by Emery Rose
He huffed out a laugh. “Not my first bar fight. Not my last. I was just fine. Can’t say the same about the other guy. Pretty sure he had trouble walking out of there on his own.”
“You sound mighty proud of yourself.”
“Some things justify getting the shit kicked out of you. Never been one to stand back and let bad shit happen if I can stop it. So yeah, I’m always gonna fight for the things I believe in. Sometimes that requires a gentle touch and patience. And sometimes it requires a punch in the face and a swift kick to the balls.”
I studied his profile. Square jaw, straight nose, his dirty blond hair disheveled from running his hand through it, and I thought he was beautiful. Strong and tough but not the kind of guy who was looking to break you into submission. “When is a gentle touch and patience required?”
He turned his head, his brown eyes locking onto mine and in that moment, I thought that maybe he could read my mind. “When you’re dealing with wild, broken things.”
We gravitated toward each other, our movements almost imperceptible. We were thigh to thigh, and I was leaning into him, the muscles in his arm tensing, and I was desperate to feel his touch on my skin. He lifted his hand to my face, cupped my cheekbone in one of his big hands, and brushed his thumb over my lips. His touch was gentle, but it sent shivers up and down my spine and reached straight into my core.
I lifted my eyes to his and stared into their brown depths. The man who could knock a guy out but gentle a wild horse. Maybe he had the power to fix all the broken pieces inside me. To heal the wounds left by the men I’d loved who had abandoned me. And the one who tried to break me. To cleanse my soul of the sins I’d committed.
Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.
As if he heard my silent plea, his hand slid around the back of my head and he pulled me closer until our mouths were so close, I felt his soft breath on my lips. Just when I thought he would kiss me, his phone alarm went off, interrupting our moment of intimacy. He released me abruptly and slid his phone out of his pocket, silencing it.
“I need to go.” And just like that I’d lost him.
We were quiet on the drive back and I stared out the windshield, wondering if Brody was the man Maw Maw had told me about on my thirteenth birthday. I used to think it was Dean. But it couldn’t have been him. He’d never once saved me from anything. If it was Brody, he’d already saved me once. But what could he possibly need saving from?
Minutes later, Brody pulled up outside the guesthouse and I hopped out of the truck, not ready to let him go yet. Before he had a chance to drive away, I poked my head in the open window, a plan formulating.
“Do you like Cajun food?”
“Why?”
This guy. One minute you could be sharing deep and emotional things, sharing a moment that almost turned into a kiss, and five minutes later he was all suspicious again. “You don’t make things easy on a girl, do you?”
“You’re not just any girl, Shy.”
I’d like to think he meant it as a compliment, but it didn’t sound like one. “With you, I feel like I am. With you, I feel like I have to work for every smile and word.”
“If you wanted five-star treatment you should have checked into the Ritz.”
“Funny. I don’t see a Ritz around here.”
“Exactly.”
I rolled my eyes. “Come over for dinner. Around seven. I’ll cook.”
He gave me a skeptical look. “You’re gonna cook me dinner?”
“Ye of little faith. I happen to be a girl of many talents.”
“Don’t doubt that for a minute.”
“Don’t keep me waiting,” I called after him as he backed out and swung the truck around.
“Or what will you do, Shi-loh?”
I moved to his open window. “If you keep me waiting, I’ll just have to hunt you down.”
He grinned. “Catch me if you can.”
“So you want me to chase you, is that it?”
“All depends. Do you think you’re up to the task? I’m more than a handful. Not sure you can handle me.”
“Challenge accepted. Tonight, we’ll see if you’re all talk or if you can handle the heat I’ll be bringing. Just as friends, of course,” I added.
He was laughing as he drove away, his tires kicking up a cloud of dust, his left hand tapping out the beat of the music on the window frame.
Now that I’d invited him to dinner, I’d have to brave the grocery store. Oh joy.
Chapter Seven
Brody
I should have showered before my meeting with Ridge’s English teacher. But if I’d stopped to shower, I would have been late. So here I was in my sweat-stained T-shirt and dirty work boots. I rapped my knuckles against the door then strolled into the classroom to face Chloe Whitman. She was used to my sweat and grime. But it had been a while since I’d last seen her—six months, to be exact—and I’d never met her at the school before. She stood up from her desk where she was marking papers and tucked her blond hair behind her ear.
“Thanks for coming in today, Brody.”
“No problem.”
“Let’s sit at the table.” I nodded and followed her to a round table, her heels clicking across the floor. She was wearing one of those pencil skirts that hugged her curves and stopped at the knee and a short-sleeved blouse with puffy sleeves. Chloe was every high school boy’s wet dream. Twenty-six, single, and more adventurous in bed than her buttoned-up appearance would lead you to believe.
I pulled up a chair across from her. Had she applied fresh lipstick for me? Her nails were painted to match her rose-tinted lips and her cheeks were flushed against her creamy skin.
I leaned back in my chair and waited for her to speak. She stared at the folder she’d placed on the table in front of her. Was I supposed to make small talk now? Not my forte. “How’s the teaching gig going?”
She lifted her head, her doe eyes meeting mine, and licked her lips. “It’s been a challenge. I’ve almost survived my second year.” She fingered the silver heart medallion on her silver necklace. Next to the heart was a small silver key. “How’ve you been, Brody?”
“Yeah, it’s all good.”
She nodded and forced a smile. This was the reason I didn’t do relationships. I sucked at them. And now, as bad luck would have it, I was sitting across the table from someone I’d fucked. Not just once or twice either. Nope. I’d dated Chloe for seven months, a record for me. Last April, one week after Jude and Lila’s wedding Lila’s friend Sophie, the town matchmaker, had set us up on a blind date. I hadn’t even known it was a date or I wouldn’t have gone.
“I know you’re here to discuss Ridge but before we get into that, I was kind of hoping you could tell me where I went wrong. I really liked you, Brody.”
Oh shit, here we go. I rubbed the back of my neck. She told me she loved me. Not a crime. But I couldn’t say it back. I’d never been able to say it to any woman. Not only that, but after seven months of ‘casual’ dating she was already talking about marriage and kids. Why she would ever think I was a good candidate for marriage was beyond me. I didn’t even believe in the institution of marriage. If you asked me, it wasn’t natural to make vows to love and honor only one person, until death do you part.
“It wasn’t anything you did. It was all on me.”
“I guess I should have known better. You never even introduced me to your son.” She laughed but she didn’t sound happy. “You warned me, but I didn’t listen. Shame on me.”
She looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to speak. To explain myself. This was awkward as fuck. But I had warned her from the start. Told her I didn’t want anything more than a casual relationship. Guess I’d stayed too long, and she’d taken it as a sign that I’d changed my mind.
I shifted in my seat, an orange plastic chair on thin metal legs, and crossed my ankle over my thigh. “Let’s talk about Ridge.”
Her face fell but she quickly rearranged her features and squared her shoulders. �
��Yes. Of course. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”
And now I felt like shit. I looked over my shoulder at the door. Where the fuck was Ridge anyway?
“Ridge will be joining us soon. He’s in Chemistry. His last period.”
So she’d asked me to meet her early to discuss the reason I dumped her, not to talk about Ridge.
After the awkward start, the meeting went about as well as could be expected, given the circumstances. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Ridge had been cheating all semester. Chloe was willing to give him another chance and I got the distinct impression she was doing this for me as much as for Ridge. I was going to kick his ass.
This school year couldn’t end fast enough.
When I entered the kitchen after my shower, Ridge tossed something at me. I caught it in one hand and opened my fist, staring at the strip of foil packets. I should never have told him my plans for the evening.
“Four enough?” he asked. “I’ve got more if you need ‘em.”
The little shit. “Why are you giving me condoms?”
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to practice safe sex?”
“Always do.”
“Well, now who’s lying? You knocked up your cousin’s fiancée. That’s just bad form, bro.” He shook his head and tskked. “How low will you go?”
He was lucky I didn’t plant my fist in his face. There was so much about him that reminded me of myself. Same cocky grin. Same surly look. Same defiance for authority figures. But this smug bullshit? The judgment? That had Jude written all over it. I would have loved to hear Jude’s side of the story. Had he talked about this with Ridge?
Must have. Why else would Ridge be calling me out on something he knew nothing about? I tossed the condoms in the kitchen junk drawer and shut it, then leaned against the counter to face my brother.
Ridge was sitting at the chopping block island shoveling leftover lasagna into his mouth with one hand and playing on his phone with the other.
“What did Jude tell you?”
“Jude didn’t tell me jack shit. He thinks of you as a brother. I’m just calling it the way I see it. Your girl Lila’s crazy in love with the dude,” he taunted, like he was telling me something I didn’t already know.
Lila wasn’t my girl. Never had been. But my smart-ass brother obviously knew that too, and he wasn’t the only one who thought I was low for getting Lila pregnant. When the family found out, Patrick called me every name in the book then refused to speak to me for an entire year. My cousin Jesse, the baby of the family who had a blind loyalty to his brother Jude, just shook his head and told me he was ‘disappointed in me.’ Strong words for Jesse who was the most easygoing and forgiving McCallister. And Gideon, well, he hated Jude at the time, so he was Team Brody.
Payback is a bitch, Gideon had said, a sly smile on his face like he was reveling in Jude’s downfall.
“So who’s the chick staying in the guesthouse?” Ridge asked.
“Nobody.”
He looked up from his phone. “Is nobody hot?”
Was a five-alarm fire hot? I shrugged, not wanting to give him any more ammunition. “She’s okay.”
He set down his phone and studied my face. “Why are you still here? You don’t have to stay home and babysit me every night. I’m not Noah. I’m used to looking out for myself.”
But he didn’t have to do that anymore and I wanted to say as much but I didn’t. “I know that.”
He shook his head. “I don’t get you. Is it because of Lila?”
“Is what because of Lila?”
“Is she the reason you don’t have a girlfriend? You’re not exactly ugly.”
“Thanks for that. And Lila has nothing to do with it.”
“From where I’m sitting, she has everything to do with it.” He shoveled another bite of food in his mouth. “But hey. It’s none of my business. You do you.”
Good thing because I had no intention of explaining my actions to Ridge. In order to understand what happened between me and Lila, you would have had to be there. Me, Jude, and Lila had a lot of history. Going back to when we were ten years old.
I checked my phone for the time. Quarter past seven. I was already late for dinner. Shiloh was another problem I really didn’t need right now. I should steer clear of her. But I’d never been very good at doing what I should. And even though I’d tried my damnedest to dissuade her from helping me today, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy she’d stubbornly refused to listen.
Trouble was I liked hanging out with her. Shiloh intrigued me in a way that very few women did. She was tough and tenacious, two traits you needed if you wanted to get to the top of any profession, with a brand of crazy that made for some interesting conversation.
Ridge finished every bite on his plate, the lasagna courtesy of Kate who felt the need to ‘take care of her boys’ even though we were fully capable of cooking for ourselves. He wiped his mouth on the back of his arm like the true gentleman he was and got to his feet. “But hey, if you’re looking to get laid, pretty sure my English teacher is up for it.” I kept my face neutral, but Ridge obviously read something on it. “Holy shit,” he crowed. “You’ve already tapped that, haven’t you? No wonder she went easy on me. I’d do her though. She’s hot in that sexy librarian way.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Give me patience. “Stay away from your English teacher. You’re in enough trouble as it is.”
He was laughing as he walked past me and right out of the kitchen. I grabbed him and hauled him back. “Clean up after yourself. I’m going out. If you need me, call me.”
“I won’t need you. I have a fun-packed evening ahead of me.”
“Don’t screw things up with Delaney. You need her help so you don’t fail English. That’s the only reason she’s coming over. To tutor you. She’s not—”
“Dude. Save your breath. I’m not interested in screwing Delaney. You met her.” I’d met her this afternoon when she was called into our cozy meeting. Delaney had volunteered to tutor him in English.
“Little Goody Two Shoes is way too uptight. Not to mention she treats me like a charity case. Guess it’ll look good on her college applications to say she tutored some white trash loser.”
I heard the bitterness in his tone and couldn’t entirely blame him for it. Under the circumstances, I would have felt the same way. Even I had sensed Delaney’s air of superiority. But Chloe was willing to give him another chance and he couldn’t afford to blow it. Not after she figured out he’d been cheating for the entire semester. Not after that joke of an essay he’d handed in. Soft porn, Chloe had called it.
Now he had two choices. Accept help or get held back a year. The only silver lining, the thing that gave me hope for Ridge, was that he’d owned up to cheating and claimed the girl who helped him knew nothing about it. He said he’d stolen her notebook from the locker and had copied her essays. Even though I knew that wasn’t how it happened, I didn’t call him out on the lie. He lied to protect someone and in my book that was the right thing to do.
“Who does schoolwork on a Friday night?” he complained when the front doorbell rang.
“People who don’t want to fail the eleventh grade.” I pointed my finger at him. “Make sure you’re here when I get home.”
“Chill, dude. You’re starting to sound like your uncle Patrick.”
How times had changed. I used to be lawless. A rule breaker. A cocky asshole who had gotten into more fights than I could count and had believed that fucking the bad shit out of my system was actually going to be my salvation.
But the birth of my son had changed me. Not to say I didn’t still have a wild streak, but I was a rebel with a cause now. If anyone ever messed with my boy, I would kill the motherfucker with my bare hands then dance on his grave. Noah would never ever have to suffer the way I had. And if Ridge ever needed me, I’d be there for him too.
Chapter Eight
Brody
I st
ood outside the screen door and listened to Shiloh singing along to “Whole Lotta Love.” Fuck, that voice. Even if I never kissed her lips or knew the feel of her body, the sound of her voice was enough to make me hard.
“Shiloh!” I shouted through the screen door to be heard over the music. The windows were open, ceiling fans whirring.
“Come in! It’s not locked.”
I let myself in and crossed the hardwood floor, stopping on the other side of the breakfast bar that separated the small kitchen from the living and dining area.
She looked up from the chopping board and smiled like she was happy to see me. She was wearing a loose black tank top over a thin white one, and I couldn’t be sure, but I thought she was braless. Her green shorts were short, her feet bare, ink black hair in one of those messy buns, a few loose strands framing her face, and it struck me that I was getting to know the girl, not the rock star who had thousands of fans screaming her name at sold-out concerts.
“Hi,” she said finally after we’d been staring at each other for a few seconds, my mind going where it shouldn’t because yep, she was sure as shit braless under those thin tank tops.
I laughed under my breath and scrubbed a hand over my face. “Hi.”
“I hope you’re not in a rush,” she said. “I got a late start, so the jambalaya won’t be ready for a while.”
“How long is a while?”
“Are you starving?”
“Always. Need any help?”
“Nope.” She grabbed an IPA from the fridge, flipped the lid and set it in front of me. “Just hang out and keep me company.”
I took a long pull and watched her dice an onion. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Onions always make me cry.”
I studied the tattoo on her upper arm—a gnarled, twisted branch with delicate leaves—and pulled up a stool. She pushed the onions to the side with the blunt edge of her knife and hacked off the top of a pepper.
“What else makes you cry?”
“Sad songs. Minor notes. Movies that don’t have happy endings. Poverty. Racism. Homophobia. Elevator music. It makes my ears bleed.” She shuddered, the blade of her knife flashing as she expertly chopped peppers and celery stalks. I tried to make out the designs on her fingers—a music note, rosary beads and a cross on her ring finger, a crescent moon and three tiny stars on her index finger. A tiny flower inked in purple. A pansy, maybe.