Good For Me: A Ransom Family Novel

  Good For Me

  A Ransom Family Novel

  Rachel Schurig

  Contents

  Copyright

  Meet the Ransom Family

  1. River

  2. Jas

  3. River

  4. Jas

  5. River

  6. River

  7. Jas

  8. Jas

  9. River

  10. Jas

  11. River

  12. River

  13. River

  14. Jas

  15. River

  16. Jas

  17. River

  18. Jas

  19. River

  20. River

  21. Jas

  22. River

  23. Jas

  24. River

  25. River

  26. Jas

  27. River

  28. River

  29. Jas

  30. River

  31. River

  32. Jas

  33. Jas

  Epilogue

  Also by Rachel Schurig

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2021 Rachel Schurig

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover design by Paper and Sage Book Cover Designs

  To find out more about her books, visit Rachel at rachelschurig.com

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  Meet the Ransom Family

  The Grandparents

  William Sr. and Ruby Ransome

  The parents and their children

  Reed and Paige—Everly (21), Presley (18), Santana (16), Vega (14)

  Cash and Sam—Wyatt (33), Will (24), Silas (18), Cecelia (14)

  Lennon and Haylee—Lyric (17), Cadence (14)

  Daltrey and Daisy—Rose (25), River (23), Fox (20), Violet (14), Ash (14)

  Levi and Karen—Alexandria (22), Phoenix (16)

  River

  The girl on the other side of the bar is batting her eyelashes at me, and I can’t look away.

  Not because I find the eyelash batting attractive, mind you, but because I’m trying to figure out how, exactly, she manages to blink at all with the weight of those things on her eyelids.

  Are eyelashes supposed to be that thick? Or…crumbly looking? Because these things are dotted with black chunks and they’re practically long enough to touch her nose when she closes her eyes.

  They also remind me of something, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

  “My friends and I are all so happy you’re working tonight,” she coos. Blink, blink, blink. “You’re definitely our favorite bartender.” Giggle. Blink, blink.

  Spiders, I think, failing to suppress a shudder. That’s what those things on her eyes remind me of. Big, long-legged, black spiders.

  I freaking hate spiders.

  “Riv,” one of the waitresses calls, snapping me out of my slightly horrified trance. “I need three Moscow mules.”

  “Got it,” I shout. I give spider-eye girl a smile and a wink—terrifying makeup or not, I do have a reputation to uphold—then slide down the bar to get started on the drinks for Kim.

  “Hey, are we out of Stella?” Brad, the other bartender, asks.

  “I think there’s a case in the store room.”

  He frowns. “I looked. Didn’t see it.”

  Translation: The storeroom creeps me out and I’m a little bitch who can’t deal.

  I slide the copper glasses to him. “You finish these for Kim, I’ll get the Stella.”

  His relieved expression tells me I’m right. “Thanks, man.”

  I try to slide past Kim on my way to the back hallway and she stops me with a sharp jab of her finger to my chest. “Where are my drinks?”

  I point back to our co-worker. “Brad is making them. I’m grabbing something from the storeroom.”

  Her eyes narrow. “You better not be meeting that blond chick back there. I saw the way she was eye-fucking you.” Another jab of her finger. “No banging customers when we’re slammed, Riv.”

  I snort. “I most definitely am not meeting anyone back there.” I imagine what the face spiders might look like up close if I was making out with that chick and shudder again. “Besides, her eyelashes freak me out. She keeps blinking at me and all I can see is tarantulas wiggling around her eyes.”

  Kim barks out a laugh. “Go get the beer Brad is too afraid to look for and get back here before he screws up half my orders.”

  I spread my arms wide as I walk backwards down the hallway, grinning at her. “I’m glad you’re finally recognizing how indispensable I am to your life, baby.”

  She rolls her eyes, but she still looks amused. “And I’m glad to see your ego is as healthy as ever.”

  It takes me about three seconds to find the case of Stella. Brad is still juicing limes for the mules when I get back to the bar, Kim shooting him death glares for his glacial pace as she fills her tray with pints of IPA. I smirk to myself. This place really would fall apart without me.

  I get back to work making drinks and flirting with customers. Kim wasn’t exaggerating about how slammed we are. Friday night at Davie’s Pub is always like this, which means it’s my favorite night to work. The tips are great, but it’s more than that. There are few things I love better than the energy of a packed bar on the weekend. The noise and excitement. The flirting girls. The bursts of laughter. The music. The general sense of a good time that permeates around the room.

  There’s nothing like it.

  Until the music from the jukebox changes, shifting from an old Red Hot Chili Peppers tune to a much more modern song. A very familiar modern song. Sung by a very familiar voice.

  I suppress a sigh as roughly half of the female patrons—and a few of the guys, too—look my way.

  What exactly do they expect me to do? Get all excited about a song that I’ve heard approximately a million times? Jump up onto the bar and start singing? Open a secret door to reveal my father in all his glory?

  Ding, ding, ding, I think bitterly. That’s the one.

  Sorry, guys. I don’t actually carry my father around in my pocket. You’ll have to make do with me.

  “Oh my God!” a female voice squeals. I look up to see that Spider Eyes has returned to the bar. She’s leaning across it, doing that thing with her arms that girls do when they want to push their boobs out. “I love this song,” she says. “Don’t you love this song, Riv?”

  Jesus. I catch sight of Kim behind her, and my co-worker shakes her head at me. She knows exactly what I’m thinking—sorry, sweetheart. There goes any chance you might have had.

  There is zero possibility this girl isn’t aware of who I am, and playing dumb about it just cut off any opportunity she had of getting closer to me tonight.

  As if the tarantulas on her eyes weren’t bad enough.

  I give the girl a tight nod before sliding further down the bar, busying myself at the taps. “I keep meaning to ask Dave to take this song off the jukebox,” Kim says, joining me with fresh glasses.

  I shake my head. “Not necessary. It’s a
great song.”

  It really is, too. It’s not my favorite of Ransom’s songs, but it is one of their most famous ones, and I can see why. It has a great beat, a catchy tune, and Uncle Cash plays one of his most epic guitar solos in the middle. Who wouldn’t like it?

  And I don’t mind hearing it, or any of their other songs, on the radio or when I’m out. Or even when I’m working. My dad’s band kicks ass and I never get sick of hearing them.

  What I do mind is the way people look at me when they hear it. Like they’re waiting for some kind of reaction. It’s annoying as shit.

  “What the hell is this crap?” a familiar voice bellows, and I look up to see my older cousin Wyatt leaning on the bar, grinning at me, his brother Will at his side. They’re wearing matching expressions—knowing and amused, and the weight of annoyance in my chest eases.

  “I know, right? Who would play this kind of music in a classy place like this?” I sling my bar towel over my shoulder. “What are you assholes drinking?”

  “Beer,” they say in unison, and I laugh.

  “You guys realize we have more than fifty beers on tap,” Kim asks with a raised eyebrow.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her, grabbing two clean pint glasses. “I know what they like.”

  She hands me a third clean glass from her tray. “Why don’t you take your break,” she offers. “Things have slowed down a little.”

  “Thanks,” I tell her gratefully. Having a beer with my cousins actually sounds pretty damn great right now.

  I fill our beers while the guys grab a table. A few girls call my name as I make my way over to my cousins. I bestow grins and winks on all of them—I’m benevolent that way.

  “You’re such a douchebag,” Will says the second I sit down. “Seriously, has there ever been anyone as far up his own ass as you?”

  “Guess I spent too much of my formative years hanging out with your father,” I shoot back, and they both laugh.

  “Fair point,” Wyatt says, sliding the beer I hand off toward his brother.

  “So what brings the two of you to this charming establishment?” I ask. I honestly can’t remember the last time I saw either of them without their women.

  Will shrugs. “We need an excuse to come see you?”

  I study him. “Girls kicked you out, huh?”

  They both scowl. “Everly has them doing something for the wedding,” Will admits.

  “Sounds like you dodged a bullet, then,” I mutter. Wedding planning with our cousin sounds like a nightmare to me. Everly is a lot to handle at the best of times, but shove a few bridal magazines in front of her and the girl loses her damn mind.

  “Eva got her dress this week and they want her to show them.” Will sounds wistful. “Don’t know why they all get to see it and I don’t.”

  “Tradition, man,” his brother says. “It will be better to see it the day of. Watching her walk down the aisle and all that shit.”

  They both get embarrassingly lame looks on their faces—the expression of guys who have definitely imagined their girl walking down toward them in a puffy white dress.

  “Wish you would have brought my sister with you,” I mutter. “Rose wouldn’t be half as sappy as the two of you.”

  “Ah, young River,” Wyatt says, clapping my back. “Someday you’ll meet a nice girl and then you’ll understand.”

  Without meaning to, my eyes go to the round table in the back of the room. I know it’s empty—she’s the only one who ever sits there, and God knows I would have noticed if she came in.

  “What?” Will asks immediately, turning to see what I’m looking at. I could kick myself. My cousins don’t miss shit, and they gossip like a bunch of preteens. It’s a good thing she’s not sitting over there, because they’d have half the family planning my wedding by the end of the night if they got a glimpse of the way I look at Jasmine.

  “Thought Kim needed help,” I lie, forcing my mind away from grey eyes and dark chocolate hair. “So what else is new? Haven’t seen you guys in a while.”

  A while is relative in our family, considering the amount of time we all generally spend together. Our parents live within a few blocks of each other and we all grew up in each other’s houses—when we weren’t trudging around the country on our fathers’ tour bus.

  “Got a couple new recording gigs this week,” Wyatt says, face brightening.

  “Nice, man. Anyone decent?”

  Wyatt is a professional pianist. He toured with the Seattle Symphony and as a classical soloist for years before coming home to have surgery a few months ago. He’s recovery’s been going well, and he recently started working again, as a session artist—a guy the labels or producers hire to come in and play on tracks when the singer needs a pianist.

  My oldest cousin looks uncharacteristically giddy and Will jabs his side, a huge smile on his face. “Go on. Tell him.”

  Wyatt smiles sheepishly. “They want me on Cole Carter’s new album.”

  Holy shit. Cole Carter is a legendary rock star, even bigger than our dads. This is a huge deal for Wyatt.

  “He asked for him specifically,” Will says, voice bursting with pride for his older brother.

  Wyatt shrugs. “Probably just because he knows Dad.”

  That’s bullshit though, and we all know it. Cole Carter has a reputation for being a huge perfectionist when it comes to his music. There’s no way he would pick someone unworthy because of nepotism.

  “That’s awesome, bro,” I say, meaning it with every fiber of my being. As the oldest of all the Ransom cousins, Wyatt has always been someone I looked up to. He’s seriously one of the best guys I know, and he deserves every bit of happiness and success.

  Which means I feel really shitty about the slight stab of jealousy that pierces my chest.

  Maybe Will was right about me being a douchebag. Only an asshole would be jealous of his cousin’s success just because he has no clue what he’s doing with his life.

  Wyatt chats a little more about the gig. He’s also going to be performing with the Los Angeles Philharmonic next month. I think he might be more excited about that then he is the opportunity to work with a rock and roll legend—dude has always been a giant nerd for classical music.

  Eventually Will gets a text from Eva, causing his face to go all soft and gooey again, and that directs the conversation back to the wedding.

  “We need to plan your bachelor party,” I tell him.

  “We have months, dude.”

  I shrug. “Epic shit requires planning. And this party needs to be epic.”

  “Great,” he mutters. “We’re going to end up stuck in an Amsterdam jail, aren’t we?”

  “Amsterdam,” I say thoughtfully, rubbing my chin. “I hadn’t considered that.”

  “Man, don’t give him ideas,” Wyatt chides.

  “You weren’t even here on his twenty-first,” Will tells him. “That was the craziest night of my life.”

  “Closest I’ve ever come to getting arrested,” I say proudly, and they both laugh.

  But somehow, the banter doesn’t feel as easy to me as it usually does.

  Everyone has a role in our family. Wyatt is the cool older cousin everyone looks up to. Will is the responsible one, the one all the younger cousins come to when they’re in trouble. My older sister Rose is the favorite—of both her uncles and the other kids. Everly is the over-the-top, non-stop-fun one while her best friend Alex is the serious, hard-worker.

  And then there’s me. The fucking court jester.

  My cousins all have goals. Passions. For Wyatt and Will, it’s music. For Rose it’s the women’s shelter she’s opening. For Everly, Alex, and my younger brother Fox, it’s their fashion label. They’re all ridiculously successful, even at their young ages, and it seems like they’ve always known what they wanted to do.

  I have no idea what I want to do and I never have.

  So instead I entertain my siblings and cousins. I tell self-deprecating jokes about the shit jobs I bounce betw
een. All the ridiculous reasons I’ve been fired. The wild nights out and the lazy hours surfing. The hook-ups and the crazy drunken adventures.

  And that’s usually fine with me. I like making people laugh, even if it is at my expense. But lately I’ve been feeling…tired. Off in some way I can’t quite put my finger on. Maybe it’s because my cousins are all starting to grow up. To put those dreams and passions into motion. To go after the things they want.

  Rose, Wyatt, and Will are all in serious relationships—Will is getting married this fall. He and Rose are getting ready to move out of the apartment we’ve shared since I was eighteen to live with their significant others. Everyone is doing big, exciting things. Everyone is moving on.

  And here I am. Slinging drinks in a bar and going home with women who mean nothing to me and, let’s be honest, are probably only interested in me in the first place because of who my father is.

  Yeah. I’m feeling pretty tired these days. And I don’t know how to shake it.

  My cousins hang out until the end of my break then head home to their girls while I head back to the bar to finish my shift. A woman I hooked up with a few times last winter comes in and makes eyes at me, but I’m not feeling it. For once, the energy at the bar feels more oppressive than fun and I’m counting down the hours to the end of my shift.