Saving Brad (The Kennedy Boys Book 5)

by Siobhan Davis

  One of the waiters places a chair in front of the stage. Faye steps down beside it, still clutching the mic and grinning like crazy. When Kev arrives, she shoves him down into it. “Now, I need twenty-one girls to give our birthday boy twenty-one kisses.” Kev eyeballs Faye, but the corner of his mouth twitches. The crowd roars their approval.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m so doing this on my twenty-first,” Kent says, materializing beside us with Whitney in tow. She stomps on his foot. “What the hell, Whit?” He bends down, rubbing his sore foot. He glares at her. “That fucking hurt. And stop being a baby. It’s not like we’re fucking exclusive or anything. Chill out.”

  “You’re a jerk,” she hisses.

  “Whatever.” He throws his hands in the air.

  “Those two are a disaster waiting to happen,” Ky mumbles.

  “Okay,” Faye calls out, reclaiming our attention. A big group of girls are eagerly awaiting direction. “Line up in a row, one behind the other.” Faye leans down, talking quickly to Kev. She nods before straightening up. “Rach? Girlfriend, up here.” She gestures with her fingers, and Rach strides through the crowd with her head held high drawing the attention of every male in the room. My eyes are like heat-seeking missiles tracking her every step. They huddle in conversation, and then Rach arches a brow before swinging her gaze on Kev. He pulls her down, whispering in her ear. I’m dying to know what’s going on, but I don’t want to ask the question and have Ky questioning me about her again. Rachel nods and then moves to the very end of the line.

  The band starts playing, and slowly the girls move up to Kev, offering kisses. Most just kiss him on the cheek; a few give him quick pecks on the lips. A couple seize the opportunity, kissing him deeply before he can pry them off. From his relaxed wide-legged stance and the smug grin on his face, I can tell he’s enjoying this.

  “Well, dammit all to hell,” Ky exclaims, folding his arms. “I think this may have backfired. He’s fucking loving this.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” Kal says. “As if any dude is going to complain about twenty-one girls lining up to lock lips.” Lana elbows him sharply in the ribs, sending him a pointed look. He plasters an obviously fake indignant look on his face. “Except me. I would kill Faye stone dead if she tried that on me.”

  The line is dwindling, and my nerves are stretched thin. Faye plants herself in front of Rachel and I watch them giggling. Faye leans down, and kisses Kev on the cheek. My heart is in my mouth as I watch Rachel step up to him. He pulls her down into his lap, and a chorus of wolf whistles rings out across the room. I run my hand around the back of my neck, wanting to look away but conscious of Ky’s observant gaze. He’s watching my reaction, and I’m not going to give him any ideas. I know he’s trying to pawn me off on Rachel in the hope I’ll forget about Faye. I’m not stupid. It’s what I’d do if I was in his shoes.

  Kev’s arms snake around Rach’s back, creeping up her spine and winding into her hair. He pulls her face to his and melds his lips to hers. The crowd goes wild as he kisses the shit out of her. My stomach lurches to my toes, and I grind down on my molars, feeling far too much for the amount of beer I’ve consumed.

  Eventually, he stops molesting her mouth, stands up, and takes her hand. Alex and James walk to their son, handing him a gift-wrapped box, and Rach discreetly steps to the side. Her eyes zone in on my mine from across the room, and we share a loaded look. Ky watches silently, and that should be enough to make me look away, but it’s like I’m frozen in time. My eyes refuse to look at anything or anyone but her.

  And she doesn’t break eye contact either.

  Not until Kev turns around, stretching his hand out and motioning her forward. I turn around and grab another bottle of beer from the bucket, having seen enough.

  Another couple of hours go by, and I’m starting to see double. I’m being an unsocial prick, sitting at our table, drinking, and watching everyone else having fun on the dance floor. A shadow looms over me. “Can I talk to you?” Rachel asks, and I tilt my head up. She takes the seat beside me without waiting for a reply.

  “Where’s your boyfriend?” I snap.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “So that wasn’t your tongue shoved down Kev’s throat earlier?” My mouth pulls into a sneer.

  She sends me a short, biting smile. “Oh, no, it was. My tongue was most definitely in his mouth.”

  I growl, grabbing my beer and knocking it back. Little worry lines crease her brow as she watches me. “Like I care if you have a boyfriend,” I mumble after a bit, more to myself than her.

  She sighs again. “Keven is not my boyfriend, nor is he ever likely to be, so stop being such a grump.”

  I harrumph. “I think you need to tell Kev that.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but Kev and I are just friends. He wanted me to pretend to be his girlfriend at the party because there’s this girl here from his class who won’t leave him alone. He slept with her once, and she refuses to go away or something. I don’t know, and I don’t care. Forget about that. I need to ask you something.”

  I put my drink down and look into her eyes. A little amber fleck twinkles in the middle of her rich brown eyes, captivating me. I’ve never noticed it before. Her lips part gently as she rakes her gaze over my face. It’s like being stripped naked. The intensity burns the skin off my bones. I should look away, but I’m enraptured by her. She pulls on her lower lip with her teeth, and it’s like a shot of pure, raw lust has been injected into my bloodstream. Memories of fisting my hands in her hair as I fucked her swarm to the forefront of my mind, and I’m getting hot. My cock twitches in my pants. Before I know what I’m doing, my hand is cupping her face. “You look really beautiful tonight.” I rub my thumb across her bottom lip. “Your mouth is so sexy.”

  Wait. What the fuck am I saying? What the hell am I doing? I drop my hand from her face, averting my eyes.

  “You’re hammered.” She sighs.

  “What?” I jerk my chin up, watching as she shakes her head.

  “Drunk. Smashed. Two sheets to the wind. Totally fucking useless to me.” She rolls her eyes.

  That raises my hackles. “Excuse me?”

  She stands up. “I’ll talk to you when you’re sober.”

  I rise, gently taking her arm. “I’m perfectly fine. You can say what you need to say now.”

  She looks down at where my fingers are curled around her lower arm. I remove them immediately. “You are about as far from fine as a person can get.”

  “You, of all people, have a nerve to judge me,” I spit out.

  “In case you’re too drunk to notice, I’m completely sober. I’ve been drinking mineral water all night.”

  I snort. “Sure, you have. And I’m Mother Teresa.”

  “Fuck you, Brad.”

  My eyes darken as I stare at her. “In your dreams, Red.”

  “In my fucking nightmares, more like.” She folds her arms across her chest, and the movement pushes her tits up higher in her dress. I wet my lips as I gape at her gorgeous chest. Rachel has a great rack—even if I didn’t get my hands on her naked flesh that time we fucked. But I felt her through her thin dress and she’s perfect. A decent handful but not too much. My eyes are glued to her chest, and it hasn’t skipped her attention. Her eyes narrow to slits, but I don’t care. The lure of all that luscious creamy skin is too much to resist, and I lean forward and kiss her.

  I get one brief kiss in before she pushes me off. Searing pain rips across my cheek as she slaps me. “Don’t you dare touch me when you can barely stand up straight. And, for the record, I don’t have a boyfriend because I don’t want a boyfriend. And that extends to casual hookups and you too.”

  Then she turns on her heel and storms off, leaving me looking like a complete idiot.

  Chapter Six

  Rachel

  A few hours later, I’m in
my pajamas, making tea and toast, when the front door clicks open and shut and Ky wanders into the living room. Faye slides off the kitchen stool and goes to her boyfriend, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  “Did you get him home okay?” I ask, taking a third mug out of the overhead press.

  “Yeah. He was totally smashed, but I managed to get him back to the apartment and put him in bed. He was snoring when I was leaving.”

  “Maybe you should stay there tonight,” Faye says, although I’m sure that’s the last thing she wants. “What if Brad pukes in the night?”

  “It would serve him right to choke on his own vomit.” Ky presses a kiss in Faye’s hair. “He was way out of line tonight.”

  I carry two mugs in my hand as I walk around the other side of the counter. I hand them to Faye and Ky. “Yes, he was, but it’s not a big deal.”

  “Try telling that to Kev.”

  My brows nudge up. “You do know your brother and I are only friends?”

  “I know. Kev told me what you agreed to do, but that doesn’t mean he was happy about the way Brad treated you. He wasn’t, and neither am I.”

  I walk back to the kitchen as the toaster pops. “I appreciate you both looking out for me, but it’s no biggie. I’m more worried about Brad. He was in a right state.”

  Faye pins me with a knowing look. I stay quiet as I butter the toast. I place the plate in the center of the marble island and pull myself up onto a stool. “I know what you want to say. That’s the way I used to get, right?”

  Faye takes the stool beside me, and Ky sits down across from her. “Yeah. I’ve seen you like that before.”

  I chew on my toast, thinking back to how out of control I was. “I’ve been like that way more than you’ve ever seen,” I admit, being wholly truthful for once.

  “I’m glad you’re not doing that anymore. Jill and I used to worry about you so much.” Mention of our other friend brings a tsunami of guilt to the surface. I haven’t been a very good friend to her lately, and she was only trying to help.

  Ky is quietly eating and drinking as he listens to us talking.

  “I know you did. I used to worry about myself.” I level an earnest look at her as I take a gulp of my tea. “I’m trying to get my head on straight now. I didn’t like the person I was when I drank, so I’m determined to stay in control now.” In fact, I think I was a borderline alcoholic or close to the point of no return. Now, two drinks is my safe limit, and I’m sticking to that.

  Faye reaches across the counter, squeezing my hand. “I’m really proud of you, Rach.”

  Her words fill my heart with happiness. “Thanks. I’m proud of me, too.” It hasn’t been easy. For so long, drink and sex were my crutches. My way of escaping reality, and I lived for weekends when I could get out of my face and forget my life. But it was only delaying the inevitable. It was only ever a temporary release. So, I know, more than anyone, what Brad is feeling, and I feel for him. I do. Yes, he’s a dickhead, and he knows how to wind me up until I’m seething, but he’s in so much pain, and he’s lashing out.

  I’m furious with him for earlier. Getting all jealous and then trying to kiss me in front of everyone when he was drunk. The old me would’ve had no issue going there with him, but I’m changing. I want guys to respect me. To respect my body. Sex is a whole other minefield I’m trying to decipher.

  I’m not destined to fall in love. I know that’s not in the cards for me, that I’m incapable of sharing every part of myself with someone in such an intimate way, and I’ve resigned myself to that fact. It is what it is. Maybe, at some point in the future, I’ll want to give it a go, but, for now, I don’t want a relationship.

  However, there’s a part of me that wants to help Brad. Because, from what I’ve seen, he doesn’t have anyone else. Ky would be there for him if he could, but their situation is impossible, and there’s no way the two of them can have an honest conversation when Brad is convinced he’s in love with Faye. I saw him tonight, watching her. He has feelings for her all right, and I don’t want to get mixed up in the middle of that, but it doesn’t feel right leaving him by himself.

  I’ve been there, and it’s the loneliest place on the planet.

  Waking up with one hell of a hangover and dealing with the solitude and the return of all those thoughts you want to banish so badly is the worst thing on Earth.

  Besides, I still need to ask him about what I overheard outside the smoothie bar on Monday, so I can kill two birds with one stone.

  “I’m going to go to your place and keep an eye on Brad. I don’t think he should be left alone.” Faye and Ky exchange a knowing look. “I’ve been in his shoes, and I know what it’s like to wake up hungover, sick, and by yourself. I’m looking after him as a friend, nothing more, so you can forget any matchmaking ideas. I’m not interested in Brad like that.”

  “Sure, you’re not, little liar,” an inner voice taunts as I climb off the stool and walk to my room to get dressed.

  The smoke alarm is going off as I turn the key in the lock and step into Brad and Ky’s apartment thirty minutes later. “Shit!” I race into the kitchen. Brad is slumped over the kitchen table, fast asleep, snoring, and completely oblivious to the swirling smoke quickly filling the airspace. I swat my hands through the smoky cloud as I make my way to the cooker. A deep-fat fryer is on the hob and the hob is on.

  The whole place could have gone up in flames.

  I shudder, horrified at the images playing in my mind.

  Wrapping a damp cloth around my hand, I turn off the cooker. Flames are licking the base of the deep-fat fryer as I grab the extinguisher off the wall and spray it all over the hob. I only resume breathing when all the flames are out. Very carefully, I carry the offending item outside to the balcony with the damp cloth protecting my hands. Placing it on the ground, I turn back inside, coughing profusely. I leave the double doors open to help clear out the smoke. My eyes are stinging, and my throat is dry and achy after only a couple minutes in this environment.

  Brad is moaning and clutching his head in his hands when I walk back into the kitchen. The smoke alarm is still going off, so I run to it, jumping up and waving a cloth back and forth underneath the device until it finally stops. My ears offer up grateful thanks.

  “What the hell?” Brad croaks, looking around in confusion. He is sitting at the kitchen table in only a pair of boxers, but I’m too fucking angry to consider all he’s got going on.

  “You nearly set the place on fire!” I screech, and his hands automatically cover his ears.

  He looks up at me in confusion, his brow puckered. “What are you doing here?”

  “Saving your sorry ass!” I sag in the chair alongside him, suddenly drained. “Shit, Brad!” I shake my head, looking at him through a new lens as my anger gives rise to concern. “You could have died if I hadn’t decided to come check on you. Others could have died.”

  His face turns a sickly green color, and he pales at my words. Jumping up, he knocks his chair to the ground and lunges for the sink. A pang of sadness washes over me as I watch him throw up the contents of his stomach. It’s too close to home. How many times was I alone puking by myself after purposely overindulging? An acute twisty pain spears me on the inside. How easy would it’ve been for me to make a similar mistake to Brad? To be so drunk, and out of it, that I’d put the fryer on the hob instead of plugging it in? Too easy. That’s the scary truth of the matter.

  I get up and move to his side, rubbing my hand gently up and down his back. I grab a wad of kitchen towel and hold it out to him. He takes it from me, looking up as his stomach expels for the last time. The look of sadness and vulnerability in his gaze almost undoes me. The only other time I’ve seen such a tortured soul is when I’ve looked in the mirror. His eyes fill with tears, and I don’t hesitate, pulling him to me and wrapping my arms around his waist. He clings to me, and his head drops to
my shoulder. His body trembles against mine, and silent tears tumble down my cheeks. I don’t know if I’m crying as much for me as I am for him, because my head and my heart are aching so badly I can’t make sense of my emotions at the moment.

  After an indeterminable amount of time, his body stops trembling, and he lifts his head. He looks into my tear-sodden eyes and then presses his forehead to mine. I almost pass out from the noxious fumes, but I consciously hold my breath and give him a minute before easing out of his grasp. I take his hand. “You need to sleep this off. Come on.”

  I lead him to his bedroom and help him back into bed. I fix the covers over him and clear a space on his bedside locker. “I’m going to get you some water and tablets. I’ll be right back.” I touch his cheek and offer him a small smile.

  When I return, he is already fast asleep. I leave the tablets and water by his bed, crouching down to look at him as he sleeps. He looks so innocent, so young and untroubled like this. And so gorgeous. Brad McConaughey is a lot of things, but there is no denying he’s a beautiful man. His hair is much shorter than when I first met him, but that cropped look suits him. He has the face to pull it off. With his long lashes, stunning blue eyes, and carved face, he could easily model. If his football career takes off, and he becomes a celebrity, I can see him gracing the front cover of magazines and not looking out of place.

  Very quietly, I tiptoe out of his room and make my way to Ky’s room where I promptly conk out the instant my head hits the pillow.

  Sunlight is streaming through the open window when I wake sometime later. Rubbing my eyes and fighting a yawn, I reach for my phone, startled to see it’s after eleven already. My throat feels like someone took sandpaper to it. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I pad to Brad’s room and peek in. He is on lying on his other side with his naked back facing the door. The covers are all tangled up in his legs, and he’s snoring loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood. I must have been in quasi-coma mode not to hear that ruckus during the night.