I smile so much that tears brim.
Garrison might not know it, but his love is keeping me afloat here. Every time I think of him and talk to him.
“Sorry,” Salvatore says, seeing my reaction and realizing the flowers were mine. “I didn’t know.” He sounds sincere.
I nod, accepting the apology. Maybe easier than most would, but I’m not here to cause more friction. I just want to survive this semester.
Salvatore sits up, ruffling his hair. “Can I buy you more?”
“No, it’s okay.”
“Yeah, let me. It’s the least I can do.” He glances at the sleeping girl, and then he slips out of bed. He’s buck-naked.
Oh my God.
I spin on my heels. My back to the naked man.
I saw…I saw his dick.
Salvatore grabs boxer-briefs off the ground.
“Really, Salvatore, I don’t need more flowers—”
“It’s not a problem, Willow.” Before he comes closer, I shuffle out of his room. Putting more distance between us, and for the third time, I tell him firmly that I’m okay and do not need more roses. And I quickly dial Garrison and find solace in my bedroom, sinking on the edge of the mattress.
My face is burning in embarrassment.
I’m dead.
I’ve died. I put a hand to my forehead.
“So what happened?” Garrison asks.
“Uh…I think…” I inhale. “So I kind of saw Salvatore naked and—”
“What?” His voice is hot and confused. “How?”
I rehash everything and thank him for the card, but Garrison is understandably stuck on the Salvatore part.
“He’s a fucking douchebag, trying to buy you flowers when he knows you have a boyfriend. I don’t even care if they’re replacement flowers—”
“I know,” I cut him off in agreement.
Garrison is quiet.
I swallow my mortification. “Garrison?”
“As long as you know that his intentions are fucked…”
“I do.” I exhale a deep breath.
He pauses, then asks, “I have the better-looking dick, right?” His serious tone makes me smile.
“Definitely, always.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
I lower my phone at the sound of another incoming call. “My dad is calling.”
“Right now? It’s two a.m. here.”
“Sometimes he calls late. I think he’s lonely and has trouble sleeping.”
Garrison sighs, concerned. “You gonna answer?”
“Not right now.” I let the call ring out. My dad has still been on my case about an internship. Especially as my second year is coming to an end and the summer is in sight.
I’m afraid unless I follow the path he wants, he’ll stop helping me with tuition. He hasn’t made that threat yet, but it feels like this underlying truth shoved beneath the rug. He has power over me.
Power that I can’t seem to get back.
21 PRESENT DAY – March
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
GARRISON ABBEY
Age 22
Today is going to be a good day. It’s what I think when I wake up. It’s the thought I bring with me into the shower.
Good day.
Today.
March 9th.
Tomorrow is Willow’s birthday, and a plane ticket rests on my desk. Waiting for me. She has no clue, but I’m taking a red-eye flight tonight. I’ll be in breathing distance of Big Ben and the London Eye by tomorrow morning.
And fuck, if I’m not riding on the high.
Beads of water roll down my jaw, shower pouring over me. Heat amasses with gathering steam.
I place a hand on the tiled wall, and with my other, I stroke the length of my dick. Tightening my fist around throbbing veins, my muscles burning, I close my eyes and imagine Willow.
I picture the moment where I wrap my arms around her body. How she buries her head into my chest, her fingers gripping my shirt. Like I’m the safest place she knows.
We hug close for a while, and after a tender, longing kiss, I lift her up around my toned waist. She gasps against the crook of my neck, feeling my hardness against her heat.
I ache to fill her, and she’s pleading for me to be closer. “Inside,” she cries in a breathy whimper. “Please, please.”
She’s said those words in real life before. Just like that. And remembering them now does a number on me.
I grit down, on fire. I rub myself faster in the steaming shower. Muscles pulling taut in my neck and quads. Fuuuck.
In my head, we’re magically, suddenly, naked. Thank you, imagination. I press her against the wall, ass in my clutch, and I push in between her legs. Warmth wraps around my erection as I nestle deep in Willow.
She hangs on.
We kiss, and I rock and rock.
Our lips break as she lets out soft, breathy noises of pure pleasure.
Fuckfuckfuck. Pressure mounts as blood rushes down south, and I feel like a twelve-year-old boy, coming so quick. That can’t happen when I actually see her. Jesus.
Cum washes down the drain, and I wash off with soap.
“Garrison!” Loren’s voice booms through the bathroom. He bangs on the door with a fist. “When you’re done dreaming of my sister, I need to talk to you!”
No idea what that is about, but thank God I came already. If Lo’s trying to mess with me, he should have done it five seconds ago.
But really—it’s just another day living with Loren Hale.
Oddly, I do love it.
I switch off the shower, grab a towel and quickly tie it around my waist. My soaked hair drips, water sliding down my bare shoulders. I whip the door open, and Lo is just leaning against the wall.
I give him a look. “You’re seriously just waiting right there?”
Lo flashes a dry smile. “You have a problem with that? It’s not like you were doing anything inappropriate in the shower.”
“Since when is rubbing one out illegal in this house?”
Lo grimaces. “It’s not. Unless you’re thinking about my sister when you do it. Then that has been illegal since the dawn of time.”
I raise my brows. “So you want me to think about a different girl while I jack off?”
He glares at me like I’m the one who started this. That was definitely him. “No, Garrison, I want you to bury this conversation into the pits of hell where it belongs.”
I readjust my towel on my waist. “It’s buried.”
“Good. Can you babysit Moffy today?” he asks. “My dad called and wants to do lunch.” I already know Lily took Luna to a playdate with Rose’s son, Eliot. Both babies. Both adorable but loud as hell.
My head is spinning though, stuck on the fact that Lo doesn’t want to bring his own son to Jonathan Hale’s house for lunch.
I have to ask. “Is it a work lunch?”
Lo shakes his head and sticks his hands in his pockets. He looks at me like he knows where I’m going. “I love my dad, but the less he’s around my kids, the better.”
I feel like I need to know Jonathan Hale more than I do. To understand the man that has a grip on my girlfriend’s life. Lo and Ryke still have zero clue that he gave Willow money to pay off students. To bury footage of my fight.
It happened a year-and-a-half ago, and I forget about it until moments like these. When it bubbles to the surface like molten tar.
My stomach flip-flops.
Lo frowns. “I’ll be back in plenty of time for you to catch your flight. You don’t have to worry about that.”
He knows I’m flying out to see his sister.
“Yeah, no. Of course, I’ll babysit.”
At that last word, a toddler comes running down the hallway. Arms flailing around him. “UNCLE GARRISON! Did you hear? Did you hear?” Maximoff skids to a stop by his dad. “Mommy said I can go to LEGOLAND!” He bounces on the balls of his feet, and in his happiness, he accidentally flings the Spider-Man toy he’s ho
lding. It hits the wall and bounces off.
Lo grins—his eyes sparkling like that’s my son.
I’ve never had anyone that brings me that kind of happiness. Not until Willow. Can I even imagine a kid with her?
I don’t want to try. Just another thing I can hang onto and lose, right? Anyway, we have to get through this long-distance shit first.
“He’s in good hands,” I tell Lo as Maximoff picks up the toy. “Take your time.” Honestly, babysitting is the one thing I love doing for Lily and Lo. I’m wanted and needed here. And yeah, that feels fucking good.
So I feel like utter shit.
Literally.
For the past seven hours, I’ve been sweating so much that I ditched my pull-over and T-shirt. The fabric is soaked through.
Maximoff lounges on a beanbag in the living room, munching on a bag of granola bites that belong to Ryke. They taste like dirt, but Moffy seems to like them.
Granola crumbs are everywhere. His lap, the beanbag, the rug. And I planned to vacuum before Lily and Lo come home.
But I can’t move. I feel like a hundred million pounds, and on top of that, the sound, look, and smell of granola dirt has my stomach in a blender. I fight nausea and bear down on my teeth.
My phone buzzes, and I check the text.
Willow: Birthday plans tomorrow are lowkey, just dessert at Barnaby’s with Tess & Sheetal. Wanna Skype later? Let me know a good time for u
She doesn’t know I’m coming. But I’ll be there. Even if I have to crawl my way to London, I’ll be there.
Sheetal and Tess, I actually do like. They care about Willow, and they’ve given me a second chance to make a better first impression. Knowing how much I mean to Willow.
Salvatore is still a dick.
I stare at my phone, fingers hovering over the letters. I have to give her a little bit of a white lie, since it’s still a surprise that I’m flying there.
So I send a few Gilmore Girls birthday gifs that I made for her, all with Jess and Rory. And I text back: Definitely wanna talk on this big day. Skype me after dessert when u have time *birthday cake emoji*
I cough.
Bad idea. My stomach cramps like someone is wedging a knife into my gut. Fuck, what did I eat? I cringe as another text comes through.
Willow: not that big, only turning 22
I smile through the pain and text her: yeah and we’ll be the same age again. Big bold 22.
She texts back a bunch of hearts, and then the front door swings open. My duffel bag is already packed near the stairs, and honestly, I’m ready to go. I could be half-dead on the way to the airport, and I’d still find a way on the plane.
“He do okay?” Lo whispers as he drops keys in a bowl. Eyes pinpoint to his four-year-old.
Maximoff is out. Asleep with granola on his chest.
“He’s perfect. Like always,” I say. “Hey, I’m gonna head out.” I walk past him to grab my duffel.
He frowns. “You’re forgetting a shirt.” Before I can reply, he adds, “Christ, you look like shit. Garrison—”
“I’m fine,” I say, cutting him off and unzipping my bag. I dig through and find a T-shirt. “It’s just hot in here.” I pull it over my head and stand.
“No, it’s not.” Lo walks forward, about to reach for my forehead to take my temp. But he stops himself quickly. Quicker than I can flinch. “Please take your temperature. For me. Because I’m betting you’re at a hundred-and-one, at least, and it just hurts to look at you.” Awesome.
“I’m totally fine, man,” I say. “I think the turkey in my sandwich this afternoon might have been bad or something.” Pain starts jackhammering my stomach, and I suck in a tight breath. “It’ll pass.”
Lo grimaces. “You’d fly commercial with food poisoning just to see my sister? You’re about to spend eight-hours shitting on a cramped airplane shitter.”
I don’t fucking care. “I’m going.” I try to pass, but he steps in front of me. “Lo—”
“Take my jet.” He makes a surprised face at himself. “Christ, I sound like Connor.”
“Rich and pretentious.”
Lo lets out a laugh, a real one. No sarcasm. “Yeah.”
“Why’s that funny?” I ask.
“Because I’ve always been rich.” Lo can tell that I don’t fully get it, and he’s not wasting time catching me up to speed. He just says, “If you’re going to shit yourself, do it in the comforts of a private plane.”
I actually laugh now, and the act hurts, pain radiating to my lower back. Fuuuck. I suck it down. “Sounds like a plan. See ya.”
He walks ahead of me and grabs car keys out of the bowl.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice softer.
“Playing Jenga,” he says, sarcasm on his lips. “I’m driving you to the goddamn airport. Unless you think you can make it there on your own.”
Right now, I feel like I can barely make it to the door. I’ll take this handout. As long as it gets me closer to Willow, I’ll take whatever I can get.
We drop Maximoff off at Ryke and Daisy’s, and then Lo exits the neighborhood. Paparazzi immediately tail us. The sun has set, and darkness clings to the sky. A cameraman hangs out of a Hyundai’s window and starts snapping pictures at an excessive rate.
Click click click.
Flash flash flash.
The bright light is blinding in the dark. It’s dangerous as fuck. Lo barely blinks, too used to it all, and he keeps both hands tight on the wheel. He’d probably be cursing them out if his kids were in the car.
“Pretty sure there has to be a law against that,” I mutter under my breath. I really don’t know if there is, but I’m just glad when his bodyguard’s security vehicle rides up and blocks the paparazzi van. We ride side-by-side with the Escalade.
Our car bumps over a pothole, and I grimace and try my best not to vomit all over Loren’s leather seats.
Fuck.
I have a high pain tolerance, built up over the years, but this is different. A part of me just wants to crawl into the fetal position and cry. Maybe then the pain will stop.
The stabbing in my stomach is a constant companion. The knife goes in and out. In and out and death seems imminent.
I’ll die after I see her.
I hang my head. Arms wrapped around my stomach. Lo doesn’t talk much as he drives to the airport. But I sense him glancing at me, and he slips out his phone at a stop light to text. Probably checking on his kids.
My head spins, dizzy from the pain and I blow out steady, controlled breaths.
The car starts up again, and when Lo turns the corner, I see the sign to Philly General Hospital. Ambulances pass us, and Lo pulls up to the emergency room.
“No, no, no,” I say quickly. “I’m fucking fi…” I put my hand over my mouth to stop myself from blowing chunks.
Lo parks and quickly hops out of the car. Not sure when we lost the paparazzi but they’re MIA. His bodyguard and another big burly security guy flank him immediately.
“I’m not asking,” Lo tells me as he opens my door. “So either you get out of the car, or I carry you out.”
I don’t have the energy to reply. I’m half here. Half gone to the pain. I barely step onto the pavement before my legs buckle. Someone yells for a wheelchair. It all feels overly dramatic as hell, and I hate it. Too many eyes on me. Weak shit. I hear my brothers.
Fuck.
My head is off my shoulders. Up in the clouds. I don’t know how I enter the hospital, but someone shoves a blue plastic bag underneath my chin. I vomit.
“Yeah, we’re here,” Lo says, cell pressed to his ear. “They’re bringing him back now…” I lose time and focus. Lo squeezes my shoulder, I think. So I know he’s still here with me.
I’m on some hospital bed and the nausea has subsided enough for the pain in my stomach to come back full-force. I’m seconds away from curling into a tiny ball, and when a doctor comes in to check on me, I can’t say much but a few moans and grunts.
A
nurse starts an IV, and I hear something about oxy. Maybe that’s just in my head though. Hopeful thinking.
All I know is that I can’t die here. Not without seeing her one last time.
Everyone leaves.
That’s when it starts getting easier to breathe. Only for some reason, I can only do it through my nose. Otherwise I feel like hurling again.
Lo watches me. “I don’t know if you heard—”
I shake my head. I heard jack shit.
“The doctor thinks your appendix might have burst. You’re going to have to get a CT scan.”
Panic blisters every cell in my body. “And if he’s right?”
“It’ll have to be removed.”
Surgery. Okay, it’s alright. It’s okay, I convince myself. “How long will that take?” I ask. “I can still make my flight, right? The private plane will wait for me.” There’s that hope.
Lo tilts his head and looks at me, deeper. “You really love her, huh?”
“Man, I just want to see her,” I choke.
Lo rubs the back of his neck and glances nervously to the window. Maybe he feels for me. I don’t know. I can’t read him. “I want to tell you something…” He shakes his head. “Never mind. I’m not gonna fuck it up. Just lie back and enjoy the narcotics.” He waves me off.
I’m confused. But that confusion dies when his bodyguard slips into the room. “Mr. Hale, I just wanted to let you know that the media has been tipped off that you’re here with Mr. Abbey.”
Great.
Another cherry on top of this motherfucking pie.
Lo nods. “Thanks. I’ll get our publicist on it.” The bodyguard leaves, and Lo glances to me. “Everything’s alright.”
It doesn’t feel that way.
“Garrison!” Willow calls my name. At least, it sounds like her voice. Faint but recognizable.
Awesome.
I’m hearing her in my head now.
“Garrison!” What the fuck?
I look to Lo. He’s smiling. Did he hear her too?
With a wince, I pull my body up, my heart thrashing against my chest.
Lo leans out of the doorway. “In here!” he calls out.
Wherever You Are (Bad Reputation Duet Book 2) Page 20