The Bad Boy's Woman (Hidden Masks Book 2)

by Nia Arthurs

  “Then where will you go?”

  “I’ve got some friends.”

  “What friends?” For all the time I’d known her, she’d never mentioned any other acquaintances. None except the older guy she was crushing on. My gaze sharpened. “You’re not going to ‘him’ are you?”

  “So what if I am?”

  “Angie, that’s dangerous.”

  “No, it’s not. Trust me. It’s perfectly safe.”

  “You shouldn’t stay over alone with an older guy. You could get hurt.”

  She snorted. “I wish. He wouldn’t touch me with a fishing pole.”

  “Still…” I shifted from one foot to the next. “You can stay with me.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because we’re friends.” I batted my eyelashes. “Please.”

  After that, Angie crashed at my place at least once every month. She never told me why she wasn’t going home or what was so bad it made her want to run away.

  I never asked.

  It was funny to me that James showed his scars sooner than Angie did. We’d been friends for six months, and I spent more time with her—during lunch and every Saturday—than I did with my boyfriend.

  “Let’s get this crap over with,” Angie mumbled, slapping her towel over her shoulder. As we walked outside together, I heard her mumble, “I need a smoke.”

  AFTER THE SHIFT, I waited for Angie on the back stoop of the restaurant. I’d already changed out of my apron and hat and stood shivering in a T-shirt and jeans. Rain clouds floated in the sky. I hoped we got to the bus stop before it started pouring.

  My phone buzzed.

  I glanced down and saw a message from James. Excitement skittered in my stomach. I’d sent him a message early this morning, but he hadn’t replied. I figured he was asleep and didn’t sweat it.

  Yesterday had been rough, but there was one silver lining.

  James finally revealed his true self to me. Not the prickly bad boy version that strutted around campus acting like he didn’t give a damn. Not the suave ladies man who could convince a girl to undress with just one look.

  The real him.

  The one that got misty-eyed because he was young, scared and helpless.

  The one that desperately clutched his mother and begged her to find the strength to protect them both.

  The one that swept me off my feet for fear I’d cut myself on broken glass, even though I had shoes on.

  I liked that rugged, honest version of James more.

  JAMES: Hey, sorry I’m just answering.

  JAMES: I’m okay.

  I texted back.

  MONIQUE: How’s your mom?

  JAMES: Passed out. She drank all day. Dad’s still not back yet.

  I held the phone to my chest and sucked in a breath as I looked at the darkening sky. A cool breeze blew a trail of leaves through the air. Spring was on the horizon and the leaves reflected the luminous colors soon to come.

  I watched those leaves bounce up and down, flailing in the breeze. They looked like they were dancing. It was hard to tear my eyes away. How could something so fragile dance in the light of a coming storm?

  My phone chirped.

  I pulled it out.

  JAMES: Where are you?

  I started to type out a reply when the door creaked open.

  Angie pounced on me, throwing an arm around my shoulder. “Ready to go?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who were you texting?”

  I shoved the phone into my pocket. “James.”

  “Ah.” She winked. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “It’s fine. You weren’t.”

  Angie glanced at the sky and hooked her fingers around the crook of my elbow. “Let’s get out of here before it rains. I just installed these braids. I can’t get them wet.”

  We ran together. Straight through the parking lot. Past the front of the pizza parlor.

  Lampposts burst to life around us, each pop lighting up the night. The sky, eager to beat us to the bus stop, let loose a slow drizzle that hastened our steps. Angie squealed when the first raindrop hit her nose. I glanced at the swirling grey clouds.

  There was no way we were going to beat that.

  A horn blared in the dimness.

  We spun and found a familiar vehicle waiting beside the sidewalk.

  “Isn’t that James’s car?” Angie asked, peering through the gloom.

  I nodded and pulled her forward. “Let’s go.”

  We slid into the vehicle just as the heavens broke apart and unleashed the rain. The tinny sound was like a hundred bats beating their wings against the roof. I let out a breath, glad we’d escaped the deluge.

  James grinned at me and reached over to swipe his thumb over my damp cheek. His face was so close I could see every fleck of black in his dark brown eyes.

  “Hey,” I said breathlessly. “What are you doing here?”

  “I heard it was raining in the weather forecast so I came equipped.” He nodded to the umbrella tucked under my seat. “Sorry I wasn’t here in time.”

  “You did good.” Angie slapped his shoulder.

  James grinned at her. “Your praise means a lot.”

  “As it should.”

  “Are we taking you home, Angie?”

  “Nope.”

  “The church then?” James asked, peering past the windshield wipers and driving carefully.

  “Please don’t. I’m crashing at Monique’s.”

  “Cool.”

  “I’m not messing up your date or anything, am I?” Angie asked, her gaze bouncing between the two of us. “Because you can leave me on the side of the road. I’m down.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I scolded her.

  “We didn’t have anything planned,” James said. “It’s cool.”

  I studied his profile as he drove. He seemed calm, put-together. There was no sign that the drama last night had seeped into the present.

  James caught me staring and smirked. “What?”

  “Nothing. Just…” I licked my lips. “You’re very handsome.”

  “I guess my lesson last night worked.”

  Angie shifted. “Would you two just get a room already?”

  I laughed and stared straight ahead.

  James parked safely in front of my apartment and moved to hop out. I put a hand on his arm to keep him inside. Grabbing the umbrella, I handed it to Angie.

  “What’s this for?” Angie demanded. “Aren’t you coming in?”

  “In a minute. Go on ahead.”

  “But I only have one umbrella,” James argued.

  “It’s fine.” I pulled on a curl. “I’m not afraid of the rain.”

  “Suit yourself.” Angie shrugged, opened the door and jogged out.

  James narrowed his eyes. “She didn’t even argue.”

  “Forget that.” I swiveled to face him. “Are you really okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Tell me the truth. It’s not everyday you learn you have an older brother.”

  “Alex is not my—” His jaw clenched. “He has nothing to do with my family.”

  “Okay.”

  “Mo,” he took my hand and gently rubbed circles into my wrist, “I appreciate your concern. I really do, but I’ve spent my entire life dealing with my parents. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  “Tell me if it’s ever too much,” I whispered.

  “I will.” He glanced at his watch. “I should go. My mom is conked out and I don’t want to leave her for too long.”

  I scrambled for the latch. Then turned back around. “Call me. If you need anything. Even if it’s just to hear my voice. If you tell me to come, I’ll come.”

  He tapped my cheek. “You worry too much.”

  I frowned at the way he was brushing me off but, concerned about his mother being alone, I hopped out of the car and dashed toward the apartment.

  To my surprise, James jumped out of the driver’s side and followed me. At t
he sound of his footsteps, I whirled around and saw he was wearing nothing but a white vest. His T-shirt flapped above his raised arms. He was soaked by the time he caught up and held the cloth over my head.

  I brushed a raindrop out of my eye. “Are you crazy? You could get sick!”

  “Nah.” He grinned in that devil-may-care way. “I couldn’t let my girl walk in the rain.”

  He was shivering harder by the time we made it to my apartment’s front steps.

  “James, you’re all wet.” I rubbed his lean arms down.

  He suddenly swept me up and kissed me. Hard.

  I eased back, my heart racing. “What was that for?”

  “No reason.”

  “You should go. Your mom is waiting.”

  “You’re the one making it hard to leave.”

  I realized I was still drying him off with my hands and pulled them back. “Sorry.”

  He winked. “I’ll see you later.”

  I waved, watched him dart back into the rain and drive away.

  “Whoo! That was hot!” a voice said.

  I shrieked.

  Angie stepped out of the shadows. “When you said James was a good kisser, I didn’t think he was melt-your-clothes-off good.”

  “Why were you hiding back there?” I demanded, my cheeks heating.

  “I wasn’t hiding. You two were just so absorbed with each other you didn’t notice me.” She nodded to her umbrella. “I figured I’d help you out, but James was already doing his Boyfriend-Of-The-Year routine.”

  “Yeah, he is pretty sweet.”

  “Have you two done it?”

  “Done what?”

  Angie thrust her hips forward with a wicked grin.

  I pulled my lips in. “No.”

  “Oy.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means he’s James Freaking Sawyer. He’s banged half the sophomores in his class. How do you expect to be with him if you don’t put out?”

  My heart twitched. “I just… want to wait until marriage. It’s important to me.”

  “Oh.” Her smile cracked. “How noble.”

  She might as well have said, ‘how stupid’.

  Uneasy, I followed her up the stairs. My convictions were a part of me, but things were going so well with James. Would my stance on sex be a problem?

  9

  MUSIC IS A DEAD END

  James

  WHEN I GOT BACK HOME, I tossed my car keys on the table in the foyer. The house was still. Deathly silent. Dad’s car wasn’t parked in the garage. He hadn’t come home and I’d bet he hadn’t called either.

  I briefly wondered where he’d holed himself up. Was he with friends? What would he tell them? Dad made sure the world thought we were a perfect version of the American dream so crashing on someone else’s couch would shatter that illusion.

  It made more sense that he was in some expensive hotel, sipping wine and contemplating the folly of his youth.

  Or he could be passed out on the side of the road.

  He could be at The Greasy Monkey, letting off some steam.

  Or he could be dead.

  Honestly, I was hoping for the last option.

  My footsteps thudded against the stairs as I headed to the second floor and knocked on the door to Mom’s room. A faint answer let me know she was up.

  I pushed the door aside and stepped in. The curtains were drawn. A lamp on the nightstand revealed the pastel colors on the wall and the light blue bed sheets. It was a pretty room, spacious and polished.

  Since we’d been in and out of The Greasy Monkey for years, we knew exactly what the theme of their décor was. The bedrooms in the back of the bar were all heavy velvet tapestry, fuzzy rugs and red. Lots and lots of red.

  Mom’s bedroom was her sanctuary and she went to great lengths to ensure it looked nothing like that.

  I knelt and brushed Mom’s hair away from her forehead.

  Her eyelashes fluttered. “Darius?”

  “No, ma. It’s me.”

  Her sigh of disappointment would have hurt my feelings if I weren’t so used to it.

  She struggled to sit up. Her body odor hit me in the face. The stench was a mixture of hopelessness and liquor. She’d been drinking in between dozing and it showed.

  “Mom, you need to eat.”

  “I don’t want oatmeal.”

  “It’s better for your stomach. You’ve been throwing up since morning.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “Then tell me what you do want. I’ll make it for you.”

  “Has your dad called?” she asked desperately.

  “No.”

  Mom fell into the bed and rolled over so her back was to me. “I’m tired.”

  “I’m not leaving until you eat at least some of the oatmeal.”

  “Fine.” She shot up and grabbed the spoon so violently the thick mixture splattered all over the room.

  A wad of it hit my face. I barely flinched.

  Mom pretended not to notice and shoveled oatmeal into her mouth. “You happy?”

  “Yes.” I gently took the half-empty bowl and slid it away from her. “Thank you.”

  She responded with stony silence.

  I slumped out of the room. When I was outside in the hall, I swiped my cheek with two fingers. The oatmeal was sticky against my skin. I headed to the bathroom to rinse off. After washing my hands, I splashed water on my face and stared at myself in the mirror.

  A tall, thin guy looked back at me. He had pale skin. Brown eyes. Thick black hair.

  It was my face for a moment.

  And then it morphed into my father’s.

  Anger coiled within me, snatching my breath. I forced my gaze away. No matter how often I was complimented, I could never appreciate my appearance. Not when every inch of it was patterned off someone so despicable.

  I thought of my mother, shattering in her bedroom like the canister she broke last night. Would Alex’s revelation be the feather that cracked our family permanently? Or would Mom pretend it was another bump in the road to her epic love?

  I sighed and dried my face with the towel.

  After collecting myself, I walked to my bedroom. Since I had no gigs tonight, I planned on laying down some tracks for a new melody that had been thrumming through my head. Nothing like scandalous family secrets to get the creative juices flowing.

  I lifted the lid of my laptop and checked my phone for new messages from Monique. Angie was over at her place, so I didn’t really expect to hear from her but I always checked my phone just in case.

  There were no texts from my girlfriend, but I was stunned to find a message from Marissa.

  We hadn’t spoken since she left Pine Hill last year. Mostly because she’d lied to me for months about a baby that didn’t exist.

  I still remembered the way she broached the topic.

  “James, I’m pregnant,” Marissa said, sticking her pregnancy test in the air.

  I moved on instinct, slapped her hand down and glanced around to make sure no one near the lockers had spotted the test. “What the hell?”

  “I’m sorry.” Her green eyes filled with tears. “I missed my period, but I didn’t think…”

  “Let’s go somewhere quiet,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Okay.”

  I pulled her into an empty hallway and folded my arms over my chest. “Are you sure?”

  “These tests are never wrong.”

  A headache descended. I closed my eyes. “How far along are you?”

  “About six weeks.”

  “And you’re sure it’s mine?”

  Silence.

  “Marissa—” I popped my eyes open and found her glaring at me. “What?”

  “Are you really asking me that?”

  “It’s a valid question.”

  “You’re the only one I’ve been with for the past few months. There was no one else.”

  “Okay.” I inhaled a deep breath. “What do we do?�
�

  She trembled. “I don’t know, James. I’m scared.”

  “It’s okay.” I hugged her. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

  If only I knew there was nothing to ‘figure out’. In the end, Marissa wasn’t pregnant at all. The test had been wrong.

  Still, determined to have my child, she convinced herself she was pregnant and dragged me along for the ride.

  I was ecstatic when that craziness was over.

  “What does she want?” I mumbled, my finger sweeping over the screen. Marissa filled my life with drama. I’d dumped her in the ‘never-want-to-see-again’ box.

  But… if she’s dying or something?

  In the end, my curiosity won over my common sense.

  I unlocked the screen.

  Marissa’s message popped up.

  MARISSA: Hey.

  MARISSA: I know you might not want to talk to me, but I’m missing Pine Hill a lot. How is everything going?

  I clenched my jaw and set the phone aside. Is that all?

  Talking to Marissa again would be opening Pandora’s box. Things were going well with Monique and I didn’t want to give her any reason to distrust me.

  Turning my phone off, I swung to my computer and worked on my song for the next hour and a half.

  The sound of a car engine entering the garage grabbed my attention. I glanced up and listened keenly. Keys rattled in the front door. I shot out of my seat and rushed downstairs just in time to see Dad stumble into the room.

  He was dressed in the same clothes he’d worn last night. His black hair lay in dirty clumps over his head. Mysterious orange stains spread on his shirt.

  I recoiled when he stepped closer to me. “Oh, you smell.”

  “My son!” Dad laughed, a sound that was both refreshing and upsetting at the same time. My father only laughed in front of people he wanted to impress, and even then the sound was hollow and insincere.

  “Dad, are you… drunk?”

  “Me?” He lumbered to the sofa and flopped in. “No, sir.”

  I sank into the armchair and looked at him. Pathetic. Why did so many people clamor to give him awards and call him important? He was just a normal guy, as broken and pitiful as the rest of us.

  But at least he was in a good mood.

  I’d expected him to be roaring and raging about the way Mom had treated him last night. It was why I’d wavered about going out to see Monique. When I eventually left home, dread had filled me every minute I was apart from Mom.