by Lee Piper
I wish I could take my question back, pretend like it was never asked and he never answered. Sadly, judging by the way he’s trying to read my reaction, it’s impossible.
Drake’s gaze takes in every nuance of my features, so I lock down my expression, refusing to give him anything. The less I give, the less he can use against me. After all, in my experience, that’s what people do. Find weaknesses and exploit them. “How much did you hear?”
His free hand brushes hair from my cheek, then tucks it behind one ear. “Heads up, the volume on your phone’s high. So I heard enough.”
I tense, freaked by the proximity, the physical contact, but above all, the possibility of him knowing about my debt. “And how much is enough?”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t need to. It’s written in the furrowed brow, the set jaw, and the hand that’s slipped to the curve of my waist. I might as well be standing in front of him naked. He squeezes my hip. “Is everything okay?”
No. Not even close.
Drake Stone knows my secret. Maybe not all of it, but some. And no one, not even my uncle, knows about the origins of that money. However, in the last five minutes, I’ve unknowingly offered up the darkest part of me to a guy delusional enough to think I’d throw myself into his arms. And sure, he’s being nice at the moment, he’s cradling the broken pieces like a day-old puppy. But it could all be an act. I mean, the Drake I met earlier today was a total douche-canoe, not at all like the one standing before me now. The previous version was more than capable of killing innocent animals.
As though reading my mind, Drake gives a self-deprecating grin. “I was a dick earlier.”
“You think?”
His grin widens. “For the record, you’re not like any girl I’ve met. You don’t like compliments, and then there was the whole foldback speaker fuckup.” He whistles. “When I tried to tell you—” I narrow my eyes; he winks. “Let’s just say, you’re not big on constructive criticism.”
He must notice how I regret taking my anger out on the bus and not him because after letting go of me, he spreads his hands wide as though in surrender. “Hey, I’m just sayin’.”
I glare at him for a long moment. “Did you seriously apologize and then accuse me of being a clueless bitch?”
“I’m telling you, it wasn’t three feet.”
“And I’m telling you,” I poke him in the chest, wincing when I realize what finger I used, “you’re an asshole.”
“Babe, come on. I’m trying to be reasonable here.”
“One,” I hold up the index finger that’s not screaming at me. “Don’t ever call me babe. I’m not, nor have I ever been a groupie, so don’t confuse me with a chick who’d try to blow you.” I raise my second finger, ignoring the way his pupils dilate. “Two, you’re not reasonable if you’re accusing people of stuff that’s not true.” He plants his hands on his hips, and I categorically do not notice how lean they are. “And three, you telling me how to do my job, eavesdropping on a conversation clearly not meant for you, yet expecting me to trust you enough to spill my secrets, is insanity at its finest.” Tipping my head back, I speak to the sky above. “Or am I the only one who sees the crazy in this scenario?”
“Do you want the honest answer, or the one you want to hear?”
“Neither! I don’t want anything from you.” I storm past him. “Just leave me alone.”
“Admit it, you’re fucked,” he calls to my back.
I stumble, shake my head, and right myself. Damn. It sucks that he’s right. Doesn’t mean I’ll admit it out loud, and it definitely doesn’t mean I’ll open up to him about it. If I’m going to drown, and it’s likely I will, I’ll do it on my own. I won’t bring anyone with me.
Shoulders back, I call out, “Not your problem, ace.”
“We’re up to mutual nicknames already?”
I keep walking.
“Good, because princess suits you.” Drake’s footsteps pound the gravel, and soon he’s in front of me again. I halt, he pants. There’s a fervency in his expression that wasn’t there a minute ago; it reeks of honesty.
Something inside me twists.
“Look, if you’re in trouble, I want to help.”
I search his face for the hidden truths buried somewhere beneath the entreaty. But there’s nothing except genuine concern mixed with a whole heap of other shit I can’t decipher. None of it’s bad, though. Complex, yes, but not bad. And it’s strange because no one’s looked at me like that in… ever. The realization is a punch to the gut. Knowing there’s not a single person on this planet who truly cares—save for my inebriated uncle—is a sobering thought. Regardless, it doesn’t mean I’m going to hand over my trust to the first person who offers it. Nope. I’m smarter than that.
“Help?” My voice is incredulous. “You don’t even know me, so why would you want to help?”
Drake sighs, his wide shoulders drooping a little. “I’m not the bad guy here.”
“Everyone’s the bad guy, Drake,” I scoff. “Some people hide it better than others, that’s all.”
He stills, his gaze assessing mine. Open curiosity floods the icy pools of disquiet. “Is that what you really think?”
“Not think, know.”
With a slow shake of the head, he murmurs, “Who’s done this to you, Harper? Who’s ruined your faith in people?”
Gritting my teeth, I refuse to answer.
Drake exhales, scrubbing the side of his face with his hands. “Not everyone has ulterior motives, you know. Sometimes people want to help because it’s the right thing to do.”
I bark out a laugh. It must take him by surprise because his eyes widen, then trace the lines of my face like I’m a puzzle he doesn’t have all the pieces for.
“People always have ulterior motives. It’s what drives them to behave the way they do. Do you honestly think someone would go out of their way to help another without wanting anything in return?” I cross my arms.
Courtesy of the V-neck T-shirt and my new position, my breasts are pushed up and together. As a C-cup, they’re nothing to be ashamed of. However, if the way Drake’s eyes are glued to my cleavage or the drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth is anything to go by, you’d think they were double D’s complete with nipple tassels.
He opens his mouth to say something but then stops.
I wait, jaw set.
“Um….” He licks his lips. Snaps his mouth shut. Blinks. “What was the question again?”
Just as I thought. “Unbelievable,” I mutter. “You’ve just proven my point. You don’t want to help me, you want to rip off my shirt and motorboat my tits.”
“Is that an invitation? Because I motorboat like a fiend.” I glare. He grins. “I said that out loud, huh?”
Flipping him the bird, I storm off.
“Harper.” He laughs, chasing me. “Come on. I was blindsided by your killer rack. It’s nothing personal. Any guy with a functioning dick would have done the same.”
“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” I shoot back, my exhausted legs ready to buckle. “Being relegated to a pair of mammary glands for guys to salivate over?”
“No need for sass; it was a compliment. Like I said, you’ve got great tits.” He’s puffing. “Would you quit running already? I’m getting tired of chasing your fine ass.”
“I never asked you to chase it in the first place.”
He takes my hand and yanks.
I spin to face him. “Goddammit!”
Drake freezes. “What? What did I do?” His eyes shift from what must be my pained expression to the hand nestled in his. Drawing our clasped hands to his face, he flattens my palm, inspecting it. His jaw ticks. “Is it from punching the bus earlier?”
I shrug.
He looks at me. There’s a shadow of darkness clouding his otherwise clear eyes. After a moment, he blinks it away and averts his gaze downward. “It might be broken. You should go to the hospital.”
I try to retrieve my arm. Only,
he won’t let me. “No, it’s fine. I’ll be okay.” But what I don’t say is there’s no way I can afford health insurance, let alone X-rays, a possible cast, and pain medication. There’s the small matter of twenty grand that I need to sort out first. The hand can wait. “It’s not broken. I can move my fingers. See?” I smile, albeit manically, through the throbbing pain.
He doesn’t look convinced. If anything, his jaw clenches even more.
“It’s just bruised.”
With a muttered curse, Drake continues his examination. His head dips forward so he can get a better view in the dim light.
Dark hair falls into his face, and I’m accosted by sandalwood. Never knew I liked the scent so much. I want to step back, put some distance between us. Hell, I’d even go so far as to pick a fight. Anything to stop me from leaning closer and taking another breath.
Inhale.
Damn it.
My small hand is dwarfed by his mammoth one. A long index finger traces the split skin of my knuckles. It skirts the dried blood pooled in the creases and caresses the swollen joints that are twice their usual size.
Exhale.
“You’re hurt.” Drake’s voice is soft; his touch is featherlight.
There’s a strange fluttering in my stomach I don’t know what to do with. “Only on the inside.”
He stills.
I clench my eyes shut.
I’m not used to kindness; I haven’t had much experience with it. Which is why, instead of a logical reply, I blurted out the most embarrassing sentence in the history of the universe. Normally, I’d never let a guy hold my hand, let alone hear me talk about vulnerability. Heck, I never talk about weakness, period. Doing so opens you up to inevitable pain. But there’s something in the way Drake caresses my bruised flesh, in his tender yet purposeful touch. It’s like he’s capable of taking the hurt away, of turning me into a blank slate ready to start life afresh. The thought is intoxicating, liberating. And for a moment, a brief, wonderful moment, I wonder what it would be like to be free.
“Open your eyes.” His voice is deeper, more gravelly than before.
With a shaky breath, I do as he says.
His gaze collides with mine, flares, then darkens.
Inhale.
Exhale.
The wind picks up, the cool breeze ruffling my tangled knots and blowing strands of hair into my eyes. Drake brushes them away, his free hand lingering on my cheek for a moment too long.
I want to nuzzle into it but don’t. I want to leave but don’t. I want—
His knuckles caress my cheek, causing me to shiver. Drake’s intense stare drops to my parted mouth. His nostrils flare. His thumb traces the length of my bottom lip, then presses into the plump flesh before releasing it seconds later. Fascinated, he watches what I’m guessing is the indent left behind. “Let me help you,” he murmurs.
And it all comes crashing back. The debt. My uncle. The long night ahead and even longer month after that. There’s no way I’m going to let Drake help me. It’s a nice gesture and all, but it’s not entirely genuine. Besides, it’s safer for everyone if I do this on my own.
Rousing from my Drake-induced trance, I step out of his hold. After clearing my throat, I mumble, “I should go.”
“Harper.”
Tipping my chin, I channel a bravado I don’t feel. “I’ll be fine.” I won’t. “Thanks anyway, but I’ve got it sorted.” I don’t. Nodding in the direction of the after-party, I give a small smile. “You should be getting back. They’re probably wondering where you are.”
Drake reaches for me, but I shake my head, resolute. He drops his hand, his eyes somber.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around.” Then, turning toward my RV in the far corner of the parking lot, I push my shoulders back, inject purpose into my aching legs, and leave.
Screw my phone that’s lying who-the-heck-knows-where; I’ve got shit to take care of.
Chapter Four
It takes six clubs, three beer gardens, and four bars to find him. Two and a half hours of driving in total. I visit the crappiest parts of town where hookers, pimps, and wayward kids are the actors cast in a pantomime of bad decisions.
In true Ray style, he’s in the dingiest one of all. I’ve got no idea how he got here. His RV is still at the music venue, so he must have paid a small fortune in cab fare. The thought makes me grit my teeth.
I would have thought my wayward hair and smeared makeup would deter the lewd stares as I stride inside, but no. After purposefully making my way past pool tables complete with chipped wooden legs, ripped green baize, and clouds of cigarette smoke hanging above like storm clouds, I beeline to the guy slumped over the bar.
Uncle Ray’s large body almost takes up two barstools. His broad back is clad in a black T-shirt with the insignia of a UK drum manufacturer plastered all over it. His ginger hair is short and tousled, and the hint of his impressive beard peeks out from where his head rests on tattooed arms. They’re covered in daggers, skulls, vines, and roses. If I tip my head to the side, I can even make out my aunt’s name on one of the petals.
But I don’t. It hurts too much.
Ray’s half-empty whiskey glass is still in hand. I’d bet another twenty grand that if anyone tries to take it from him, he’ll come at them swinging.
Well, anyone but me.
Yanking the glass from his grip, I down the remainder of the contents in one mouthful. The liquor burns as it slides down my throat, and I hiss, relishing the sting.
“What the fu—” Uncle Ray straightens, spinning in his chair. His beefy arm pulls back, ready to punch the person reckless enough to steal from him. When he sees me, he blinks, squints, then lowers it again. “Harper? That you?”
“The one and only.”
“What you doing here, girl? This ain’t no place for a lady.”
“Oh, I don’t know. The biker by the door with the swastika tattooed on his neck seemed real friendly. Even offered me a ride.” Tapping the index finger of my good hand against my lips, I muse, “Though, now I come to think of it, I don’t think he was referring to his wheels.”
Ray staggers to his feet, swaying precariously. “He said what? Where is he, Har? No one touches my niece. I’ll fuck him up so bad he’ll be shittin’ teeth.” He burps.
My smile is sad. As much as I love his loyalty, I hate the irony of it all. I mean, I wouldn’t even be here if Uncle Ray hadn’t parked his backside in this damn dive bar. I sigh. “Forget it; it’s fine. He won’t touch me.”
“You sure?” He goes to take a step forward but ends up slamming into the bar. It rattles from the impact, the glass dancing its way to the edge.
Scooting under his arm, I take as much of his weight as I can handle before we both fall over. “Yep. Fine.” I wheeze, straightening him up again. “Christ, Ray. You need to start working out.”
“No point. Ain’t no one to impress no more.”
I roll my eyes.
“She’s gone, Har.” His massive body almost breaks mine. “Rose is gone, and ain’t nothin’ gonna bring her back.”
His words squeeze my heart until I fear it’ll burst, but I remain silent. Yes, I miss my aunt. When she was alive the world was brighter, richer somehow. However, since her death, it’s as though a storm cloud is perpetually above me, threatening to drown me in its tears. And sure, I could find ways to numb the ominous feeling. I too could drink myself into oblivion and waste all my money chasing the bottom of a bottle. But what’s the point? It’s not going to change anything. I’m not going to wake up tomorrow sans hangover to see her making pancakes in Ray’s RV. That’s not how life works. All I can do is keep moving, keep pushing forward. There’s no other choice except to try to make something of what’s left. Why can’t my uncle do the same?
“Miss her so much,” he continues, his words blurring together. “Mattress is always cold on her side. Don’t need half my plates. Ain’t no lotions an’ shit hoggin’ up the bathroom.” He shakes his head, or tries to. It com
es off more as a head bobble impersonation than anything else. “Never knew what half of ’em were for. She never did need ’em anyways. Woman was the most beautiful creature I ever saw.”
We slowly make our way past the bikers, who have blessedly turned their attention to a scuffle near the jukebox, and walk outside. I thank every god I can think of that my van is nearby. My eyes scan the vehicle. It isn’t in the best shape. The cream paint has turned an off yellow, the front fender is hanging loose, the tires need to be replaced, and there’s a strange clunking sound from the rear axle whenever I go above forty-five miles an hour. But it gets me from job to job without breaking down or overheating, so I don’t complain. It’s also got a microwave that’s perfect for reheating frozen dinners and a double bed up top that’s calling my name.
I open the passenger door. “Come on, Ray. Let’s get you home.” The sooner he’s inside his own RV, the sooner I can crash.
“Can’t smell her no more, Har.”
“Yeah, I know. Me neither.”
It takes a solid ten minutes to heave him inside. The fact I’m a hand down makes it even more difficult, but we’ve done this dance before, so I improvise with my shoulder when I have to. At last, he’s buckled up and snoring peacefully against the side window. With a ragged exhale, I clamber into the driver seat, start the ignition and begin the long journey back.
The roads are quiet at this time of night, so driving to the music venue and clearing security doesn’t take as long as I expected. Getting Uncle Ray out of the RV and into his own van, however, is another issue entirely. He’s well past the emotional stage of drunkenness and is now owning the comatose phase. Meaning, the guy is no help whatsoever.
I push, pull, heave, pant, swear, and finally, finally roll him into his own bed. “Fuck,” I gasp, my breaths coming in short bursts. “You’ve gotta get your head straight, Ray. Swear to God. We can’t keep doing this.”
Loud snores rumble through the small space.
Wiping sweat from my eyes, I wait for my heart rate to settle. When at last it does, I busy myself with removing his shoes, throwing a blanket over his massive body, and retrieving a glass of water and some Advil. He’s going to have a killer headache in the morning.