to an extensive tree line.

When I first saw it, I imagined how gorgeous the winters would be with the view of the pines tipped with snow.

I dreamed I would build my house with my bed facing the trees, so I could snuggle under the covers and enjoy the beauty on cold winter days.

Also, it was the farthest back from the main farm gate.

I wanted the distance when I went out to run.

The location of my cottage gave me an extra half mile to warm up and cool down.

Even though it was the last property left—since I encouraged my siblings to choose first—it’s the one that suited me best. I ended up with everything I wanted.

We each pooled an equal amount of money to convert the main barn, which overlooks the lake, into a communal space.

It’s the center of our little village, with a restaurant-grade gourmet kitchen, gym, game room, and a living room that easily holds thirty or more, with an original stone fireplace dominating the space.

The one good thing about the way we live is that we all have our own space to avoid death by sibling.

At the same time, when we want to be together, we’re no more than a mile apart with plenty of space to be with each other.

As I look up at each of my family’s homes on my way in, I know they’re likely empty.

It’s Saturday, and there’s a small wedding going on.

Holly, my youngest sister, who’s my age at twenty-seven but younger by six months, is likely at the wedding site taking stunning photos.

Phillip, our florist, and Corinna, our baker, are already at the local country club with their deliveries.

Knowing my siblings as I do, I suspect Cassidy, our CEO, and Emily, our designer, will be at our offices in the event there are any last-minute catastrophes they need to handle.

While I know I have the luxury of time, it’s likely minor chaos will erupt down at the office, so I decide to forego the bath and hit the shower instead.

I rarely feel like I contribute enough to this family as it is. If there’s anything I can do, I want to be around to help out.