Ruckus

In other words, what Millie didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. I wasn’t going to say a word. Neither would Dean.

A knock on the door made me click the pause button on my replay of the scene where Dean pushed me onto his hot tongue and bit my clit. A scene that never happened, I reminded myself. I scooted up and smoothed my hair away from my face.

“It’s open.”

Millie came in with a tray full of goodies. Her smile was apologetic. Probably about last night. I smiled back, reaching for a drawer next to the bed and sliding it open.

“Got you breakfast,” she announced.

“Got you dessert,” I said. Being a music buff had its perks. Millie liked punk rock and alternative music, too, but unlike me, she was too busy to look for those small, up-and-coming indie bands that shouldered their way into the scene. Me, that was what I lived for. To seek them out and hunt them down. So I always made sure I had a stack of demos to give my sister every time I saw her.

Producing a USB the shape of Beetlejuice’s Ernie, I dangled it before her eyes.

“Wait till you hear Zack Wade’s voice.” I grinned. “He has a talent for playing the guitar and the strings of your hormones.”

She placed the tray with the pancakes, maple syrup, and freshly brewed coffee on my nightstand, muttering, “My hormones are playing just fine,” before biting down on her lip. Upon closer inspection, her eyes bloodshot and her purple hair a mess.

“Dude, are you okay?” I got up on my feet, bracing her into a hug but supporting her weight at the same time. The vest was still on me, and there was a giant tube between us, but we were so used to it, none of us paid any attention. Millie went completely limp in my arms. It had better not been Vicious causing trouble. Although, I had to give him one thing. Ever since they hooked up, he had been an exceptional man to Millie. Too bad he was a cunt to everyone else.

“I’m great!” She waved her hand around, dismissing the question and straightening her posture. “Probably a stomach bug or nerves. Vicious is taking me to the doctor for a check. It’s already ten and you haven’t left your room. I came in to see if you were okay.”

I wasn’t okay. I was the opposite of okay. I was just too busy fantasizing about your ex-boyfriend, seconds from shoving a hand into my underwear.

“I’m sorry.” I pulled her into another hug, my chin on her shoulder. “I took advantage of this little vacay. Normally I open up the coffee shop at six thirty and don’t go to bed before ten or eleven.”

“Still volunteering with the babies?” She scrunched her nose. I looked down at my hands, bracing myself for another lecture. “You need to stop.” Her voice was forgiving.

“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen.”

“You’re hurting yourself. Why would you do that?”

Because I couldn’t volunteer anywhere else. All the other places—hospitals, clinics, hospices—were full of sick people, and my immune system was as brittle as my heart when it came to a certain HotHole.

“Trust me, I’m no saint. If I didn’t love it, I wouldn’t do it. What about you? Excited about the rehearsal this evening?” I changed the subject.

Millie exhaled and plopped down on the cushions. I sat back down, but didn’t stare at the ceiling like she did. I couldn’t with my vest.

“I guess. The bachelorette party is what I’m really waiting for, though. It will be nice to spend some time together.”

Millie and I had only been apart for one year, when I was a senior, before I boarded a plane and joined her in New York. We went from living together for years to living on different sides of the country.

“Do you want me to come with you to the doctor?” I smoothed her hair. “I can do a coffee run, watch your car if you don’t find a parking space. Be your bitch.” I wiggled my brows.

“No need.” Millie’s gaze shifted, her hands landing on her thighs, but this time, she didn’t rub them.

I wasn’t stupid. The symptoms added up quickly. She was sick in the morning, woozy all day yesterday, and Mama didn’t want her doing any heavy lifting. Still, before I was an ex-nursing school student and a human being with a functioning brain, I was a sister. A sister who knew my sibling wouldn’t keep this kind of news from me.

Because there was nothing I wanted more than to see her happy.

And I knew that a baby would make Millie really, really happy.

“Is there anything you’re not telling me?” I asked, keeping my voice as casual as possible.

“No,” she said curtly, caressing my arm again, as she often did to soothe me. “Everything’s great.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“But that’s the answer you’re getting.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, come on, Rosie-bug. I’m getting married in a few days. I’m allowed to have a few off days.”

Fair enough. I spun in place and turned off the machine hooked to the vest, then went through the usual ritual of folding everything and tucking it in place. After that, we talked some more. Mainly about wedding preparations and how she thought I kind of looked like Emma Stone from certain angles (she brought it up…not me).

“Good luck at the doctor’s,” I said, when Vicious called Millie from downstairs and she walked through the door. The tray was still by my bed, and it would remain untouched until I got rid of it. I’d lost my appetite at dinner yesterday and never got it back.

I flung my body into the bed and closed my eyes again, ignoring the thump between them and Mama shouting at Daddy downstairs to go to the store and get Millie Twinkies.

They hadn’t spoken a word to me all morning, and since Millie hadn’t brought them up, I knew I was still in the doghouse. I would happily stay there for the remainder of this visit.

I wasn’t going to apologize for who I was. For who I wanted to be.

Independent and free.

I WAS CATCHING UP ON work emails and administrative shit when Vicious came to his balcony where I sat and slumped on the opposite couch. By the shit-eating grin on his face, I was guessing that someone had died or that he knew something that was going to rock my boat, or at the very least, create a hole in it. He didn’t mean to be an evil fucker. I think he was just born this way.

Working on the terrace was a good call, because I couldn’t concentrate anywhere else. I saw Rosie’s mom knocking on her door twice, nasally whining for her to do this and that—with Rosie barely answering back—and her dad bitching to Millie in the hallway about how his eldest daughter should just buy Rosie a ticket and make the decision for her. “Her irresponsibility will cost her her life,” I heard him say.

“I’m graying because of her. Graying!” her mother added.

Pricks.

“Hello, fuck-face,” Vicious greeted me.

“Howdy, asswipe,” I retorted, pulling out a blunt from behind my ear and lighting it casually, looking at Vicious like he just pissed into one of four different bowls of soup on a table and I wasn’t sure which. I was always suspicious of him. He of me, too.

“Care to share?” He jerked his chin toward my blunt. I inhaled and passed it on, smoke skulking from between my lips.

“So why are you really here? Your parents aren’t remodeling shit. I saw Eli downtown this morning when I took Em for her doctor’s appointment.”

I put my MacBook down on the coffee table and leaned back, tapping my lip with my Zippo lighter as I considered his question before I broke the news to him.

“I’m going after Baby LeBlanc.”

“I sure as fuck hope you mean Rosie and not my future kid.”

“Christ.” I rolled my eyes, leaning forward to snatch the blunt from him. “And then people accuse me of being the creepy one.”

Vicious grinned. He wasn’t pissed off. He wasn’t even surprised. Astonishingly, he wasn’t against it either.

“Finally, eh? What took you so long?”

I shrugged. “Didn’t know she was in New York. And by the time I did, and she moved into the apartment, she had a boyfriend. She is single now. Not for long.”

Vicious raised one skeptic eyebrow, his lips curving to one side. Of course, he didn’t give half a fuck if I went after Rosie. It made perfect sense to him, and why wouldn’t it? His wife-to-be, on the other hand, held a different opinion.

Millie and I were civil, but she didn’t trust me. Which was ironic, considering our history.

“Emilia is not going to like it.”

“I didn’t like it either when Emilia started fucking one of my closest friends in my apartment. I got over it. Quickly, I may add.”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Vicious snapped, his eyes flaring, before smirking. “You took ten percent of the company from me.”

“And gave it back to you.” I smiled.

“For a lot of money.”

“Which you have,” I retorted. “You’re a billionaire. We both know you paid because I needed to make you pay. You can wipe your ass with double the price you paid me and still not notice it missing from your bank account. It was a lesson. Have you learned anything?”

“Yes.” Vicious gave me the stink eye. “That you’re no less an asshole than I am, even though you definitely hide it better. Millie thinks you’re trouble.”

Now it was my turn to give him my I-don’t-give-a-fuck smirk. I wasn’t even trying to defend myself. What was the point?

“And I tend to agree.” He snatched the blunt.

“I’m hurt.” I clutched the left side of my orange Armani tee and made a face. “But I’ll live.”

“Whether you live or not solely depends on how the shit with Rosie is going to pan out. If you break her heart, use her, and shit all over this, I’d have to take a side.” I knew which one he was going to take. Vicious and I were genuinely good friends. We spoke on the phone all the time. We had a good laugh. But we were wary of one another, too. It was just one of those things. There was never competition between Jaime and Trent, or Trent and me, or Vicious and Jaime. But there was always a silent, bloody war between Vicious and me.