“Would you want it?”
“I wouldn't want anyone else to have it.”
“That doesn't answer my question. Would you want it? Could you ever see yourself coming back here and making this place your home?”
“Beks....”
“I'm not saying with me,” I said with a sigh. The hesitation on his part sent my stomach rolling. “I'm just asking a question, not trying to hoodwink you.”
“The army is my home.”
Right. Back to that.
Instead of pushing him, I rested my head against the headrest and shut my eyes.
“It's not you. It's me.”
Behind my lids, I rolled my eyes. “Can you not be so cliché? Don't use a line 90 percent of men use as a brush-off. I deserve originality. At least give me that.”
No response. Only the hum of the tires rolling along the smooth interstate filled the cab the rest of the drive back.
THE ANNOYANCE AT HIS comment grew to pent-up anger. If he said a single word before I could get out of the truck, I’d probably explode. The engine idled outside Daddy's place, but thankfully Brenton continued to sit silently. I yanked the door handle and shoved it wide open, ready to be alone for a few hours to collect the damn rolling emotions he’d caused.
“I'll walk you in,” Brenton muttered at my back.
Oh hell no. No chivalry shit when he just brushed me off. “Fuck you,” I gritted out over my shoulder as I slid out of the seat and slammed the door.
“Rebeka,” he yelled back. “Stop.”
Bag in hand, I shut the tailgate and stormed toward the house. Brenton stepped in, blocking my path.
“Move.” I had to get in the house before the damn tears spilled over. No way could I give Brenton the satisfaction of watching me break. Because of him. Again.
“Not until you understand something.”
With a loud scoff, I shouldered past him only to be pinned against the truck. With his hands on my shoulders holding me to the hot metal, I shot him my best “fuck off” glare.
“What I meant was... you're perfect. I don't deserve your time, and I sure as hell don't deserve your love or forgiveness after what I've done to you. What I'm saying is... I don't—”
“Spit it out, Graves. I don't have all night.”
“It’s easier to believe someone loves me for my money than for being me,” he whispered. “I'm a broken man who has fucked up more times in this life than any person should be allowed. I’m a recovering addict, a fuckup when it comes to you. What kind of person would I be to allow you to—”
“Allow?” I snapped. “You don't allow me to do anything. If you haven't noticed—”
“Hell, woman, I'm saying if I could love anyone, it would be you. But I can't.”
“Yes you can,” I said, giving up on holding back the hot tears.
“My mom walked out on us. Dad fed me drugs and women as our bonding time. Most of the women I've been with only want me for my money and nothing else. When in the hell would I have learned how to love in all that? I'm a ruined man who is terrified every second I’m alive that my demons might catch up with me and I'll slip back down that dark hole of addiction. You deserve better than me, and I won't tie you to me and drag you down too.”
“You're a damn fool, Brenton.” The bag in my hand fell to the dust as I shoved both hands against his shoulders. “Do you think this is easy for me? You know my story, and yet here I am loving you. Loving the man who devastated me once. Devastated, Brenton. I don't know how to do this either, but I'd rather figure this love shit out with you than anyone else. No one else makes me feel like you. No one makes me love myself as much as you do.”
“You're wrong. You're better—”
“That ruined shit is a lame-ass excuse. You're scared. And you know what? I'm not going to do this to myself again. You were right about something, Brenton Graves. I do deserve better, but not for the reasons you think.” Reaching down, I snagged my bag and started toward the house. I paused but didn't turn to him when I said, “For the record, this isn't me walking away from the real Brenton. It's me giving up on the man you believe you are.”
A warm, strong hand gently wrapped around my wrist but fell away when I stepped toward the house.
Once inside, the sounds blaring on the TV didn't drown out the rumble of the truck driving off.
“Look at what the cat dragged in,” Daddy said from his leather recliner, not looking away from the late-night game show that was on. “Alone. Where's the prick Graves kid?”
“Don't start with me,” I gritted out, somehow able to keep new tears from flowing down my cheeks.
“You're a fool if you think this time will be any different. That family won't let him have anything to do with us. You learned that years ago. Stay away from him.” He cut his bloodshot eyes over to where I still stood by the door, bag in hand. “I don't want our name dragged through the mud again because of you. The first time was bad enough, being the father of the town whore. Don't want to add being the father of the town idiot to it.”
I averted my eyes from his glare to the empty beer cans littering the floor around the recliner. “Right, like I enjoyed being the daughter of the town drunk who killed his wife.”
“I didn't touch her,” he seethed. The can in his hand crushed in his grip, spraying beer on the wall.
“You didn't force the pills down her throat, but you drove her to it.”
“Me? No, that was you and your brother. You two took her from me, drove her damn crazy. Get the fuck out of my house,” he snarled. “I don't want someone like you living under my roof.”
I'd leave that second to put as much space between me and the life-sucking leech I called my father as I could, but I couldn't. I'd need a truck for that, and mine was now parked at the main house, the keys with the man I loathed one second and loved desperately the next. Too much pride kept me from asking for the keys, so instead I stomped through the living room and down the hall toward the bedrooms.
Bradley tried to grab my attention as I passed by his room, but I ignored it. Only seconds were left before the dam holding back a gush of tears broke. The door shook the room when I slammed it closed. The bag fell to the floor with a thud, and the mattress squeaked under my weight when I fell face-first onto the unmade bed.
Finally alone, I let the tears fall to my pillow with deep, loud, soul-cleansing sobs.
“BEKA?”
Bradley's concerned voice pulled me awake. I rolled to face the door, tucking my hands under the pillow. He stood just over the threshold, leaning against the frame like he needed the support to stay standing. After a glance behind him, he limped the rest of the way into the room to collapse onto the end of the bed.
“What happened?” he asked, staring at the ceiling.
“Nothing,” I sighed, then scooted down to lie beside him. When his head lolled to the side and those dark brown eyes locked with mine, I knew he saw right through the lie. “He loves me. I know he does. And what's sad is I think he knows it too, but he's too much of a chickenshit to come out and say it. No idea what he's so scared of.”
Bradley said nothing for a minute, letting the silence between us weigh in the room.
“I can see what he's saying. Not all of us are like you, Beka. For some of us who weren't shown love, it doesn't come easy, and it's fucking terrifying when it's in your face. You don't want to accept it, yet the alternative, letting it walk away, is just as terrible.” His fingers intertwined with mine along the quilt beneath us. “It's easier to push people away and get lost in an escape than it is to admit you're too broken inside with no way of being fixed.”
“Bradley,” I whispered and squeezed his hand. “Is that how you feel? That you're broken and beyond repair?”
His nonresponse answered the question for him.
I rolled to my side and leaned up on an elbow. “You and Brenton and all those other people out there who've never been loved, never been shown the basics a mom and dad should give, aren't bro
ken. I'm not broken. Don't give two thoughts to Dad and what he says. You are amazing. You've kept this place going while Dad sat on his ass drinking. You have your demons, we all do, but look at you.” I waved a hand to his face, where clear eyes stared back into mine. “You've been through hell this week, and you're clean. You did that, no one else.”
“I want a hit so bad it hurts,” he said with a slight tremble. It's only then that I noticed his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallows breaths. “I'm trying. I am fucking trying, but it's hard and fucking everything hurts.”
“I believe in you,” I whispered. “And I love you. You always have me in your corner.”
“I know.” He focused back on the ceiling with a sigh. “What are you going to do?”
“I don't know.” Saying the words out loud stirred fear and loneliness in my gut. “He knows I love him. I've shown him, forgiven him. I can't make him realize he’s capable of loving someone. He needs to do that on his own.”
“Well, for a guy, actions speak louder than words.”
“What do you mean?” Silence met my response, piquing my interest. “Bradley.”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Um, yes?”
“Beka,” he said with a frustrated groan.
“Don't ‘Beka’ me, you jackass.”
“You can't call me a jackass. You just told me you loved me and were in my corner!”
“I can. We're siblings, so it's allowed. Tell me, what did you mean by that?”
He sighed and pushed to sit up. “He told me not to tell you.”
“Even better reason to tell me.”
“He's meeting those guys tonight, the ones I owe money to.”
I stared, mouth open. “What? How... when... what?”
“He told me to set it up, Beka. He said he didn't want those guys on his property or anywhere near you.”
Anger mixed with fear pushed aside all the sorrow and hurt from earlier. Hands balled into tight fists, I stood and started toward the door. “When?”
“One.”
“Who's his backup?”
“I don't know.”
“Fuck, Bradley! You sent him out there alone?”
“I had no other choice!” he shouted back. “Not like I could go.”
“Where?”
“No. You're not going—”
The warm grip of my SIG pressed against my palm. Keeping it pointed to the floor, I flicked off the safety and engaged the slide. His wide eyes zeroed in on the loaded weapon.
“I won't ask again, Bradley.”
“You wouldn't.”
“Do you want to find out what I will or won't do to protect that man?”
Defiant brown eyes flicked to mine. “I sent him a pinned location.”
Anticipation swirled, making my hands tremble. “Send it to me.” I turned to the door, pausing when he pushed off the bed to stand.
“You're not going alone.”
With a smirk, I said, “You're right, but you're not the backup I'm taking.”
Chapter 24
Rebeka
“WE'RE CLOSE,” I SAID to the others as we walked side by side down the old county road.
“Can't believe you talked us into this,” Ryder grumbled. “Pulled me out of bed even.”
I smirked at the glowing phone screen. Damn, that girl could hold a grudge. We didn't talk about our argument on the call when I asked for her and Kyle's help, or in the truck on the way here. But what made friendships like ours amazing was that we didn’t have to. Not right now at least. We could table it until we had the allotted time, and a few bottles of wine, to hash things out and wrap it up with a good romcom movie.
This was not that night.
The weight of the large rifle pressed against my shoulder. I adjusted the shoulder strap to the other side to relieve the growing ache.
“I'm pissed the bastard didn't ask for my help to begin with,” Kyle said while tugging the gun from my shoulder. “Beka, calm down. I'll give it back. Don't shoot me that ‘I’ll cut you’ look. Just offering to be your pack mule until we get there and this big guy is needed.”
Ryder linked elbows with mine like we were on a Sunday stroll instead of what we were actually doing—heading to a buyout meeting to save the arrogant asshole who held my heart, packing only a rifle, one AR, and four pistols between us. Kyle was a hell of a shot and offered to bring his AR in case things got out of hand, and Ryder being Ryder brought her .40-caliber hand cannon, plus snacks.
It was twenty after one when voices of men talking carried on the gusting wind. I snapped the phone off and tucked it into the back pocket of my jeans to take the rifle from Kyle's extended hand.
On silent feet, we crouched closer toward the lights and voices.
Once the group was in view, we lay along the ground where we had a clear line of sight and waited.
“Can you hear what they're saying?” Ryder whispered between crunching bites. I turned from the group to stare at her incredulously. “What? I eat when I'm nervous. You know that.”
I shook my head and turned to look back through the scope. Thank goodness we decided to show up. This could get out of hand quick.
Four men stood across from Brenton, illuminated by two sets of headlights. A couple more of the bad guys leaned against the hood of their two idling trucks.
“I count six baddies and one Sir Fancy Pants,” I whispered to Kyle. “You?”
“Same. I don't see any hanging around the edges on patrol, but I want to double-check. Ryder, stay with Beka.”
A soft wind brushed through my hair and over my sweaty face. Shit, what would we do if they shot him? Take them all out? We needed a plan. All I could think about was getting out here, and now that we were, I was at a loss.
“Hey,” Ryder whispered.
“What?”
“I need to tell you something.”
I pulled back from the scope. “Now?”
“Yeah, it's kind of important.”
I rested the rifle along the ground and turned to her. “What's going on?”
“I think... I'm calling off the wedding.”
I stared unblinkingly at my best friend for what seemed like thirty minutes, trying to figure out if I heard her right. Then approaching steps had me grabbing the rifle and turning to the intruder.
“Just me,” Kyle said as he crouched between us. “Just those fuckers we see. No one else. But it looks like it's getting heated down there. Not sure what's being said, but it seems like your boy is toying with them.”
“Wouldn't surprise me,” I grumbled. “That guy has always loved a fight.”
“Except they have guns.”
“I'm sure Brenton does too.”
I felt more than saw Kyle shake his head. “Look on the ground, by his feet. They made him toss it.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, and looks like it's about to get real down there.”
I turned to stare through the scope again just in time to see two of the men walk on either side of Brenton to restrain his arms.
“Well hell.”
“What do you want to do?” Kyle asked.
I scanned the surrounding area. Plan. We needed a damn plan. But it was difficult to think when half my heart was in the middle of the shitshow.
“Kyle, you go over that way. If things get really bad, ping the sides of the trucks and I'll take out the windows. I don't see anyone inside that we could hit. Maybe they'll think they're surrounded and bolt.”
“Or kill Brenton.”
“Let's go with my version.”
“Okay, boss.” At that, he patted Ryder's head and slunk off into the dark.
I waited a few seconds after he disappeared before shoving Ryder's shoulder. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I don't know, okay?”
“What do you mean you don't know? If you're talking about calling off the wedding, you better know what you're doing.”
“Remember that one time at Dos Amigos when I got so pissed at you and said a bunch of stuff I regretted?”
“Last night?” I deadpanned.
“Yeah, then. Well, I realized after we left why I said it. I'm damn jealous of you.”
“Me?” I squeaked louder than I should’ve, considering our dangerous surroundings.
“I saw the way Brenton looked at you, the way you love him desperately no matter what he's done or was going to do. The way you talked about him being so possessive and wanting you made me realize what Kyle and I don't have.”
“But you get along so well,” I said, still in shock. This was not happening. She could not compare the hot fling I had with Brenton to the long-term relationship she had with Kyle. Could she? What they had, people would kill over. The love and respect they had were what I wanted one day.
“We do. We're friends, yeah, but that spark, the desperation for each other, just isn't there. And maybe it never was. We just kind of happened as a couple, and we got along so well that we just kept at it. I want what you and Brenton have. I want that spark. I want the air sucked out of me every time he enters the room. When Brenton looks at you, everyone around can feel it. He loves you, Beka. I know he does. It doesn’t mean he’ll end up staying, but I want that look from the man I’m going to marry. I want what you have with Brenton.”
“He says he can’t love. That he’s broken,” I whispered to the dusty ground.
Not knowing what to say next, I turned back toward the group and brought the scope to my eye.
“The sex is terrible, if you really want to know.”
“I didn't,” I whisper-yelled back. “How bad are we talking?”
“At least he's good with his tongue.”
“See, there's a positive.”
“But I'm a ‘dick not lick’ girl.”
My shoulders trembled as I held in a fit of giggles. This was a ridiculous conversation, especially here. But with Ryder, everything was random and fun. One of the reasons I loved her.
“Shit,” I whispered.
“I know, right. I mean, I like him down there, but sometimes—”
Memories of Us: A Second Chance, Amnesia Romance Novel Page 18