by Harper Sloan
Before he even has a chance to reply, I push off the wall and into the doorway, blocking his view of Dyllan. "You've had your naughty bit inside my best friend, you sicko!" I scream the accusation at him.
I can't remember the last time I was able to lie in bed for hours and just gaze outside at the beautiful blue sky. I didn't even close the shades last night before bed. Instead, I bypassed the button that would silently lower the dark panels over the huge expanse of glass that makes up a whole wall of my bedroom in favor of the second night of bliss promised by sleeping in my own bed after way too long. I should have taken the time, though, because the sun always hits the pool at this time of the morning, reflecting a bright beam of light right into my room. Even with that annoying wake-up call, I can't be bothered to move, so I stretch out and decide I deserve just to lie here.
It's boring.
It's lazy.
So unproductive.
It's the perfect beginning to the day. The smile that was already present on my face before my mind had even completely woke to full consciousness widens at the thought.
How long have I wanted, no ... how long have I craved this right here? I'm almost afraid to move, for fear that this will all be a dream and I'll wake up to find that I'm really on the tour bus in some city in the United States that I have to have someone remind me to get right before I go on stage.
"Morning, sleepyhead," my brother sings, coming into the lounge area that is set up right by the doorway of my room. He doesn't wait for a response before walking fully into my room.
"I think it's more like afternoon, Wes, but I'll take it."
"Just checking to see if you need anything. Jamison, Luke, and I are headed out to meet Dyllan for some new clothes and shit. I never thought I would look forward to the day I could go shopping on my own."
I laugh. "How did she take you asking to actually go shopping instead of her picking up a bunch of shit to bring here for you to choose from?"
"I'm pretty sure she thinks we've lost our minds. Maybe we have, but we've been home for a week, and I already feel like a new man."
"You aren't wrong," I agree with a bubble of laughter. "God, Wes. All it took was a week, and I already feel like the constant struggle to breathe is gone." I pause. "I was starting to resent the music, you know," I finish, my voice small and sad.
"I know, I know. I thought by now I would have some regret over ending things with Brighthouse, but all I feel is relief ... and excitement."
He searches my face, a small smile playing on his lips. "I'm not sure if we would be sitting here right now if it wasn't for that whole not marriage you've gotten yourself into."
I tag one of the pillows next to me and toss it at his head. His hand comes up, and he easily deflects the movement.
"Careful, sister. Think of my not niece!"
"Oh, you annoying little shit," I jabber then both of us start laughing, loudly.
"Slumber party!" Jamison yells from the end of the bed, jumping and landing hard on the bed next to me, causing my body to bounce. "I always knew I would get in bed with you." He wags his brows and makes a throaty meow noise in the back of his throat.
"You're the most annoying man in the whole world," I inform him.
He shrugs.
"Where are Luke and Chance?" I question, not that I expected Chance to join in, but Luke usually isn't too far behind Jami.
"Gym, I think. At least, that's the last place that I saw Chance on my way upstairs. You have that man working out day and night to burn off his sexual tension. If you're not going to give in to me then, by God, put him out of his misery."
Wes makes a sound close to gagging and stands from the bed. I roll my eyes, but for once, I actually give Jamison's advice some merit. I have been avoiding Chance for pretty much the whole week--something that clearly hasn't gone unnoticed. I think I did it more out of self-preservation than anything else. I'm not sure what to do with the feelings swirling through my body, completely feverish in their insanity, when he's around.
"You know that can't happen," I confess with a slight wave to my words, making them come out more like a question than a statement.
"And why is that, Wren?" Wes pipes in, not looking grossed out anymore. His blue eyes almost look hopeful. I guess the question would be whether he's hopeful that I believe that, or hopeful that I'm questioning it.
"He works for us, Wes. He's supposed to keep me safe, not sated."
Jamison sits up, crossing his legs in front of him. His blond hair falls into his eyes, and he brushes it back with a lazy run of his fingers through the thickness. "Yeah, but who are we to say he can't do both?"
"I think he's the one who's saying that actually," I embarrassingly admit.
"Has he actually said you two can't be together?"
I think back to the times we have been together. He warned me not to start something with him. He advised me to protect myself from him. But he's never said no. He's never sounded like he didn't want me either. "Not that I can recall."
"Then I guess it's up to you now," Jamison says, his normally joking jabs absent as complete seriousness falls over him. "He makes you laugh, Wren. He makes those shadows dancing in your eyes vanish. For the first time in too long, you aren't acting like a dark cloud is hanging over your head. I'm not the smartest bastard around, but it doesn't take a fucking genius to figure out that all of that started almost two weeks ago. The same time Chance Nash walked into our lives in New York."
"Whoa, Jamison. Getting deep, bro." Wes slaps his shoulder. He might have wanted his words to come across as lighthearted and joking, but the way he's looking at me speaks a different story. He breaks our connection and gives Jamison a small nod. Then we're alone again, and the door shuts softly behind Jamison as he exits.
"Do you like this guy?"
"Straight to the point, Weston," I grumble.
"Do you," he reiterates.
My shoulders drop with a sigh. "Yeah, Wes. I do."
"You don't even know him, Wren. He's been around for two weeks, and aside from when we were in New York and the trip home, you've gone out of your way to avoid him. How can you like someone you don't know?"
"I avoid him because he scares the shit out of me."
He startles at my response. "How so?"
"The way he makes me feel, Wes. Never have I felt anything like that ... except when we're on stage. Like I'm completely high and out of my mind with the way my nerves dance in my body. Everything comes alive. My skin feels hypersensitive. My ears amplify the sounds around me. My vision is clear and crisp with a brightness that looks fake. It's absolutely terrifying."
"Jesus Christ," Wes sputters.
"Tell me what happens when I give in to what I feel for this man? What happens when I give in to those feelings and then ... then he turns out to be just like the rest?"
Wes frowns. "Just like the rest?"
"The rest of the people who only wanted what being with us could bring to their lives. What if I do get a chance with him, and he ends up hating me because of the fame?"
Understanding dawns on his face. "Fuck, Wren," he whispers, coming to sit next to me on the bed and pulling me into his comforting arms. He waits for me to rest my head on his shoulder before he speaks again. "Not everyone is like that, baby sister. We've kept to ourselves, the four of us, since we left home. The boys you dated before then, they were just that ... boys. I'm not saying that your fears aren't justified, but we agreed to leave our past behind us a long time ago. You need to let go of those fears. Not everyone is out to use us."
"Garrett did."
"Garrett was a twenty-one-year-old punk. It's been five years, Wren. Chance is a man, not some kid desperate to make his dreams come true."
"People still become greedy, no matter the age," I grunt.
"Don't let our fucking parents do that. Don't let them influence your life all these years later. Not after we've won by succeeding when they vowed we would fail."
"Wes ..." I exhale. "Our own parents tried
to use us. How can you believe that others should be trusted not to do it when the people who gave us life did?"
His head drops to rest against mine. His free hand comes up into my line of sight, and he holds it palm up, waiting. My eyes water, thinking about all the years we used to sit just like this when we were upset. The second my palm touches his, just like every time before, my brother gives me strength with a simple touch of our hands.
"Not everyone is like that. I won't insult you by trying to justify why they neglected us. Honestly, Wren, nothing could justify that, but for me, I have to believe they are the worst things we will ever have in our lives, and something better is waiting for us to find it. Someone who will show us that all the shit we put up with as kids was worth it because they're the reward waiting for us. You have to give someone a chance to discover if they're the reward."
I pull my hand from his and wipe at my eyes. "And if I fall for this man, the allure of a reward, only to find him not there to catch me?"
My brother's arm tightens around me. "Then you still won't hit the ground, little sister, because I will always be here to make sure you never fall far."
"Love you, bub," I sniffle, using the nickname I had for him when we were small children.
"Love you right back, sissy."
The guys left an hour ago. I feel vulnerable after the heaviness of my chat with Wes, in a sense, so like the coward I am, I've stuck to my bedroom instead of venturing out. For the first time since we moved into this huge house, I thank my lucky stars that the guys let me have the master bedroom suite. Not only is it huge, but there's a bar next to the fireplace that sits across from my bed, a smaller room attached to the large bedroom that holds a couch and some chairs, a TV, and some bookshelves, and a bathroom that could double as a private spa.
Seriously, it's like a small heaven.
The guys all took rooms on the lower level of our house, leaving me not only with the huge master but also making the main level of our home feel more like I live alone.
The floor plan of our house is like a large U shape; the lanai and pool area are in the middle of that U, outdoors and overlooking the city below, mountains in the distance, and houses around the hills that surround us.
My bedroom area, two of the guest rooms, and an office make up one tip of the letter's shape. The formal living room and formal dining room are on the curve with the front door, along with the staircase that leads below. The kitchen, laundry, massive pantry, complete with a wine storage room, and a second more relaxed living room make up the other tip of the letter.
The guys' rooms and two other guest rooms are all under the kitchen's side, leaving the movie theater under mine--with the studio and gym under the center.
It's huge--unnecessarily so--but I've never regretted the huge chunk of change that we put down on it. I don't even think a small army would be enough to fill the ridiculous amount of space we have in our home.
Which is perfect when you're trying to avoid someone.
I open my door and stick my head out, looking down the hallway to see if I can sense any movement further in the house. I know he's here ... I can feel him. His very presence is a tangible tingle that dances across my skin, making goose bumps pop up in its wake.
"What are you doing?"
I jump, scream, and whirl around to face the man of the house, standing in the middle of the hallway, opposite of the direction where I had been looking.
"Uh," I stutter.
"You were trying to find out where I was, weren't you?"
My face heats, and his eyes drop lower. I can just imagine that my face is flaming red, probably my neck, and most likely, the parts of my chest that are exposed from the low neckline of my tank top.
"Why are you avoiding me, Wrenlee?" he jibes.
"Dammit," I hiss. It's now or never. I can continue to be a little coward, or I can hike up my pants--er, leggings--and stop being afraid. "Shit." I look around, not meeting his eyes, but then as if lightning had struck right where I stood, I know what I need to do. My spine straightens and my shoulders go back as confidence fills my body with every breath. I meet his gaze and shrug. "Because it was easier to avoid you than get turned down when you--again--deny the chemistry between us."
"Wren." He steps forward, bringing our bodies just a few feet away from touching.
"No, Chance. No more bullshit. Give me one good reason why we can't explore this, and don't you dare use being my security as one."
"It's not that simple. I ..." He cups the back of his neck, looking down as the silence grows between us.
"You know what," I quietly fuss, getting him to look up. "I lied. I avoided you because I'm absolutely scared out of my mind of the way you make me feel. It's insane. I haven't known you long enough to feel this strongly about you. I know next to nothing about you personally, but it doesn't matter. I feel my body being pulled to yours, and it scares the shit out of me."
"You are scared of me?" He emits an incredulous, sarcastic-like laugh with his words.
"Out of my mind with fear." I continue to hold my body, giving an appearance of confidence that I don't think I feel completely.
"You have no idea what it's like to feel fear over what someone could do to you if you let them get close, Wren. You are ... you, Wren. And me ... I'm just some nobody with nothing to show for his thirty-one years but a handful of friends and a whole lot of empty. I can't let you in, Wren. I'll do what I need to do for the public, but you hold far more power over me than I ever could over you. I warned you, Wren. You have to protect yourself from me."
The pain in his voice makes me falter on my feet before I move forward two steps and cup his cheeks with my hands. "I don't want to protect myself from you. I want to give myself to you."
Awareness and lust sparks in his eyes, those swirls of blues and greens turning into a kaleidoscope of magic as he holds my gaze. "I can't. I can't handle what happens when it all ends, and it always, always ends."
"Then I guess I have to prove to you that you're wrong." The truth in my words hits us both differently. My words, spoken out loud, renew my strength to let go of my past and the hang-ups that it's already soiled me with. For him, though, he looks almost nervous.
"You won't win this battle, Wren," he tells me, but he lacks the conviction needed to make me believe what he's saying.
"Oh, Chance, you won't win," I whisper, coming up on my toes to press a feather light kiss to his lips then pulling back to look into his eyes. "You might think you will, but mark my words, I will have you, and you're going to love it. Every. Single. Second. If I can put my fears aside to just take this chance and open myself up to your rejection time and time again, then you can do the same and stop letting whatever hurt you before stand in the way of your life."
I pull back and give him a small smile then turn to leave him alone to think about what I just said. One thing's for sure, though; even if he continues to deny us what we both clearly want, I'll just have to make sure he doesn't succeed.
Fucking, fuck, motherfucking FUCK!
I leave the empty hallway and stomp forward, following the sounds of her puttering around in the kitchen.
"You need to stop this game, Wren." My breathing is erratic; fists balled at the sides of my hips.
"It isn't a game, Chance."
"Then what is it you want? What could possibly come of us giving in to this thing between us?"
She stops fidgeting with the cold-cut meat she had been placing on the kitchen island and faces me. Her hair falling free around her head, the patch that she had saved around her temple a little longer than it was when I first met her, making me wonder how often she has to shave it. She looks tiny, the oversized tank top falling in a baggy swoop over her chest, her torso swimming in the material. I know from watching her over the past week since arriving at their home in California that the leggings she favors cup her firm ass perfectly, and when she's walking down the stairs, the fabric molds to her pussy in a way that makes my mouth water.
Even if I can't see that now, because of her shirt's length, those images have forever been burned into my brain. I've never been so thankful for such ridiculous printed leggings before until recently.
"I want to take a gamble and hope that my reward will be waiting for me. A chance for Chance."
I grip the smooth surface of the quartz countertop, dropping my head with a sigh. "You're asking for the impossible."
She moves, her tiny feet taking her from the other side of the island, closer to me. She doesn't stop until she's so close that every part of her body is touching mine, her big blue eyes just looking up at me. No talking, our breathing harsh and loud as it echoes off the wall, and she shivers. I can feel it, that need my body has for hers, the power of it calling out to hers, and I feel my resolve crumbling.
"I have no way of knowing what will happen tomorrow, Chance. I can't even assume that I can predict the next hour. All I know is that even with everything I could possibly want or need in my life surrounding me, I still feel empty. Before you popped into my life, I had been struggling to find something that I even liked about that life. I sensed I was searching for something, but I didn't have a clue as to what. Then you showed up, and it was as if every lock inside me had popped open. I had no idea what to do with that until I stopped being afraid that my past would repeat itself. Now I know that, in order for me not to go back to that place I was in, I have to be able to let people in and take a chance. So, yeah ... it might feel impossible, but I'm just asking for my Chance."
"You're going to destroy me," I tell her, trying to reason with her by giving her the truth of my fears.
"We're going to destroy each other and then put the pieces back together, so there aren't any more cracks." Her words, confusing to many, show me just how well Wrenlee has pegged me.
I bend my body and give in to the temptation I've felt since I met her. My hands slide around her waist, and with a tug, I eliminate any space between our bodies. She emits a shocked squeak from her lips, and a second later, her hands are around my neck. She struggles with our height difference before I give in and lift her from the ground to sit on the island, stepping between her legs. My forehead goes to hers, lightly resting there, and I don't look away from the questions in her eyes.