Mischief (Circuit Book 2)

by Lacey Dailey

  My feet stuttered, frightened by the face I was met with. I lurched forward and smacked against the cold ground with a thud, my head cracking against the concrete. I quickly pressed my palm to my head, holding back the warm liquid trying to escape. With a grunt, I craned my neck and searched for him.

  “Ace?”

  “Brett!”

  I felt dizzy when I heaved myself to my feet, my blurred vision making contact with his face. My head tilted, and I stared at him, his green eyes pleading. “Help me,” he choked. “Brett, please. You have to help me.”

  “I’m coming!” With blood seeping from between the cracks of my fingers, I trudged forward, my free hand inching towards him. “Baby, give me your hand.”

  He gasped through a sob and scrambled toward me, his arm outstretched. “Hurry, Brett! He’s coming!”

  “Who?!” But even as I demanded an answer, I knew who he was talking about. The shadowed figure appeared out of nowhere, hands donned with black fingernails and brass knuckles stretching toward him. I screamed in panic and jumped, flying toward Ace.

  He smiled when our hands connected. Our fingers linked and we squeezed painfully tight, grasping each other while I tugged him toward me. But just as quickly as he was mine, he was yanked away.

  “NO!” My feet raced forward as our hands slipped apart. “ACE!”

  “BRETT!” He fought the same way Sage had. Kicking and punching and biting and scratching. Screams flowed from his mouth, over and over and over until it all stopped.

  His body went still as stone, a single tear falling from the tips of his eyelashes. I didn’t understand why he wasn’t fighting anymore. And then I saw the gun. It was pressed against his temple, a steady finger on the trigger. My heart thundered in my chest. An unmistakable holler tore from my lungs. Pain unlike any other filled my chest. I stopped breathing and leapt from my position. “ACE!!!!”

  My limbs came into contact with some sort of invisible barrier, sending me flying backward and onto my ass. I scrambled forward and clawed at the force keeping me from him. My fingernails bled with each claw forward while I was hysterical, staring at the gun and his bleak eyes.

  “ACE!”

  “You’re too late,” he whispered.

  The gun went off.

  He hit the ground.

  My heart shattered. Scream after scream barreled out of me while I fought to reach his body. Cracks spread against my skin until I was just a bunch of pieces, crumbled into a pile beside him. My convulsing hands came off the ground, coated in red. I slipped in the liquid pooling around my knees until I discovered I was sitting in a gallon of blood. After that, I lost my mind.

  * * *

  “BRETT! Open your eyes!”

  I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut with enough force to be painful. I didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to look at him that way. The moisture I was in grew thicker. “Ace!” I wailed, my body thrashing. “No! No!”

  “Brett! I’m here! Open your eyes. Look at me, baby. It’s just a dream. Come on. Open your eyes.”

  My eyes sprang open when warm, wet lips hit mine. I wrenched my head to the side and gulped for air, blinking fiercely while I attempted to digest my surroundings. My chest was heaving erratically as I counted back from fifty, scanning Ace’s bedroom and the pile of smocks he had sitting in the corner. With harsh pants, I made out the Mario figures he had sitting on his nightstand, and our cell phones resting silently side by side.

  “Brett.”

  I jerked my gaze back to him, the sound of his soft voice pulling me back from the depths of hell I was just immersed in. It was then that I felt his weight on me. His thighs straddling my waist while he sat on top of me, one hand on my chest like he was feeling for a heartbeat and the other wrapped around the back of my neck. I noticed then the warmth I was lying in was puddles and puddles of sweat spilling from the pores in my body.

  I grasped the sides of his head with quivering hands and inspected all surfaces of it. He let me pull back the pieces of his hair as I allowed my brain to recognize that there was no hole. No wound. No blood or brains splattered across an unknown sidewalk.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m okay.”

  I laid there in silence, gulping for big breaths of air while I took in the rest of his body. There were dried streaks of tears on his cheeks and a pair of cracked lips beneath his nose. His breathing was almost as harsh as mine was, his chin dipped while he calmed down from screaming in desperation to wake me.

  “I’m sorry.” I managed, my hand flying to my throat when I heard the strain in my voice. That was when I’d realized how loud I must've been screaming. Loud enough to rob me of both my air and my voice. I was deep into hell. Deep enough it felt so intensely real. Every. Single. Moment. The cold wind against my exposed skin. The warmth of the blood I sat in. The bang of the gun going off only inches away from me. I tugged at my earlobe, convinced there was still a faint buzzing left behind. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Shhh. No. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

  “You weren’t. Ace, you weren’t okay.”

  “But I am now.” His body folded over mine. His lips against my cheek felt warm and tingly. “Feel me. Touch me. I’m right here.”

  I pressed my palms against his back and ran them down his silky skin. “Ace…” I turned my head and pushed my nose into his hair, inhaling the lavender scent. “You were gone.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  I nodded, absorbing his words while I ran my hands all over his body, locking every inch into my brain. I held him against me. My brain felt like it was competing in a marathon. Always racing. Never sleeping. Never stopping for a drink break or to stretch its little brain legs. The only time it even thought about slowing down was when Ace was in close proximity. It was the reason I could breathe freely now.

  He was here.

  “You’re here.”

  “I’m here.”

  His head lifted and his eyes gazed into mine, staring at me like he was trying to worm his way into my head. Almost as though he was searching for a playback of what I’d just experienced. I let my eyes fall shut because I couldn’t bear for him to see all that was there. All the darkness I’d kept hidden. The emptiness and the horror that consumed all parts of me. I refused to let him see a tortured man.

  “No.” He demanded. “Brett!”

  My eyes snapped open, and my heart broke.

  Tears were swimming in the surface of his wide eyes. Raw, intense emotion was lingering there. “You keep them eyes open. You look at me. I’m here, Brett. I’m right fucking here.” He reached for my hand and pressed it up against his chest. It moved with the rise and fall of his heartbeat. “You feel that? I’m here.”

  Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

  I focused on the steady, strong beat attempting to break past his ribcage to get to me. My palm burned into his chest, refusing to detach from the sure proof I had.

  I began to count the beats. The visions of the nightmares slowly faded away and were replaced with the feel of the pulses in charge of his life. Each one that went by, each time my count grew higher, reality became easier to grasp.

  “You feel me, Brett?”

  I couldn’t answer. I could only nod.

  I felt him everywhere.

  He bent in half, placing feather like kisses to my lips. He ran his hands over the surface of my body, granting me with the feel of his skin on mine while my hand stayed glued to my proof.

  I didn't bother moving my hand as he snuggled beside me. I rolled closer to his heat and pressed a kiss to his hairline. Within seconds, my mind was shutting down and my eyes were drifting.

  Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

  15

  Ace

  My arms were empty. I reached for him, extending my fingertips across the bed.

  He wasn't there.

  My back cracked when I rolled toward the edge of the bed, using the tips of my fingers to drag
my phone off the nightstand so I could check the time. I nearly dropped the damn thing when I saw it was after eleven. I'd never slept in so late.

  But it had been a long night, and I was in no hurry to untangle myself from the man who had my heart in shambles. Waking up in the middle of the night to him wailing my name, loud enough to make his voice crack, sent chills down my spine and monster sized tears down my face. I’d scrambled on top of him and tried to force my sobs louder than his. I was a frantic fucking mess watching him scream my name in nothing short of agony while I sat on top of him feeling helpless.

  At that moment, it was so hard for me to accept the powerlessness that my love for him brought me. Because I loved him. I loved him so deeply; I was consistently struck with next level emotions I didn’t know a human body was capable of.

  And I knew that’s why it seemed so hard. Hard to accept the hurt and the endless worry at the obvious suffering he went through daily. It was pure torture to watch the man I loved suffer. It was hard even after I laid down beside him, his desperate hand suctioned to my skin. Those moments were the most profound ones my life had ever seen.

  “Hey, beautiful.”

  I angled my head to the doorway and found him standing there. A mug in each hand. He was dressed in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs with pencils on them and a shy smile that wrecked me. I felt my heart dip and was struck with a reminder. A very fucking intense reminder that what I felt was deep and honest. Raw and real. There was a splash of pain and vulnerability, but I knew those were the very things that would keep me connected to him in whatever life came after this one.

  “Hi.” I managed.

  He stalked toward me and gently climbed on the bed, being careful not to jostle too much as he passed me a mug. “I brewed you some jiggle juice.”

  “Thank you.” I took a sip and leaned back against the wall behind my bed. I looked at the time again, completely enamored with how long I slept.

  “I turned it off.”

  “Hmm?” I licked coffee off my top lip and watched Brett climb under the sheet next to me.

  “Your alarm,” he elaborated, apprehension dissolving his smile. “I turned it off. I... just... you had the day off and last night… well, I just figured you’d be tired.” He looked away and used his mug to shield whatever he was feeling. “Sorry. I won’t do it again.”

  “Brett. Hey. It’s totally fine. I’m just shocked I slept in so late. That’s all.”

  He nodded, his throat bobbing with the tentative sip of coffee he took.

  I ran my hand up his back and lowered my voice. “Are you okay?”

  “Me? Oh, yeah.” He schooled his expression before facing me again. “I’m great.”

  I sighed. I should’ve known he’d attempt to pretend the nightmare never happened. But that shit just wouldn’t fly with me. “Brett, we can talk about last night.” Hell. I wanted to talk about last night. Reassure him that whatever he dreamt was not something he’d ever have to live through.

  “What about last night?”

  “Please, don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.”

  “I don’t… I don’t want to talk about it.”

  I wanted to respect that. I really, really did. He likely wasn’t wishing for a replay but the helplessness I felt was so fucking thick, I was desperate to give him something. So, I leaned over and gave him a kiss. A kiss so sweet, I worried I’d get a cavity.

  Each time he touched me, whether he was kissing me until I felt boneless or just brushed up against me as we struggled to send Princess Peach to her demise, it felt like I’d been zapped with thousands upon thousands of volts of electricity. This time was no different. In fact, it was stronger. Deeper.

  By the time we pulled away, his mouth was slightly swollen. He dragged his thumb across his bottom lip, eyes a bit wild and hair a smidge disheveled.

  “I’m here to talk,” I reminded him. “If you ever want to.”

  “Thank you.” He cleared his throat and took a massive gulp of coffee from the mug that was trembling in his grip. “I probably won’t ever though. Want to talk about it, I mean. That’s not a moment in my life that requires an encore, Ace.”

  “But don’t you think it might help?” My hands fiddled with the handle of my mug. “To talk about it? I think it could help.”

  He choked on his coffee, dark liquid dribbling down his chin. “For the love of God, why? I told you, A. I’m fine.” He shoved back the sheet and stood up, setting his mug on top of my half-empty bag of Red Vines and wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “I’m gonna go shower.”

  “You have to do that right this second? Why are you avoiding the conversation?”

  “I’m not avoiding shit, Ace!” he barked, snatching the pair of jeans he was wearing last night off the floor. “I don’t know how many God damn times I have to say I’m fine before you get it through your head. Why are you pushing me on this?”

  Because I loved him. Plain and simple. I loved him, and witnessing him in emotional pain strong enough to crack his thick resolve was borderline unbearable. But all in all, he was right. I was pushing him to talk about something that happened less than twelve hours ago. He hadn’t even had time to take a shower and wash his balls, let alone wrap his mind around what he’d experienced when he wasn’t even lucid.

  “I’m sorry,” I said sincerely. “You’re right. Go take your shower.”

  “You’re mad at me.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Then why does your face look like you've swallowed a basketball?” He groaned and dropped his jeans. “Why do you never believe me when I tell you I’m fine?”

  I snorted. “Maybe because you’ve been spouting off that bullshit since the day I met you? You don’t have to be fine twenty-four seven, Brett. Not in front of me.”

  “Well, maybe I’m sick and fucking tired of letting all my crazy show around you.”

  I jerked. “What?”

  “You’re right. For as long as I’ve known you, I haven’t been fine. And you know something, A? I’m so over not being fine. I want to be more than that around you.”

  I frowned and set my coffee aside, sitting up and tucking my feet under my butt. “More than what, Brett? What are you talking about?”

  “I scared you,” he stated. “Last night. I scared the shit right out of you.”

  Taking in the harsh lines of his face and wrinkles around his lips as he scowled, I almost missed the solemn look his eyes were giving me.

  “I scared you, A. You were sitting there, your chest heaving and tears on your face. Who knows how long you were screaming to wake me up. What if I would’ve flailed hard enough to hit you? Or knocked you off the bed?”

  I shook my head before he was even finished talking. I knew where this was going and it ended on a painful road for both of us. “Don’t do that to yourself, Brett.”

  “Do what?” he shouted, smacking himself on the chest with each word he rasped. “I. Scared. You. I pulled you from a peaceful rest and practically dragged you into my living nightmare. And now you’re awake again, trying to get inside my head to see what I seen but just stop, okay? I don’t fucking want you to see!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m a little crazy!”

  “Nobody said nothing about you being crazy.”

  “Please?” His voice dropped. My chest caved in when I saw defeat in his eyes. “Please, let it go?”

  “No,” I said firmly, standing and trying to look stern in a pair of Mario underwear. “I will not let it go. Having a nightmare like that does not make you crazy. Especially when I’m the one who caused it.”

  He stepped backward, running into the edge of the dresser. “Don’t even say that. I’ve been having nightmares for years.”

  “Really? Because you haven’t had one damn nightmare since you moved in here. Not until I went and triggered you.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek. “Triggered me?”

  “Yeah, B. Triggered you. I brought up old
demons by telling you about Kade emailing me and me not understanding why yet. I’m sorry the devil got thrust back into your life, and I’m sorry you had a nightmare.”

  He said nothing. Didn’t make a sound as he stood against the dresser and seemingly took in what I was trying to say. God. It gutted me he’d somehow concluded he was crazy. All because of a reaction. An intense, real reaction caused by the fear and fury he felt when Kade Wilson was involved.

  “Will you lay with me?” I gestured to the bed. “Snuggle for a while?”

  “No.”

  Ouch. “Okay then.”

  “I need to stand… I… Shit, Ace. I…” An uneven gurgle left his throat, and that’s how I knew. Knew he was suddenly struggling to breathe.

  I catapulted my body over a pile of clothes and wrapped my aching limbs around his trembling ones. “Breathe, baby.” I held his head with both hands and kissed his parted lips. “Breathe.”

  “Jesus,” he gasped. “Ace.”

  “I got you.”

  “You’re right, I think.” He pulled my body tight against his chest and held me like I was keeping him grounded. And maybe I was. I couldn’t think of anything I’d ever done that was more important. “Talking about Kade triggered me.”

  “That wasn't my intention. I'm sor–”

  “Please, don’t.” He ground out. “Don’t apologize. I want you to tell me. I want to be involved and kept in the loop. I want to be strong enough to handle it but sometimes, I’m just not, Ace. I’m not.” A tear raced down his cheek and it hurt so fucking bad to witness it fall off his face and onto the floor, I wanted to scoop it up and give it back to him. “I’m not stupid, Ace. I know, okay? I know I have some sort of anxiety attacks or panic attacks. I know I probably suffer from a form of PTSD, but holy shit, Ace! She died! My sister fucking died! I went to her funeral, brought flowers to her grave, and talked to the sky like she was up there. She was fucking dead. Gone, and then one day I get a call and she’s not anymore?”

  The wheeze that ripped from his chest had me wishing I could reach down my throat and take a fistful of my own air and hand it to him. Watching Brett suffer was not just painful. It sucked everything right out of me. I felt powerless and distraught standing there and watching him cry. I became completely out of balance with my own body because all I wanted to focus on was what he was feeling.