Kye
She looks like she wants to kill me. There’s literal rage in her pretty blue eyes, and her soft pink lips are currently tight with displeasure at my trick.
It’s not my fault she didn’t realize until after she went to the store.
“Did you do that deliberately?” She finally lets go of the Jack bottle, although I think it was reluctantly.
“Do what?” I raise an eyebrow and shove the last bite of doughnut into my mouth.
“Trick me into going to the store.”
“Nah.” I grab the milk carton and walk around the island toward her. “If you’d have asked me to leave, I would have.” I touch my thumb to her nose, leaving behind a dusting of sugar.
She goes cross-eyed as she attempts to look at the mess I’ve left. “You’re lying.” She wipes the sugar off and takes the milk from me.
“Maybe a little,” I answer honestly. “But what if you get stuck here? That’s a big-ass hill out there. And if the power goes out? I’d be worried, but on steroids.”
She sets the block of cheese on a fridge shelf before slowly tilting her head to look at me. “That’s the most fucked-up way anyone has ever told me they care about me.”
“What can I say? Basic is boring.”
“What would you know about basic anything, Mr. Famous Rock Star?”
I grab the packet of tortilla chips and unscrew the lid of the salsa jar. Before I answer, I dip the chip into the jar and hold it out to Chelsey. She reluctantly bites it, then catches the other half of the chip when I drop it.
Excellent. Now she’ll keep quiet for a moment.
“I know basic is boring,” I repeat. “I live with women, you know? I’ve seen those ‘Real Housewife’ show things. Those bitches are anything but basic, but they are entertainin’ as fuck.”
Chelsey chokes on the chip and taps her chest. “What is wrong with you?” she asks, her eyes watering.
I shrug and dip another chip into the salsa. This time, I eat it. “I’m special,” I say around the mouthful of food.
“Yeah, but special has its own branch, especially for you,” she snorts.
I grin and continue eating while she puts all the groceries away. Nice. Totally fucking homey, too. She’s there in her yoga pants, doing homey stuff, and I’m here in my sweats . . . shoving my face with food.
That’s how this works though, right? Relationship shit. It’s all comfortable and whatnot.
Comfortable.
That’s exactly what this is.
The revelation makes me pause. My eyes trail after Chelsey as she puts things away in their various homes. She skips back to the fridge once or twice, but for the most part, it’s all cupboard stuff. She doesn’t say a word to me as she does what she needs to do, and I don’t speak either, but the silence isn’t tense.
It’s a warm silence. The silence that hangs easily and doesn’t need to be filled with any kind of noise except the gentle stirrings of day-to-day life. The quiet buzz of the fridge, the beep of the dishwasher, the hum of the television in the next room . . .
I want this with her.
It’s not the first time the thought of being with Chelsey has crossed my mind. Fuck no, it isn’t. I’ve thought it so many times it’s a permanent etching in my consciousness now, but it’s the first time the words have meant something.
I want to be with her, just like this. I want her silence. I want her wordless movements around the kitchen. I want the warmth that fills a room whenever she walks into it. I want everything she is, even the prickly, brash side that seems to be her default personality. Even the sarcasm and the distrust that flickers in her eyes, even when she thinks she’s hiding it.
I want it all. I want all of her. I want it so fucking badly I can feel the craving digging into me, planting its seeds and growing its roots. It lodges itself in something deeper than my heart. It buries itself into my goddamn fucking soul and begs for her.
I know right now that no matter what happens, no matter what tricks I have to play to get her to be with me, every single second counts. Every careless smile, every gentle touch, every fleeting look, every soft word . . . Every single one means more than what it did an hour ago, and an hour before that.
Because it isn’t fucking her that makes her mine. Not entirely. Her body could be mine while her heart stays guarded and locked behind that damn wall she adores so much. No—for her to be mine, it has to be every bit of her. Every hair on her head, every thought through the day, every beat of her heart; they have to belong to me.
I won’t give up on her until it’s all mine.
I won’t give up until Chelsey Young belongs to me, mind, body, and everlasting fucking soul.
She grabs a box of pasta from the island and opens a cupboard. She stretches onto her tiptoes and reaches right up, but can’t quite reach the top shelf, where I can see a packet of rice. Before she can give up, I straighten and walk to her. Standing behind her, I take the packet from her hand and set it on the shelf.
The soft material of her sweatshirt brushes against my body as she lowers herself back down on her heels. I close the cupboard door, careful not to hit her in the head with it. She turns her face toward me, drawing in a deep breath when I don’t immediately move. I brush her light blond hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear, offering her the tiniest of smiles.
“Thank you,” she says softly. Really softly—like someone else said it and not her, because she never, ever speaks that gently. It tugs at something inside me.
“It’s just a box of pasta, babe,” I reply quietly, not wanting to break the moment.
She looks down, and that dimple in her cheek appears when she smiles. She shuffles, turning her body to face me, and I move just enough for her to do so. “No, thank you for making me go to the store.” That blue gaze rises and time pauses when her eyes meet mine. “Just in case you do get stranded here.” She rests her hand on my arm lightly and, once again on tiptoes, pushes up and presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth.
I’m itching to turn my head so it’s a proper one, just to feel her sweet lips on mine, but I don’t. I use every bit of strength in my body to fight that urge, even when a chill touches that spot as she moves away. It’s precious, and I want to take whatever she’s ready to give.
She moves across the room and pulls a bag from behind the sofa. She empties it on the sofa, and it’s full of Christmas decorations. She pauses just long enough to pull her sweatshirt over her head and throw it on the other sofa, then she reaches for one of the bauble packs.
“You’re still hopin’ the power doesn’t go out, aren’t you?” I ask, gripping the edge of the counter.
Her flirtatious smile confirms it to be a lie.
Come on, power outage.
The power outage didn’t happen.
Fuck you, storm.
My backup plan was, naturally, sex. That seemed to be in the cards when she put Netflix on and turned on some movie I can’t remember the name of. Netflix and chill, right?
Not so fucking right. She lay down on the sofa, rested her legs over mine, and fell asleep ten minutes later. And if my hand had been about one inch higher than it was when I realized she’d fallen asleep, I would have been slightly perverted . . . also possibly punched.
As it was, I decided a second round wasn’t really necessary—my cock took some talking out of that one—and took her to bed. She stripped down to her underwear, got into bed, then proceeded to cuddle up to me, giving me the mother of all fucking erections.
Someone needs to put out a memo to all chicks. Don’t snuggle up to a guy in bed nearly naked if you’re not gonna give him a hand job at least. I don’t want to be a dick, but it’s just uncomfortable.
Yeah. My night involved a very hot, very sexy girl in a thong wrapped around me while she slept. I didn’t sleep all too comfortably, because when I did, I dreamed that thong was off and it was her legs wrapped around my waist as opposed to her arm.
If I thought wet dreams were bad ten years ago . . .
I walk out of the bathroom, clutching the towel around my waist to avoid any kind of mishap.
Did I mention it’s a fucking Minnie Mouse towel? Yeah. Pink ain’t my color.
“Shit!” Chelsey slips through the front door and slams it, then shakes her long hair out. She runs her fingers through it, dislodging icy water drops. “I just had to run upstairs to get warm. I’m not getting to work,” she says, pulling her coat off. “Not even in your truck. Mr. Barton downstairs said he called about the road being sanded, but they’ll probably forget us like—”
She freezes when she turns and catches sight of me. Her cheeks flush bright red, and her eyes drop down, then back up, then down, and so on. She must scan my body ten times before it hits her what she’s doing and she forces herself to look at my face.
“What?” I ask, fighting my smile.
“I . . . You . . . Pink isn’t your color,” she stutters, spinning on the balls of her feet and stalking into the kitchen where she can no longer see me. “Coffee?”
“Sure. Shall I get dressed so you can concentrate on what you’re doing?”
She leans back and glares at me.
“Careful,” I say, backing into her bedroom and teasing the front of the towel lower. “Keep staring and I might . . . just . . .” I drop the towel as I shut the door, but she squeals, so I know she saw me.
Ah well. She can count that as payback for last night.
I dress quickly and rub the towel over my hair. The chances of her having gel or anything wax-like here are slim, meaning she’s going to get to see my fluffy, out-of-control hair for the next twenty-four hours at least.
“What were you sayin’ about the road?”
She peeks over her shoulder tentatively, and upon seeing that I am indeed clothed—at least, the bottom half of me is—she turns and hands me a cup of steaming coffee. “They do the main roads of Shelton Bay but always forget us, even though they go right past. We got stuck here for four days last year when that big ice storm hit. Mr. Barton ended up calling his son, and he drove in from Charleston with a bag of sand just so we could get out.”
“Isn’t that your landlord’s job?”
She sighs. “If we had one, yeah. These apartments are all privately owned.”
“You own this place?”
“Yeah. Is that surprising?”
“I just thought you rented,” I admit, shrugging a shoulder as I sip. “Not many people our age own property.”
Another sigh escapes her, and she hugs her mug tightly to her chest. “My father pays me an ‘allowance’ every month. He never paid my mom child support until I was seventeen, and then she died.” She swallows and looks over my shoulder. “He says he feels some guilt that she had to keep working when she was fighting cancer, that if he’d paid earlier she would have been able to leave work earlier, so now he gives me money. He thinks it’ll make up for everything he did before, but it’s just money, you know?”
I nod.
“Anyway. He tells me to live a lavish lifestyle, but I live on my paychecks. It’s enough for me. The only time I ever touched it was when I came home after college and needed a place to live. It was a small deposit, so I took it, but I make sure I pay some back into that account every month.”
I lean against the counter, more desperate than I’d like to admit to hear more. She’s never opened up this way, or any way, really, and this insight into her relationship with her father is something I need. “Why do you keep it in a separate account? Why not just ignore it?”
“I’m investing it.” She smiles, a small one, and meets my eyes.
“In what? The stock market or something?”
“No, I can pay my bills, and that’s about as good as I am with numbers. I’m investing it in my future, I guess. I’ve always hoped that he’d be a better grandfather than a father, so I’m saving it for any kids I might have. Then if he’s an asshole to them, I can spare them the pain of having to hate him. I’ll just lie and tell them that money is a nest egg from their grandfather.”
“How much does he give you? Isn’t it tempting?”
“No, because I don’t need it.” She lowers her mug and runs her finger around the thick rim. Her eyes drop. Whatever is inside the mug is apparently very interesting. “He transfers five thousand dollars every month.”
“And he’s been doing that since . . .”
“Since I was eighteen.” She blows out a long breath. It’s not particularly annoyed or frustrated, just kind of . . . resigned.
He’s been paying her for approximately seven years.
I quickly do the math, but all I come up with is a lot of fucking money.
“Over three hundred thousand, last time I checked,” she answers quietly. “I told him to stop, but he won’t. I think it makes him feel better.”
“Whoa.” That’s a lot of money to be stockpiling for a rainy day. “Why don’t you use it to pay off your student loans?”
Her smile is sad and touches on a grimace more than anything. “He paid those, too. But that’s all he ever did, and even then it took him eleven years after he left us. He thinks money can solve all the problems we have, but it can’t. I’d love to give him back everything he’s ever given me, but I know it’d do more harm than good.”
“Why don’t you, if it’ll make you feel better?”
“Because even if he never paid me another dollar, I know I can put two kids through college without them having to worry and maybe have some money left over.” She looks up and meets my eyes. “I don’t want his money. I never have. I refuse to benefit from it, which is why I’m paying that account back the deposit for this apartment. I’d rather he take every cent and replace it with his love.”
Well, shit. If that didn’t just hit me real hard, I don’t know what will.
I’m starting to wonder if Chelsey is as bitter as she comes across, or if she’s really just terrified of having everything she wants and getting it ripped away from her. After all, that’s exactly what already happened to her, isn’t it? She had her perfect family, they were happy, and then he left and everything went to shit. Ever since she’s just been looking for his love, but he’s too busy to give it to her.
Fuck. I just wanna hold her.
She looks up and gives me a small smile, as if she’s trying to convince herself she’s okay. Like she’s wondering if she said too much.
I put my mug down and walk around the island to her. Carefully, I pry her fingers from around her coffee mug and look down at her. Her gaze is so hesitant, so soft and unlike her. She’s like a different person, especially with her hair a little damp from being outside and not a single bit of makeup on.
I touch the side of her face and brush my thumb over her cheek. She’s so beautiful, and she doesn’t even realize it. “If he can’t open his eyes and give you what you actually want, he’s a fucking fool and he doesn’t deserve you as his daughter anyway.”
“I know,” she whispers, turning into my hand. “But I don’t know if I’ll ever stop hoping for that.”
“You don’t need his love, Chels. Not the way you think you do.” I take a step closer and lower my face to hers. Her eyes are glossy and wide, the blue in them seemingly endless. “You just need to be loved. But, babe, you need to be loved by someone who can love you as fiercely as you love him.”
She doesn’t move for a long moment. When she does, the slightest twitch narrows her eyes. The move is so small I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t staring directly into them, but there’s a ton of scrutiny in the tiny action.
It’s so ridiculous, but it’s like she can see right through me. She can see the thought I didn’t say—that if she’d just give me a fucking chance, I can be that person. I can be the one who will love her fiercely every day. I can be the one who will love her so fiercely she’ll forget ever wanting anything else.
But I can’t, I won’t, until she lets me. And with only eight days before I leave to convince her that’s the right choice to make, I don’t exactly have all the time in the world.
She covers my hand with hers, the calculating spark fading from her eyes. They’re back to normal now, warm, with the ghost of laughter in their depths. “You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. Burkes are never wrong.”
Her eyebrow quirks up, taking one side of her mouth with it. “Ya think?”
“I know.” I wink and drop my hand. “Like I know it would be an absolutely great idea to kiss you right now.”
“Like it was a great idea to sleep in my bed and poke me with your hard-on every ten minutes last night?”
I grin, seeing she isn’t going to respond to me directly, and grasp her hips. I tug her away from the counter and back until I’m leaning against the island and she’s pressed against me. Chelsey’s eyebrow lifts to join the other, but she slides her hands up my chest until they link behind my neck anyway.
I wipe the sass off her face with one simple touch of my lips to hers. She melts into me, tasting like fresh coffee and mint toothpaste. It’s an odd combination, but strangely intoxicating.
“Hey now—the sleeping was a great idea,” I murmur against her mouth. “And if you don’t want to be poked by Joey in the middle of the night, you should sort him out, woman.” I tap her ass, and she gasps, dropping her hands.
“You seriously named your cock ‘Joey’?”
“Standard practice, babe. We all name our cocks. I bet you’ve named your tits.”
She looks down at them as if the idea is absurd, but her pause gives her away. “Yeah, I guess I kinda did. You want an introduction?”
I laugh, pulling her back to me. “I believe we’ve met, but we’re not on first-name terms.”
“Well. Kye Burke, this is Betty,” she says, cupping the right one. “And this is Boop.” She cups the left one. “Girls, this is Kye.”
“It’s my pleasure,” I mutter, fighting my laughter. She’s doing the same thing. I grab her hand and put it on my semihard cock. “Chelsey, this is Joey. Joey, this is Chelsey.”
“We’ve met,” she laughs, licking her lips.
“Joey’s pretty fond of Betty and Boop.” I harden in her hand.
“Feels like Joey’s pretty fond of their owner, too.”
“You wanna find out just how much?”
She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, looking up at me in a sultry way through her lashes. Gently, she squeezes my now very fucking hard cock and steps back. “Maybe later. I’m hungry.”
She dances across the kitchen before I can do a thing, and man am I fucking glad I put sweatpants on, because this erection is real uncomfortable, even without the pressure of jeans.
“You’re gonna pay for that later.”
She glances over her shoulder playfully. “We’ll see.”
“This is not the ‘paying for it’ I had in mind.”
“I hate cars!” Chelsey protests, setting the bowl of popcorn down. “Do you have any idea how painful back-to-back episodes of Top Gear is going to be for me? And I even promised to watch the one with Cameron Diaz? Do you know that Ryan Reynolds was on this damn show?”
“Yes, and I appreciate your sacrifice, but I was seriously hoping for sex.”
She points the remote at me. “We’re roomies. Roomies don’t have sex.”
“I’d like to redefine the word ‘roomie.’ ”
“I’m sure you would,” she drawls, sitting down and using the remote to scroll down the screen and hit Top Gear. “But it’s not happening.”
“If there’s no roommate agreement, anything goes.”
She sits bolt upright and looks at me as though I just swore. I reach forward and throw a piece of popcorn into my mouth, keeping my eyes on her the whole time. “Is there a roommate agreement that puts sex off the table?”
It pains her to say “No,” I can tell.
“Then I’m putting sex back on the table.”
She cuts her eyes to me as the Top Gear theme song plays. “I bet you’re really fucking proud of yourself, aren’t you, asshole?”
I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her into me. “Be even prouder when you’re screaming my name.” I nip her earlobe, and she wriggles out of my hold.
“Seriously?”
“Babe, you scream my name like I’m a deity when you come. It’s one of the proudest moments of my life.”
“You are so up your own ass it’s unreal.”
“And you’re stuck with me. Lucky girl.”
She groans and falls to the side as Jeremy Clarkson introduces the show. “Why me? What did I do to deserve this? It’s like being back at college and around all the smug, cock-waving frat boys who don’t even want to know your name before they shove it up you.”
“Experience with that, have you?”
Her glare could cut a diamond. “You sayin’ I’m a slut?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Plus, you’ve met Tate and Aidan. Before I call anyone, male or female, a slut, they have to live up to that standard.” I snort. “Tate has more than one threesome under his belt, and Aidan once had sex with some chick, sent her home, then took a totally different one back to his room.”
Chelsey’s face scrunches up into a totally adorable expression. I’m pretty sure she’s going for yuck, but she’s just too cute for it. “Really? Did he shower between?”
“Not a clue. I was drinking with Conner when he did it. I think he had a bet with Tate, but Ads has always been one to pride himself on a job well done.”
“A job well done?” Chelsey’s bottom lip trembles with laughter.
“We shared a bedroom wall. That’s all I’m gonna say on that.”
“Nice to know my best friend gets fucked well.” That laughter escapes, and she tucks her feet up onto her lap. “That’s one of your twin things.” Her eyes sparkle with a flare of heat.
“Sex?” I choke on the popcorn I just threw in my mouth.
“You’re very . . . thorough.”
“Am I?”
She nods. “It’s a good thing. Women like thorough.”
I tilt my head to the side, smirking. “Do they now?”
She opens her mouth but snaps it shut when she becomes aware of the hole she just talked herself into. Her cheeks flare in the red color that always gives away her embarrassment, and I fucking love it.
I rest my arm on the back of the sofa and lean forward. “You want a reminder of just how thorough I can be?”
I track her tongue as it flicks out to wet her lips. She doesn’t have any kind of answer for me, so I cup her chin and turn her face to me. She drops her eyes to my mouth and inhales sharply. I dip my face to hers until her exhale becomes my inhale, and her inhale is my exhale.
She still doesn’t answer, and neither of us moves.
I wonder if her heart is pounding half as quickly as mine is right now.
“If I say yes,” she whispers, “will you turn me down again?”
“Well, I can’t take you home,” I answer, running my mouth along her jaw. “And I can’t go home, so I think turnin’ you down is gonna make this real awkward, dontcha think?”
“Uh-huh.” She breathes it out, grabbing my shirt in her hand and scooting herself along the sofa. Her hand brushes against my lower stomach. I tense at the contact, sparks firing across my skin. “Just a little.”
I hover my lips above hers again, feeling the blood rush through my body. Fuck, I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want her. She has absolutely no idea what she’s capable of doing to me.
Three knocks at the door make us jump apart. Jesus Christ.
She gets up, smoothing her hair from her eyes, and goes to answer. “Oh, Mr. Barton. Is something wrong?”
“Not at all!” The cheery voice of an elderly gentleman responds. “I just wanted to inform you they’ve gritted our road after my request this morning and they’ll continue as long as this storm does!”
Aw, fucking hell.
“Great. Thanks for letting me know, Mr. Barton.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Chelsey. Have a nice day.”
I imagine him tipping his hat as she shuts the door and then shuffling off.
Chelsey turns and leans against the door with regret hinting at her half-smile. “I guess you can go home now,” she says softly.
I sigh and rub my hand down my face. “I guess I can.”
I’m 99.5 percent sure that walking out of her apartment yesterday afternoon was the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. Even if she did decide to go in to work.
It was so awkward, the way I hovered and she hovered and we looked at each other, our eyes saying what our mouths couldn’t. Maybe that was just me—hoping she was willing me to stay, the way I was willing her to tell me to. There was definitely something there, though.
It was an indiscernible glimmer in her bright eyes that made me stop and pause even as I stepped through the open door. It was the one that looked an awful lot like hope, the one that made me too fucking afraid to turn around to see if it was replaced with sadness.
It’s amazing how twenty-four hours with someone can change you. The twenty-four or so sober hours we spent together shifted something so vital I didn’t know it existed.
It shifted the barrier to her heart.
When she opened up to me yesterday morning, about how her dad tries to buy her and how it affects her, it changed everything. I didn’t exactly know it then, but I do now that I’ve had time to reflect on it. I’m sure the only other person who knows that is Jessie, and I know that scarlet-haired girl will take it to her grave. She’d never betray Chels that way.
I didn’t realize just how tumultuous Chelsey’s relationship with Lukas was. The fact he left her and her mom when she was young is worldwide knowledge. I remember when it happened, for fuck’s sake. I remember the way she withdrew from the rest of our grade, speaking only to Jessie for the longest time. I remember how fucking broken she was when she should have been having the time of her life, and that’s something she’s clearly lived with for years.
Abandonment by a parent is one thing. Public abandonment by a parent, only to be soothed later by money, is another. Both are just as bad, but they affect each person in different ways. Without her mom’s stabilizing presence, it’s clear Chelsey was more affected than the normal person.
I can see them, the scars. I can see how deeply the cuts he’s made run.
The worst part?
Once upon a time, Lukas Young was my fucking hero. He was my idol. He had everything I wanted—everything Dirty B. wanted before we became Dirty B. We craved his fame and his notoriety, and we were determined to get it at all costs. Except, as young boys, we had no idea what “at all costs” truly meant.
If hurting someone as priceless and amazing as Chelsey is one of the costs, then no thank you.
I’d never give up this dream, even if we’ve achieved what we hoped for and more. No way. The only person I could ever give this life up for is my child. I know if Conner had to choose, he’d choose Mila every time. That’s just the way it should be.
There has to be a way to manage our dream and keep Chelsey. Shit, there fucking has to be. It can’t be one or the other. Can it?
“Kye.”
I jerk my head up and stop twisting the beer bottle between my fingers. “Yeah?”
Conner taps his pool cue against the floor. “Your turn.”
I put the bottle down on Aidan’s attic windowsill and, getting up, take my cue from the floor. “Am I stripes or solids, again?”
“Stripes,” Aidan answers with a glance at Conner.
“Right.” I study the balls, and seeing I have a potential for the middle right, aim for it. Hell, it’s more than a potential. It’s a simple straight-line shot. I take the shot, and the ball bounces out of the pocket, the cue ball set up perfectly for Conner to take his next shot.
“How the fuck did you miss that?” Tate explodes. “Right fuckin’ there, man!”
I grab the bottle of beer I just put on the windowsill and glare at him. “Miscued.”
“Miscued my ass,” he mutters, swigging from his bottle.
Tate is the reason we draw straws for teammates for pool.
Conner pockets his ball, but snookers himself for his next shot. “Fuck it.”
He misses, so I take my two shots. It takes everything I have to focus on pocketing the balls and not letting my mind wander the way I want to. Or rather the way it wants to. It’d be all too easy to let Chelsey consume my every—
“Jesus!” Tate snaps.
And there it is.
“All right.” Conner puts his cue down then grabs the edge of the table, leaning forward. “What the hell is wrong with you tonight?”
I blow out a long breath and sit on the sofa. My head drops into my hands and I thread my fingers through my hair.
“Chelsey,” Ads nails it in one word. Of course he fucking does.
“How’d you figure that out?” Tate asks him.
“There’s a reason my girlfriend isn’t eavesdropping on our conversation right now,” my twin replies. “And that’s because her ass is at the bar waiting for Chelsey to finish work. It’s also the reason Mom is babysitting and Ella and Sofie are at the bar, too. Are y’all really that fuckin’ blind?”
I glance up as Tate and Conner share a look. “I thought Mom was just giving Sof a break since we’re here,” Conner admits. “Maybe I should pay more attention to that stuff.”
“Ya think?” I snort, standing.
“Dude, I was just happy to get out of the apartment. I mean, I love Els to fuckin’ bits, but if I have to watch Love Actually one more time, I’m gonna move back in with Mom.” Tate shudders. “What is it about that movie? Leila’s obsessed with it, too.”
“It’s a chick flick. Basically, it’s full of romantic shit that makes chicks go loopy.” Aidan opens the fridge and pulls out four bottles of beer. Only my brother would make the attic room of his house a man cave, complete with a full-size fridge, huge-ass television, and pool table.
Tate slaps his hands against the edge of the pool table. “How is tellin’ your best bud’s wife you’re in love with her romantic? I’d punch the asshole.”
“But you were also a heartless prick before you met Ella,” Conner points out.
“What makes you think he isn’t one now? Just ’cause he’s nice to her doesn’t mean he ain’t a cock to the rest of us,” I add.
“Hey. Watch your mouth, single boy.” Tate points at me. “If you want our help, you wind your neck in.”
I shrug. “I never said I wanted your help.”
“We’re dating her best friends.”
“Fine.” I lean forward and look each of my brothers in the eye. “How did you make them like you when they hated you?”
One by one, they answer with the same thing.
Sex.
Like they think that ship hasn’t already sailed and put down its damn anchor.
“Out of all the girls in the world, I have no idea why you picked her,” Tate tells me, nudging at Conner to take his shot. Conner rolls his eyes but grabs the cue anyway. “She was the bitch in high school, remember? Hell, even I remember, and I’m not sure I ever said two words to her. If you don’t count ‘nice ass.’ ”
“She’s not a bitch.” I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, reluctantly getting up to take my shot. “She’s just . . . guarded. And she has a good reason for it, too.”
“Yeah, yeah, we all know the fuckin’ reason, Kye, but what are you doin’ to change that shit?”
“Everythin’,” I grumble.
“Clearly not if we’ve all parted ways for tonight,” Conner points out. “They’ll be having this same conversation, but just flipped.”
“Look, I’ve tried everything. I got her a damn Christmas tree, cut the monstrous bastard back, gave her a couple of epic orgasms, and even stayed with her in case her power went out. I let her drive my damn truck! I even tried leaving her alone like she wanted and she asked me what I was doing. What the fuck is up with that?”
Aidan scrubs his hand down his face. “If I knew, I’d tell ya. Look—Jessie hated me. She wanted to feed my balls to a fuckin’ python, I swear. Now everything is different. We can’t imagine being apart. You think that would have happened if I sat around like a pussy, lamenting my lack of tact with the ladies?”
“Nothin’ wrong with my tact, asshole.”
“Which is why you’re here actin’ like a little bitch,” Tate laughs.
“I’m not acting like a little bitch,” I argue, perching on the arm of the sofa. Am I? “I just care about her. I don’t want her to get hurt.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Conner snaps. “She’s already fuckin’ hurt, Kye! Why do you think you’re in this damn situation? Because of her hurt. Stop worryin’ about opening her wounds when you need to be focusin’ on fixin’ ’em. When Sof came back, we had so many wounds between us it seemed like they’d never be healed. Maybe they aren’t. Sometimes I’m still pissed at her, but there’s no use in me whining about it every day. Stop worrying about shit you can’t control.”
Tate shrugs. “Ella was the same. I wanted to fix her, bad. But I couldn’t. I could only be there as she put herself back together, and in the end, it turned out I was what fixed her. She had a reason to let her wounds heal. Maybe you need to do the same.”
I turn to Ads for his no doubt invaluable input, but he holds his hands up, palms out. “Don’t look at me, bro. The only problem Jessie had when we started our fake relationship was that she never fuckin’ shut up.”
“I think that’s a pretty universal one.” Conner grins.
I shake my head and look down. Their hearts are in the right place—closer to their chests than their dicks—but I wonder if they really understand. Then again, I wonder if they’re right and I am worrying about things I can’t change.
I can’t change Chelsey’s aversion to musicians. I can’t change her past or the way she views my lifestyle when I’m outside Shelton Bay. All I can do is prove to her that her idea of life on the road isn’t the same as mine. . . . And that hers is way, way wrong.
Maybe Conner is right. I need to stop worrying about being the knife that slices open her raw wounds and focus on being the Band-Aid that’ll close them.