Beard Necessities: Winston Brothers Book #7

by Penny Reid

  Basically, his fixating could be anything.

  When he didn’t continue speaking but continued to visibly struggle, I straightened from the desk and crossed to him, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Hey. It’s okay. Tell me how I can help.”

  “It’s Scarlet.”

  I tensed, a spear of worry making my heart stutter.

  She’d disappeared in the middle of the night, leaving me a note about attending a giant music festival in Tennessee, but also leaving me confused. I wanted to be a support to her. I would never hold her back. So though I wasn’t upset she’d left to chase her dreams, I was disappointed. I wished she’d asked me to go, I’d follow her anywhere. However, her promise to meet in Rome at the end of the week had helped soothe some of the sting.

  But now, examining my brother’s anxious profile, worry ballooned. “What about Scarlet?”

  “She did it to help.”

  I held still, asking quietly, “What? What did she do?”

  Cletus closed his eyes. “She’s going to tell you when you see her next, she promised me.”

  “Then you can tell me now and save her the trouble.”

  “Okay,” he agreed immediately, like he’d been waiting for me to make this very suggestion. He opened his eyes and held mine. “Somehow, Scarlet ascertained that Razor had accused you of assault with his own knife while he was unconscious at the diner. So she decided to fly back to Nashville, visit him in prison, and see if she could get him to admit he was lying. And therefore, make an official statement to the FBI and clear your name.”

  “She WHAT?!” My hand dropped.

  My brother winced at my shouted question, his shoulders bunching. “She decided to fly back to Nashville, visit—”

  “I heard you the first time, Cletus!” I spun from my brother, stabbing my fingers through my hair. I knew my brother well enough to know what he really meant was, Scarlet flew to Nashville to visit Razor so she could lie to the FBI.

  My brain was on fire. My heart had left my body. I paced back and forth, feeling caged, feeling helpless. I hated feeling helpless. I couldn’t—I couldn’t— “And you knew? You knew she was going to do this? What was she thinking? And what the hell were you thinking? Letting her go see that man? Do you have any idea what he did to her? The kind of hell he put her through?”

  “That’s why I’m fixating.”

  “Damn right, you should be fixating!”

  “I mean, other than the coming face-to-face with her father, her plan is solid.”

  “Fuck the plan!” I stopped myself before I cleared the desk of my laptop, phone, the vase, and the lamp just so I could hear the noise of destruction.

  “No. The plan is good. And it saves you from going to jail, which—”

  I advanced on my brother, my hands balling into fists. “I don’t care about going to jail, Cletus. I did what I did and I’m not sorry for it and it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let Scarlet put herself through the horror of facing her father just to protect me.”

  “Oh? You mean like how you put yourself through the horror of facing her father just to protect her?”

  I glared at him. “That was different.”

  “And why was it different?”

  “Because—” I couldn’t focus on my brother through the red clouding my vision. How could she do this? Why would she put herself through this?

  “I reckon she did it because she loves you,” Cletus said, and I realized I’d spoken at least one of my questions out loud.

  “She lied to me. She said she was going to Nashville to perform at a concert.”

  Cletus shook his head before I’d finished my sentence. “She did not lie to you. She is going to Nashville to perform at that concert. It’s tomorrow.”

  “You know what I mean. She misled me.”

  “Yep. Probably because she knew you’d try to stop her.”

  “Damn right I’d try to stop her. I would’ve turned myself in. I would’ve—”

  “Gone to jail,” he finished for me. “And then she’d be visiting you weekly instead of visiting her father just the one time. That sounds like such a nice future for y’all. I can’t imagine why she took matters—and her happiness—into her own hands like she did. How selfish.”

  My fists on my hips, I scowled at my brother and his nonsense. As I scowled and as he met my heated stare straight on, his words penetrated the rage barrier around my brain.

  Reluctantly, I ceded he had a point. But I couldn’t wholly accept his argument.

  On a visceral level, the thought of Scarlet seeing her father again sickened and enraged me. The mere idea was abhorrent to every part of my being. Even as I sparred with my brother, I grappled to keep a grip on the violent intensity of my seething wrath.

  I hated the man. I’d been the one who’d cut his hands, not Scarlet. And I hadn’t regretted the decision, I hadn’t repented or felt an ounce of contrition about it until just now, now that she would pay the price.

  “If she gets caught lying for me, we’ll both go to jail,” I pointed out the obvious, fear and anger coating my throat. Just the thought of her in prison, suffering for my act of vengeance, I’d go crazy.

  “Then don’t get caught,” he said, like it was so simple.

  I looked at my brother. And then I looked at my brother, realizing he didn’t seem at all anxious anymore. In fact, he almost looked pleased with himself if you didn’t factor the stern line of his mouth and the slight shade of sorrow behind his eyes.

  Facing me fully, he shrugged like he was tired. “I understand your anger and I hate that she had to do it.”

  “She already did it?”

  He nodded.

  Anguish filled my lungs like a leaden weight, an ache sinking down to my stomach. The need to be with her, to comforter her right now, abruptly overshadowed my frustration.

  “If there’d been any way to do this without sending Scarlet into battle,” he continued, “I would’ve. But she was desperate to do something. Since she was so adamant, I thought it was better to help than hinder. No reason to make it harder on her.”

  “You could’ve stalled her, told me what she had planned.”

  “No. I don’t think so.” His eyes twinkled, but the line of his mouth remained stern. “I know this might be a hard pill to swallow—because it was for me—but you don’t get to wear the cape all the time. In some instances, you’re the rescuer. Other times, you’re the rescuee. That’s how it works. And you can stay here, simmering in your sour stew at not being the hero this time, or you can take Sienna’s plane back to Nashville and thank your woman for saving your ass.”

  “I can’t though, can I? After what she just put herself through, she needs me right now. She’s got to be going through hell, facing Razor. But if I fly out there and we’re seen together, it’ll undermine her credibility.”

  “You’re right. She does need you, so go to her. Sneak in, sneak out. Again, just don’t get caught.”

  “‘Just don’t get caught,’ huh? Like it’s so easy.”

  “It is easy, Billy. Do you know how many times I’ve broken the law and not gotten caught?”

  “I don’t want to kn—”

  “More than a lot. If I can do it more than a lot, you can do it once.”

  “It’s not just that, Cletus.” Here we go again. “I didn’t want it to be like this. I don’t want us to be a secret.”

  “Compromise a little, Billy. My contact at the FBI thinks once they close the investigation, it’ll definitely stay closed even when you two go public. We’re talking one week, two weeks tops of being circumspect, and most of that time will be when y’all go to Rome. No one in Rome cares about a Tennessee congressman and a country music star canoodling over fettuccine. And, not only did Scarlet do one hell of a job, the FBI wasn’t all that interested in investigating you to begin with. You think anybody cares about getting justice for Razor Dennings by putting the man who caught him in jail? No. Justice might be blind, but it ain’t that bl
ind.” Pulling his hand from his pocket, he checked the watch on his wrist. “Oh. Time’s up. If you want to be a comfort to your woman, you gotta go. No need to pack a bag, I’m sure your fairy-suit-father will have something for you in Nashville upon arrival.”

  “You’re a sneak, Cletus,” I said wearily, grabbing my phone from the desk and stuffing it in my pocket.

  “True.” He nodded thoughtfully, adding, “But it’s not just you carrying the load anymore, Billy. Like it or not, sometimes the only way to win is to surrender.”

  Maybe if I’d been calmer, my mind clearer, I would’ve been more receptive to Karl’s hysteria. Or, if not receptive, dismissive. But I was not calm, and my mind was not clear.

  Point was, I shouldn’t have answered the phone. While I’d been traveling, all ten of his previous calls went to voicemail. Pacing Scarlet’s dressing room backstage at the festival, waiting for her to show, I made the mistake of picking up his eleventh call.

  “Billy.”

  I ground my teeth. “That is my name.”

  “You’ve been impossible to reach and we have an emergency. Don’t worry, I’ve handled things. For now.” He sounded like he was out of breath.

  “Fine.”

  Karl waited for me to ask about the emergency. I wouldn’t. It wasn’t my habit to ask a question when I knew the other person was eager to provide an answer. That would be a waste of breath. Instead, I let my gaze wander over the contents of the dressing room, the big bouquets of flowers, the bags of gifts, the trays of gourmet looking appetizers, the various bottles of champagne, soda, and water on ice.

  My hand closed over the small velvet box in my pocket, nerves and anticipation tying a knot in my stomach.

  Eventually, the silence stretched past Karl’s capacity for patience. “The situation is bleak. Catastrophic. We are staring down the barrel of defeat. We haven’t started polling yet, but I know you’re going to lose unless we fix some of your issues fast. Is there any chance Ms. Payton might be open to an engagement of convenience? Just until the senate race is over next year. Beg her if you have to.”

  “I don’t beg.”

  Karl made a series of sputtering sounds.

  Enough. I’d had enough.

  Before he’d regained his ability to speak, I added, “I’m not running. I withdraw. Tell them to find someone else. Goodbye.”

  Well. That’s decided. Moving on.

  Ending the call, I easily pushed Karl from my mind and tapped on my message icon again, just in case I’d missed another text from Scarlet. Finding no new messages, I scrolled through the ones she’d sent me while I was on the airplane. I hadn’t received them until after landing.

  * * *

  Scarlet: I miss you and I’m sorry I left so suddenly. If you have time to talk today, let me know.

  Scarlet: I hope you’re not upset with me about leaving, but if you are, I completely understand.

  Scarlet: A haiku—

  When we are angry,

  Let’s set a timer, make up

  Sex within one hour

  * * *

  Despite the disorder of my thoughts, this last message pulled a smile from me. Most of my anger had dissipated by the time Sienna’s plane had landed. Scarlet was about to perform in front of a huge crowd after facing her father, after lying to the FBI. Mostly, I was anxious to put my eyes and hands on her, to confirm she was safe and well.

  And if she wasn’t safe and well, I’d do whatever she needed.

  The door opened and I looked up, my heart climbing to my throat. I heard someone greet her, call her Claire. I heard her voice as she said thanks, calm and collected. She then stepped backward into the dressing room, not yet seeing me, while I’m sure my eyes bugged out of my head.

  Standing in profile, wearing leather pants like a second skin—which, technically, I guess they were—a black, low-cut tank top, and Converse sneakers, she nodded, smiling at whoever continued to hold her attention beyond the door.

  But then, as though sensing she wasn’t alone, her eyes drifted to the room and she did a double take when she spotted me, her expression morphing into one of shock.

  The person she’d been speaking with must’ve noticed, because a second later a male wearing a headset peaked inside, looking where Scarlet looked, his eyes also widening.

  “Well, hello,” he said, his gazing moving down and then up my new suit from my fairy-suit-father that had been waiting for me upon my arrival in Nashville. “Are you . . .” He glanced at Scarlet, then back at me. “Are you one of her gifts?”

  The question seemed to wake Scarlet from her trance, and her cheeks tinted pink. She opened her mouth as though to answer, but I was already answering.

  “Yes. I’m one of her gifts.” I couldn’t have her introduce me. No one was supposed to know Congressman Billy Winston was involved with Country Music Star Claire McClure—at least not for a few more weeks.

  The man grinned, sending Scarlet a sly smile as he backed out of the room. “I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.”

  Visibly flustered, she looked at the man, then at me, then at the door he’d swiftly closed, leaving us alone and not to be disturbed.

  She exhaled a short, harassed breath and faced me, crossing her arms under her breasts, her gaze cagey. “What are you doing here?”

  “Cletus told me. If anyone asks, I’m Alex Greene from Chicago.” No use beating around the bush.

  A flash of pain and dismay arrested her features just before she dropped her chin, hiding her face with her long, copper hair. “Please don’t be angry.”

  If any residual anger had remained, it completely vanished at the sight of her slumped shoulders and the sound of agony in her voice.

  Crossing to her in three steps, I pulled her against me and into my arms, reassured by the contact and feel of her. “What can I do?”

  Scarlet tucked herself under my chin, her arms tight around my torso, and gathered a deep inhale, as though she could pull me inside her body by breathing me in. “Don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not. I was angry, mostly with Cletus. But I’m not now.”

  “I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of another way. I couldn’t lose you again.” Her voice sounded watery.

  I slipped a finger under her chin, lifting it to place a gentle kiss on her lips before speaking against them. “Next time talk to me. Please. Give us a chance to figure it out together.”

  “Okay. Okay. I will. I swear it, cross my heart.” She stole another kiss, her eyes wide and glassy. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

  I felt my mouth hitch on one side. “I’ve learned my lesson too.”

  “You have?” Her voice cracked, her head shifting back an inch. “Lesson about what?”

  Fighting a smile at the irony, I quoted my brother, “‘Sometimes the only way to win is to surrender.’”

  A puff of a laugh escaped her chest and I felt myself unwind as her smile grew. “Is that one of your momma’s sayings?”

  “No. But I suppose it’s now a family saying,” I responded dryly as I searched her eyes. She still looked unsettled, frantic, and my stomach twisted afresh at the thought of her facing her father. “Scarlet. What can I do? You are safe, with or without me. No matter what you decide for your future, he will never touch you. I swear. Believe me.”

  Her chin wobbled and she pressed her lips together, tears gathering in her eyes. “Oh, it wasn’t so bad,” she whispered, the crack in her composure widening with her lie.

  The look in her eyes, the terror she’d so obviously felt when confronting her father, reminded me of a fourteen-year-old Scarlet. It also brought to mind a sixteen-year-old me, frustrated with my helplessness.

  Sniffling, she forced her lips into a smile. “You know what? That’s a lie. It was terrible, and I hated it.” Now she laughed, like she found herself ridiculous. “And you know the worst part? I’d forgotten how lonely it is, to be scared like that.”

  “You’re not alone,” I said fiercely, cupping her cheek, wiping a
way a wayward tear and memorizing the velvet feel of her skin.

  “You’re not alone either.” Her tone was also fierce, and her self-deprecating smile fell away. “I’m here.” She punctuated these words by giving me a gentle shake, her eyes fastened to mine. “I’m right here. Your burdens are mine, so are your hopes and dreams. I want it all. I want to share everything with you. Please. Trust me to be strong.”

  “I trust you.” I smoothed a hand down her back, pressing her closer, my eyes drifting to her lips. “I love you.”

  “I love you.” When she smiled this time, it was small, but it was also serene.

  I took a moment to gaze upon her, my beloved, before asking quietly, “What can I do to help you get ready?”

  “Ready? For what?”

  “For the concert.”

  She stiffened. “Oh my goodness. I’d—I totally forgot.” Loosening her arms, she moved to step away. With great reluctance, I let her go. For now.

  We have plenty of time. No need to rush.

  “My hair is done. My makeup person should be here soon.” She glanced around the room, spinning in a half circle. “I need to warm up.”

  “I can help with that.” Spotting a few guitars in the corner, I walked over, selected the Martin D-45, and admired it on my way to the couch. “This is a nice guitar.”

  “You like it?”

  I nodded, strumming a few chords. “Good sound.”

  Standing in front of me, watching me play for a half minute, she set her hands on her hips. “Is it weird that I’m a little jealous?”

  “Jealous?”

  “Yes.”

  “Of what?”

  She gestured to the instrument, taking the seat next to me. “Your hands are all over that thing and it gets to sit in your lap.”

  That made me chuckle, and I glanced at her out of the corner of my eyes. “If you want to warm up on my lap, I’m more than willing.”

  And that made her laugh, but it also made her blush.