Chelsey
“Coin, Mama?” Mila stands in front of Sofie’s Christmas tree. Her arm is pointing toward the skillfully decorated tree, her fist opening and closing in a gimme motion. “Peez?”
“No,” Sofie says with a stern look.
Mila grins toothily and rummages through the branches in search of her chocolate prize, her bunny abandoned at her feet.
“Have you spoken to him since we left last night?” Sofie turns to me, reducing the volume on the television. “Mila, please get out of the tree.”
“No.” I sigh and lean back against the sofa cushions. One of Mila’s dolls is lying next to me, so I grab it and make it sit up. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to him, Sof.”
“The truth.” She nibbles on the corner of her thumb. “Just be honest and tell him that you both feel too differently.”
“I wish it were that easy,” I whisper, looking at Mila. She’s practically inside the tree trying to find a coin. “There’s nothing there, is there?”
Sofie smirks. “Oh, they’re there. She just can’t reach them—it’s why I’m not too worried. I’ll move them down when she puts her dolls back in her box like I asked. She’s old enough to do that now.”
“Aw,” Mila groans, standing up, presumably hearing Sofie. “No, Mama!”
“Yes, Mila. Please put away your dolls and then you can have a chocolate coin.”
“My no wanna!” She punctuates her words by stomping both of her feet.
Sofie points at the box without a word.
“No! No, no, no!” Mila argues. She grabs a doll and throws it back on the floor.
Sofie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Naughty step. Now.”
“No.” The two-year-old juts out her bottom lip defiantly.
“Excuse me.” Sofie grimaces and gets up. She takes Mila by the hand and pulls her toward the door. Mila immediately drops herself to the floor with an ear-piercing scream that slices through me. Sofie isn’t bothered, however, and simply reaches down, scoops up her daughter, carries her out of the living room, and sets her on the step. I vaguely see her lift a timer, and she tells Mila that when she’s quiet, she’ll set the time for two minutes and then she can get up when it buzzes.
“Wow,” I mumble when she comes back into the room.
“Welcome to Terribletwoville,” she laughs. “So, ignoring the banshee in the hallway, what are you gonna tell Kye?”
That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Mostly because I don’t know if I want to tell him anything at all . . . except Please don’t go.
“Is someone murdering Mila?”
My heart stutters at the sound of his voice.
“Sof. Seriously,” Kye says, leaning against the doorframe. “What are you doin’ to my favorite niece?”
Sofie gives him a look very similar to the one she just gave her daughter. “It’s called discipline. And she’s your only niece, moron.”
“For her or you?” He puts his finger in his ear and attempts to unblock it. “ ’Cause no offense, but I’m half-deaf already.”
“You wanna join her on the step for your sass?”
His answer is a wide grin that says fuck you better than words ever could. Never mind the laughter reflecting in his eyes as they travel across the room to me. “A little birdie told me you’d be here.”
“Little birdies need to keep their beaks shut,” I say under my breath. Sofie snorts, but disguises it as a cough into her hand.
I’m gonna kill Jessie.
Conner darts past Kye, in the direction of the stairs. His quick glimpse into the front room makes it obvious he’s trying to make a break for Mila before Sof notices. It doesn’t work.
“Conner!” Sofie growls, moving faster than I’ve ever seen her. “Don’t you dare let her get off that step!”
Kye raises his eyebrows, his tongue sticking out to the side in amusement. He looks at me and crooks his finger. “You’re comin’ with me.”
“I am?”
“Yeah, ya are. Get up. Let’s go.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Seriously?” His voice is low, and the shivers that dance across my skin are powerful. “I’ve proven to you twice that I’m not afraid to pick you up and drag you out. So when I say you’re comin’ with me, trust me, babe. You’re fuckin’ comin’ with me.”
I lean back, fold my arms, and cross one leg over the other. “No, I’m not.”
He drops his head back to look at the ceiling. He mutters something, and before I can demand it from him, he’s darted across the room and has hauled me up and around. I’m wrapped tightly in his arms, and with my back to him, his hands are keeping mine firmly in place so I can’t even fight his hold.
“You’re such a bastard.”
“I know, babe. It’s one of my worst qualities, I admit, but it sure comes in useful.” He walks us to the hallway, where Conner takes one look at us and grabs Sofie. He turns her attention from Mila with a kiss that would make a porn star blush.
Keeping tight hold of me, Kye waves his hand at Mila. She glances at her kissing parents then runs down the hall toward us.
“Stop cryin’,” he whispers quickly. “Okay? Shhh.”
“Otay, Uncy Kye.” She sniffs, wiping her sleeve across her nose and leaving shiny snail trails of boogers.
“Nice,” he mutters behind me.
“Go pick up your toys,” I whisper to Mila. “Then maybe Mama will forget why she’s mad.”
Although I’m pretty sure if she forgets, it’ll be because of Conner.
“Otay!” Mila runs into the front room at warp speed.
“Hey, look at that,” Kye murmurs in my ear, turning me toward the door. “You’re one of us already.”
I have no idea if that’s a good thing or not. I doubt he even knows himself.
He pulls me out of Sofie’s house and shuts the door behind us.
“Gee, thanks for asking if I wanted to grab my purse or something.”
He stops and moves me to the side without relinquishing his grip on me. His eyes glitter with amusement when they meet mine. “Did you wanna grab your purse or anything?”
“No. I didn’t bring one.”
“Then shut up and—”
“Let me guess: get in the truck?” I quirk a brow, and his lips ease slowly up to one side.
The stubble that covers his jaw is slightly messy, like it needs a good trim, but it only adds to the rough, sexy way he smirks at me. “In a minute,” he says in a quiet voice that makes my body hum with anticipation. His fingers dig into my upper arms as he spins me and pushes me back against the passenger door of his truck.
A small gasp escapes as my back collides with the door, and my heart picks up a wicked fast beat when Kye comes so close to me that every inch of our bodies is touching. His hands trail down my arms until they find mine, and I’m pretty much paralyzed as his fingers link between mine and hold my hands at my sides.
“Against the truck,” he murmurs, leaning in, still smirking.
“What—what for?” Speaking when it takes a mammoth effort just to breathe really is hard. My lungs are burning right now with his closeness.
“For this.” At those words, he slides my hands up above my head and pushes his mouth against mine.
The touch sends a thousand lightning bolts into my body, each one filled with the same desperation I can taste in his kiss. Every time his mouth moves across mine, whether it’s kissing, nipping, or gently sucking on my lower lip, another round of sharp, desperate desire floods through my body.
It’s only a kiss, with me trapped between a car and a rock-hard body, but this kiss is so fervent and powerful that it might be the kiss to end all kisses.
“Now get in the truck.” Kye pulls me away from the door just as easily as he just pushed me against it and opens it. My lips are on fire still, my whole body trembling at the unexpected kiss, but somehow I manage to climb in on my wobbly knees.
Holy shit.
What was that?
“What was that?” I ask, bringing life to my thoughts.
Kye slams his door behind him and looks over at me, his grin mischievous, his gaze anything but. “I believe they call that a kiss, babe.”
“No, no, no. This is a kiss.” I lean forward and touch my lips to his, lingering a little longer than I’d like. “That?” I point to my window. “That was not a kiss.”
“If lips touch it’s a kiss,” he replies, pulling out of Sofie’s driveway.
That’s too simple of an answer for my liking.
“Put your seat belt on.”
“Sheesh,” I say under my breath, reaching for the belt. “You’re demanding today.”
He cuts his eyes to me, and a warning flashes in them. One that says I have no idea. One that is as thrilling as it is terrifying. One that causes my whole body to go on red alert with what the hell he has planned that he’s keeping from me.
I drop my eyes to my lap, but they don’t stay there. My gaze flicks around the truck, from the mirror on my side to his hand on the steering wheel, his knuckles white from his grip. His arm, relaxed yet still impeccably toned as it rests on the window ledge. His hair, styled back from his face, the barely there blond hints mixing perfectly with the brown strands. His eyes, sapphire blue and focused on the road ahead, framed by those impossibly long lashes I’ll never get over being jealous of. His nose with that tiny bump on the bridge of it, his lips with that soft natural pout that makes me swallow every time I see it, and the rough, scruffy stubble across his jaw that is begging me to run my nails across his face.
The feeling hits me smack-bang in the center of my gravity. Like the poison I know it could be, it infiltrates me until every beat of my heart and expansion of my lungs feels it in its purest form.
I’m falling for him.
It shouldn’t have taken me this long to figure out. I’m not stupid, far from it, but we’ve spent so little time together. Although I guess falling and fallen are two very different terms.
I’ll keep falling. Forever, please. I don’t want to hit the ground. Who knows what I’ll find there?
“Where are we going?” I ask him softly, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Somewhere,” he replies just as cryptically as before.
“Why is your guitar in the backseat?”
“You’ll see.” Once again, his eyes cut to me, but this time, they’re accompanied by a knowing smile.
It only infuriates me more. Since I drove to Sofie’s, I left with nothing more than the sweater I’m wearing, and it isn’t exactly thick. If he’s going to make me go outside I might freeze to death . . . but something tells me if that’s the case, he’s planned for that, too.
I hate surprises.
“Ugh.” I slump back into my seat and fold my arms. I’m being a total brat, but come on, not even an idea? What kind of bullshit is this? What kind of surprise is so surprisey that “You’ll see” is his best answer?
Kye turns onto the interstate, and for the first time, I notice Aidan’s truck behind us, as well as a couple of cars. I keep looking in the side-view mirror, and the cars follow us, matching our speed every time.
My stomach sinks.
“Stop.” Kye reaches across the center console for me. He pulls my arm from around me and slips his fingers between mine. He brings them to his lips and presses a soft kiss to my knuckles before resting our hands between us. “It’s not what you think.”
“How do you have any idea what I think?”
“Because, contrary to what you believe, babe, I know you. That’s the only damn answer you need.”
“I need to know where we’re going.” The words come out kind of bratty, but I do.
“Do you trust me?”
Yes. But the word doesn’t leave me.
“Chelsey. Do you trust me?” he repeats. This time, his words are as sharp as a sword and edged with annoyance.
“Yes,” I whisper, watching the way his thumb stills on the back of my hand. “I trust you.”
His grip relaxes, and he resumes the gentle caress with his thumb. He doesn’t say anything. The only noise accompanying this everlasting moment is the low hum of the radio that neither of us is listening to. The tension that sizzles between us tightens from an electric current to a tightrope, and I’m too afraid to say anything else.
I fear I don’t need to.
I think the four words I just uttered have sealed my fate with Kye Burke. Because I do. Trust him. I trust that he’d never deliberately try to hurt me. I trust that he’d do whatever it took to protect me.
When he finally speaks, it’s with a resigned yet hopeful tone. “Then trust me.”
I take a deep breath and shift in the seat so my body is turned toward him. “I will.”
Some of the earliest memories I have are of sitting in an armchair in the corner at a recording studio with a coloring book and pencils. That was my father’s idea of father-daughter bonding. The only thing I ever took away from those afternoons, as few and far between as they were, was the ability to sing.
It’s a talent I refuse to capitalize on as a matter of principle, but mostly because I’d rather sing in the shower, butt naked and soapy, than attempt to launch a career using it. Besides, it’s common knowledge that when you sing in the shower you sound downright awesome. Everything else pales in comparison to that.
Which is why it’s so strange to sit in the corner of the recording studio as all four Burke boys record something new. Mostly because I assumed they’d do all this in L.A. Why would they be in a recording studio right before Christmas? Unless they plan on releasing an acoustic Christmas song on YouTube, but even that wouldn’t require them to be here—they could just do it at home with nothing more than a webcam.
I didn’t get an explanation either. I just got guided in, the only woman in this part of the studio, and told to relax in this nice comfy armchair and listen. It was literally that simple.
I can’t decide if I’m unimpressed or honored to listen to them sing. They really are that good. You wouldn’t think they hadn’t been in a studio for weeks, and apart from a few local TV news stations complete with live performances, they haven’t sung since the end of their tour.
Not that I know of, at least. By all accounts, I don’t really know much of anything at all. Not about Dirty B. as a whole.
I do as I was told to, though. I watch them behind the glass, all four of them entirely at ease with what they’re doing. Put together like this, it’s easy to see this is in their blood. This is exactly what they’re meant to do, and they’re meant to do it together.
They screw up frequently, and almost every fuckup ends with them winding each other up. It’s funny to see them in this environment.
I guess I never thought of Dirty B. this way before.
I bite down on my thumb as that thought flits through my head.
Well played, Kye Burke.
My earliest memories of recording studios also include female workers, all of whom vied desperately for my father’s attention during the sessions, and there was almost always someone waiting on him to leave, at which point I was promptly handed off to a nanny until I was taken home the next day.
Here, I am the only woman in the room, and no one is paying me the slightest bit of attention. I’m here to listen and watch. And learn. Learn that there is a truth to Kye’s words when he says that his life isn’t the way I imagine it, isn’t the way my father’s was.
A tiny part of me believes him, and a little bit of the blockade around my heart crumbles.
I have no idea how long I sit here, just watching them do their thing. It must be a long time, because my butt is pretty numb and I think my right foot has gone to sleep. I’ve also adopted every position this giant armchair will allow me to, and now I’m mildly considering putting my feet up against the wall, my back on the seat cushion, and dropping my head down to watch them upside down.
Thankfully, before I can do that, they call it a day and I swing my legs down from the arm and stretch. I clasp my hands and stretch them right above my head, watching as they come out. My lips tug into a small smile when Kye walks over to me.
“All right?” he asks, holding his hands out to me.
I rest my fingers on top of his, and he grips tightly to tug me up. I bounce slightly on my tiptoes and groan as the extension of my muscles aches through me. “I think my legs died.”
He laughs. “I’m hungry. Let’s listen to the final then get food.”
“What were you doing here?” I ask as his fingers slip through mine and he pulls me after him toward the mixing board.
His eyes flash with a secret, but it’s not a devious flash. No, it’s that mischievous, playful glint that shows that it’s more of a surprise than a secret. “You’ll see.”
“There’s a whole lot of that goin’ around,” I mumble into my sleeve, scratching my top lip.
He winks.
“Good?” the engineer asks. “I think it turned out pretty good. Of course, if you decide—”
Tate waves his hand. “Shhh.” He flickers his attention over to me, too quick for me to meet his eye. “Just play it.”
Now I’m suspicious. What are they up to?
I study each of them carefully, but aside from a similar amused glimmer in their eyes, they give nothing away. In fact, right now, Kye’s and Aidan’s gazes look exactly the same.
“Um, okay.” The engineer’s dark eyes rest on me, and I shrug. No help here, buddy. I just got dragged along for shits and giggles, it seems. He looks away, still confused, and hits the Play button.
The low, melodic hum of guitars fills the room, and in the background is the oddly gentle beat of a drum. They weren’t playing these just now, so I know they already recorded the backing track. Excitement crackles in the air, and Conner sings on the track. As soon as he does, I know it’s a new song, mostly because every single song Dirty B. has released has been played on the radio until you snore the tune.
There’s something about the way these four mesh together that just makes total sense. Even as they sing about love and forever, these four tattooed, muscular, handsome brothers are so much more than they seem to be.
That’s the Burke brothers. Just when you think you know who they are, they unveil a whole other side of themselves.
The magic of the Burke brothers is that they are all so very easy to fall in love with. The problem with them is that you have no idea you’ve already hit the ground until it’s too late.
As for me? I think I’m six feet under.
For someone who, only hours ago, realized she was falling, it’s a hard hit. Maybe that’s why my ass is sore—it’s not from sitting around. It’s because the realization that I was falling has made my heart say “fuck it” and finish the job and I’ve landed.
As the song reaches its crescendo and Kye squeezes my hand tighter, a lump forms in my throat. Oh no. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
Instinct whirs in my bloodstream, the fight-or-flight notion taking over. I’ve always had a problem with the fight-or-flight thing. If there’s something to fight for, then there’s probably something to run from. After all, if you have to fight that hard, is it worth it?
Yes.
I’m no amateur. I’m no naive little girl with no idea of the real world—the real world that Kye lives in. Sure, it’s all sugar and sweetness when he’s home in Shelton Bay, aside from a few odd screaming teens. There’s no danger here, though. It’s almost as if there’s a thick brick wall surrounding the town, keeping reality out unless it’s totally necessary. Like home is a fucking fairy tale.
Maybe it is. Maybe Shelton Bay is the fairy tale in the Burkes’ life, and outside home is the villain, and its minions are the media, except in this story, the minions have minions.
Being with Kye Burke, loving him, would mean fighting for him every day. Fighting for the relationship we could have. The happiness and the laughter and the ease I feel whenever he walks into a room and smiles at me. Because that’s it, isn’t it? That’s all it took. Him to walk in this morning and smile at me.
Is that fight worth it? Is he worth it?
Without a doubt.
Am I willing to fight? Do I have the strength to? Can I honestly say I have the strength to give our happy ending a chance to be written?
The jury is still deliberating, Your Honor.
I blink, and my name is being called.
“You know what you’re talkin’ about,” Conner says to me. “What’d you think?”
“I loved it,” I say honestly. What I listened to, that is. Before my mind went off on a tangent and delivered a few home truths.
“I think it needs something else,” Tate muses, leaning on the table. “I think it’s the kind of song that can be rewritten to include a female artist.”
And just like that, four sets of eyes are burning into me.
“Ohhh no.” I hold my hands up and step backward. “Nope. Nope.”
“Think about it.” Tate’s eyes are intense, his determination hard. “At least think about it, Chels.”
I swallow hard. Dear Karma, what the fuck is your problem with me today? First I’m in love, and now you’ve made them want to record a song with me? I hope you get screwed by a cactus, Karma.
“How do you even know I can sing?” My voice trembles, giving me away.
“Because you sing in the shower when you forget you’re not alone,” Kye answers, his eyes soft. His lips are forming a barely there smile but it sends tremors right through me. “You sing in the car to Christmas songs, even when you hate them, and you can’t vacuum without dancing to MTV.”
My cheeks burn. Damn. I guess his shower at my place the other day was shorter than I thought.
“That doesn’t mean a thing. Everyone sings in the shower.”
“But that doesn’t mean they’re good at it,” Aidan replies with a snort.
“Yeah. You’re not the only one who’s heard Jessie strangle a cat or two.” We share a brief smile at my best friend’s awful singing before I remember what they’re asking. “No. I won’t do it.”
Kye strides toward me, and I breathe in deeply. His rough palms frame my face, his fingers teasing my hair. “Chels,” he says softly, so quietly I’m probably the only person who can hear it. “We won’t make you do it. We just want you to think about it. That’s it.”
I stare into his eyes. There’s nothing there but total honesty, and they’re so raw with emotion that I have to look away. I bite down on my tongue while the idea rolls around my mind, but I know they won’t give up on this until they get even half an answer they want.
“Fine,” I acquiesce. “I’ll think about it.” I cut my eyes to Kye’s brothers, all grinning. “Think. You got that? Think.”
Tate smirks. “We got it, sweetheart.”
“Call me sweetheart one more time and I’m gonna kick your backside.”
He winks.
I have no idea how Ella puts up with him.
“I can’t believe you tricked me into that.” I hug the mug of coffee Mrs. Burke handed me before she left for the store.
“I didn’t trick you into a thing,” he replies, amusement rich in his voice. “I asked if you’d come with us.”
“Really? You asked?” I give him a look that says he’s full of shit. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize dragging me against your truck, kissing me, and subsequently hauling me inside it was asking.”
“I asked you in my head.” He laughs. “It was telepathic.”
“Excuse me if I haven’t quite mastered mind reading yet. I’m not Edward Cullen, you know.”
“Who’s Edward Cullen?”
I lift one eyebrow. “No one you need to know about.” Men. “What were we doing in Charleston? And why did you really need to drag me into the recording studio? You could have played the demo for me at home.”
“True,” Kye admits. “But there’s something about a studio, isn’t there? It’s the being there around all the equipment and knowing there’s something very real about where you are.”
“See? Tricked me.”
“Why? Are you considering it?”
“No,” I say after a too-long pause.
“You paused.”
“I did not.”
“You’re such a bad liar.”
“You’re . . . I don’t even know.” I huff, swinging my legs from my perch on the table. “You’re a pest.”
“A pest?” He laughs. At me. He’s laughing at me. Of course he is. “A pest? Really? What am I? Like, a mosquito?”
“I believe I once compared you to a termite privately, but that’ll work.”
His laughter, deep and loud, rings out around the large farmhouse-style kitchen, filling the air with its richness. It’s a wonder he’s still breathing, but maybe this is how he gets his abs. From laughing that damn sinful laugh ten times a day.
“A termite? That’s new,” he finally manages to spit out. “So am I, like, a termite with a monster cock?”
“Monster?”
“It’s at least eight inches.”
“At least?”
“I’ve never pulled out a tape measure in the middle of an erection, funnily enough. But I do know you need both hands to hold it fully, so that’s a good indicator.”
I put my coffee cup down on the table next to me and look at my hands. “But I have, like, the world’s smallest hands. How can you think my palms are four inches wide?”
“Your hands aren’t that small.” He frowns. “Or maybe your nails are just long.”
They are. “But they have nothing to do with my palms.”
“They make them look bigger.”
“What is even the point of this conversation? This is the most ridiculous talk I’ve ever had.”
He laughs again, and this time, I embrace it as it rumbles over my skin. “Okay.” He pushes off the counter and comes toward me. One of his hands slips between my knees and pushes my legs open. He steps forward between them before I can close them and brushes his knuckles up my thighs.
Slowly, he wraps his fingers around one of my wrists and lifts it. He unfurls my fingers from where I’ve tucked them against my palm in a fist and puts his hand against mine, palm to palm. His skin is hot, and my tongue flicks out across my lips, wetting them.
My eyes fall to our hands. The tips of my fingers barely touch the second crease on his. Only my nails even attempt to overtake the shallow indentations in his skin.
“See?” I say quietly, my voice scratchy. “Tiny hands.”
Kye’s eyes flick between mine and our hands. The look I give him is steady, although I feel anything but. I feel like every part of me is weak, and the only part of him really touching me is his hand. This is crazy.
He twists his hand to the right a little, and our fingers lock together. His attention is fully on our now-clasped hands, and when I look, my fingers barely make it halfway down the back of his hand. His are almost touching my wrist.
“Tiny,” he agrees quietly, meeting my eyes. “But perfect.”
My lips part with my inhale. The butterflies that were just fighting to attack my belly break free of the cages I put them in, and as he dips his face toward mine, nervousness erupts in my tummy.
“There’s no such thing as a perfect hand.” My voice is still weak, but it’s still there, at least.
His other hand comes to my neck, his thumb stroking the tender skin behind my ear. “Your hand is perfect because your fingers fit between mine just right.” The half-smile he gives me settles the apprehension in my stomach. “Just like you fit me.”
“Perfection is overrated,” I breathe.
“Maybe. But maybe so many people fail to find it because they never really appreciate perfection for what it is: imperfection perfectly appreciated.”
I never thought about it that way. Kye releases my hand and cups the other side of my neck. He hooks his thumbs beneath my jaw and lifts my face so I’m forced to look right at him. “People think I’m perfect.”
“People are dumb.”
“You said it once.”
“When I was drunk and passing out.”
“True. But I’m still taking it.” He grins and kisses the tip of my nose. “And I’m still workin’ on it. Come with me.”
“Because that worked out so well this morning.”
“Trust me.”