by T. S. Joyce
“My life used to be so simple,” Rhett gritted out, shoving Kamp away. “And stop walking so close to me! I swear to God if your dick touches me, I’m burning down your damn trailer and setting Waffles with Peanut Butter free.”
“Okay, first off, I’m not trying to touch you with my dick! It’s just big.”
Rhett snorted. Cocky asshole.
“And second, I’m still about forty percent pissed that you bought Raider that rabid fucking naked mole rat, and third! Rhett, I know you heard me. I saw you kiss Juno.”
They stumbled over the last ridge before the trailer park. “So what, man?” Rhett said, breath freezing in front of him as he rounded on Kamp. “I can’t kiss a girl? It didn’t mean anything.”
“Lie,” Kamp said softly, resting his hands on his hips.
Rhett growled and shook his head in a warning. “Kamp, if you don’t cover up your stupid dick right now—”
Kamp cupped himself and arched his eyebrows like better?
No. No. No, no, no, nothing was better! Now his head was all messed up on a girl he barely knew. He couldn’t stop thinking about that damn kiss, the sound of her laugh, her silver eyes, how startled her bear had looked when he hit her with his truck, or the way she stared at him in the passenger’s seat while he hummed a song. Like he fuckin’ mattered. Like he mattered. Or the way she’d said she looked up to him. Or the way her smile was higher on one side or the way her eyes crinkled at the corners as though she’d spent her whole life laughing. Or how much fun it was to have her holding onto him while he drove that ATV like a madman through the woods, just to test her, just to see if she would tell him to slow down.
“My life is complicated,” Rhett said. “Juno will leave soon, and we’ll all go back to normal.”
“None of this is normal,” Grim said.
Rhett and Kamp both jumped and took a few steps back from the Alpha, all bloodied up and leaning against a tree as if he’d been there the whole time. Birthday suit and boots. Nothing like Rogue Pride bonding time. Rhett hated everything. Except Sara. And Juno. They were cool.
“I saw you kiss her, too,” Grim said, his eyes blazing yellow still as if his lion was still in control. Problem was, they could never tell which of the two lions was in charge at any given time. Grim? Or the Reaper.
He looked completely at-ease except his black mohawk was messed up. He was scary quiet when he wanted to be.
“Good for both of you. You have eyes in your head.” Rhett turned and walked away, flipping them the bird over his shoulder.
“She’s Remi’s friend,” Kamp called.
“So?”
Kamp sighed. “So don’t ruin her.”
Rhett rolled his eyes to the clouds above and shook his head. Assholes. Like Rhett intended to ruin her. Sure, he was always trying to get out of work and laid out boobytraps in Kamp’s trailer when he got bored. And sure he’d put Pen15 Juice labels on all of Kamp’s beer and sold it without his permission. And sure he hid the mail from the Crew, slashed Remi’s tires, and bought Raider a naked mole rat mostly to piss Kamp off, but he was mostly a good person.
His beer buzz had worn off and his ribs hurt like a motherfucker. He was cold down to his soul and had work early in the morning. Which he needed to figure out how to ditch so he could have visitation with Sara and Dr. Monroe.
But all that fell away as he looked up and saw her—Juno.
She was sitting on the bottom stair of 1010, huddled in her jacket that she must’ve picked up from the porch where he’d thrown it, shivering, elbows resting on bent knees, cheek resting on her hand, windblown golden hair lifting in the cold breeze, silver eyes steady on him.
The first time I saw you I knew,
You would be the end of me
And I didn’t want to lose,
Everything I thought my life would be
I fought you from the second I knew you…
From the second I knew you…
He could hear the guitar chords as the lyrics came to him.
Hello again, muse.
Remi jogged past him to get to Kamp, but he barely registered her. He couldn’t take his eyes off the worry that pooled in Juno’s eyes. How long had it been since anyone had worried over him?
Felt nice. Better than nice… For some strange reason, it was a relief to have one person care about his well-being for once. Not because he was a singer. Not because he had a big following. Not because of what he was, but because of who he was. He didn’t care what Kamp and Grim said. She was here for a day, or two days, or a week. She was temporary, but he wanted to keep this feeling of connection. Like the moment she’d clamped her teeth on his arm and held there—just existing, two bodies turned to one. That hadn’t gone away. In fact, it had gotten stronger with their kiss. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, even when she wasn’t around, if that made any sense. She felt different than other people, and he’d met thousands. He’d become desensitized to people, and here she was, pulling feelings from him he’d thought he was incapable of.
He didn’t know why she was so interesting to him, or why he was so attracted to her. All he knew was that he didn’t want to get rid of this feeling and cut her off just because the others thought he ruined everything he touched.
She was waking up his muse, so maybe he would ruin her just a little.
He was okay being a stain if he could make a good memory for her.
Chapter Nine
The relief that flooded her veins had Juno sighing the breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. The second Rhett came out of those woods, his gate steady and strong, she felt dizzy with how glad she was that he was all right.
He’d protected her. Her. A big old bear shifter. Yeah, she was submissive, and fighting was hard on her animal, but he hadn’t known that. All he’d known was that he was going to take care of the threat, and she needed to get somewhere safe.
Good man.
She frowned. Injured man. He was coming straight for her, and as soon as he stepped into the halo of porch light, she winced. The left side of his torso was all clawed to hell. But if he felt the pain, his cocky, crooked smile hid it. His shoulders were wide and cut and his abs on full display, flexing with every step in the snow. He wore tan work boots that were still unlaced and nothing else. Dayum. There should be, in existence, a twelve-month calendar of just men in boots and nothing else. She was trying not to stare at where his big hand cupped his nethers but, good lord, it had been a while since she’d seen a man like this. No, strike that. She’d never seen a man like this. She wanted to say something smart, but once again she fucked up the moment. Say I like your shoes. No, say I like your nipples. No, don’t do that. Be cool. Say— “I like your shipples.” No!
She squeezed her eyes closed and hung her head as his deep laugh echoed through the clearing.
“Thanks? I think?”
“Yeah, well, if you ever need a moment turned awkward or a weird compliment, I’m your girl.”
“Mmm, you’re my girl, huh?” he asked so softly she nearly missed it over her own embarrassed giggling.
“What?” she asked, hope blooming in her chest.
“I want to show you something.”
“If it’s your dick, I can actually see it right now, peeking through your fingers,” she said, pointing.
“Ha!” he said, looking down and adjusting his hand to cover more. “I mean something not perverted, but thanks for keeping us in the awkward stage.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” she said, bowing her head once.
“I would guess a lifetime of practice.”
“You would be correct. Okay, show me your non-penis. I’m super prepared.”
Rhett twitched his head toward 1009. “It’s in there.”
“Are you about to get creepy?”
“I’m not luring you into my den, Juno. You know who I am, or I guess…what I was. It’s one of the only things I brought from my old life.”
Intrigued, she stood and called o
ut, “Night, Remi, I’m going to a slumber party at Rhett’s tonight.”
“Cool, don’t get an STD,” Remi called.
“What the hell, Remi?” Rhett drawled out. “Shifters don’t even get those and thanks for the cock-block.”
“I’ll kill you if you touch her,” Remi sang out as she and Kamp headed back toward their trailer, arms around each other’s waists.
“Hate,” he muttered low to himself as he lead Juno toward his trailer.
Juno was really trying to hide a smile, but it wasn’t working.
“Glad you’re amused,” he muttered.
“I owe you an apology,” Grim said from Rhett’s front porch right as they moved to climb the stairs.
“Aaah!” she and Rhett both yelped in unison, jumping back like a pair of synchronized swimmers who had practiced the move a hundred times.
Grim was sitting on the plastic chair, staring at them like they were steaks and he’d skipped dinner.
“How the fuck did you get up here?” Rhett asked.
Grim ignored his question and said, “I’m sorry I almost killed you tonight.”
Rhett looked down at her, but hell if she knew who Grim was apologizing to. She was pretty sure his lion tried to kill everyone here tonight.
“Uh, there’s always tomorrow,” Rhett muttered as he grabbed her hand and led her to the front door.
The snarl that emanated from Grim’s throat lifted the hairs on the back of her neck. But he shook his head hard, said something to himself she didn’t understand, and stood to leave. Rhett pulled her into the house and locked the door behind them.
“He means well,” Rhett said.
“Really?”
“No.”
She snorted a laugh. Okay, most of today shouldn’t be funny, but he had a way of lightening any situation. He was funny. “Just so you know, a sense of humor ups a boy’s hot-points by at least a dozen.”
“Only a dozen? That’s my only positive attribute.”
“Exactly, so your hot-points are at twelve.”
He snickered and led her through the small kitchen to a back bedroom. She was about to pop off again about how she really wouldn’t be licking his pickle tonight, but she swallowed her words down when she saw why he’d brought her in here. In the back corner of the room, hidden from easy view by a bed, there was a single guitar on a stand. Oh, she recognized it. Any girl who claimed to be a fan of his would. It was an old beat-up Martin acoustic guitar with a soft leather strap where he’d hand painted the words Country will never die.
The frets were all worn, and the fretboard scuffed from pressing strings on it for so many years. The thing was scratched and had a strip of camouflage duct tape along one curve. The pickguard was black and had been scuffed all to hell.
This instrument had seen music.
Real music.
“Someone special gave me that when I was sixteen,” he murmured, pulling on a pair of sweats. He disappeared in the bathroom for a few seconds and returned with a dark gray towel, pressing it against the worst of his claw marks on his ribs. He tossed the bloody towel into the hamper in the corner and picked up the old guitar by the neck. He sat on his unmade bed, his leg dangling off the side, the other folded under him. He plucked it distractedly.
“Perfectly in tune,” she murmured, closing her eyes at the notes. God, she’d missed the simplicity of plucking strings. When she opened her eyes, he was looking at her so strangely.
“What?” she asked.
Without a word, he shifted positions and put the guitar in her lap. She took it from him on instinct, her fingers finding her favorite chord, her right hand stroking the strings. Her heart heaved a sigh with happiness.
“Play,” he demanded.
She strummed a few more chords and plucked out a melody to one of her dad’s old songs he wrote for her mom. She messed up twice and replayed it until she had it committed to memory again. “It’s been years.”
“Don’t matter. Ain’t nobody here but us, and you’ve already impressed the shit out of me.”
So…she played, but she didn’t sing because she would cry. Happiness did that to her sometimes, made her eyes leak all the emotions she failed at keeping inside.
And holding this old soul—this old guitar—this possession that had known more love than most people, that had known more devotion just from a set of fingertips…well, it broke something inside of her. But the breaking didn’t hurt. Sometimes when a dam flooded during a rainy season and the water pushed and pushed, rose higher and higher, the dam might feel the break but, oh, the water—the water was free.
Juno hadn’t realized it, but she’d been in a rainy season for way too long.
And Rhett had just placed a crumbling dam in her hands.
Instead of singing, she would reward him for sharing this with her. She would share, too. So as she played, she told him a story.
“When I was a girl, I spent so much time in bars. I remember watching my dad play at this local place with my uncle. I would be doing my homework up at the bar with this nice bartender there named Layla, my mom helping me. And always, always, there was music in the background of my life. I can’t count the times I fell asleep in my mom’s lap at the late shows. And she would ask me, ‘Juno, why don’t we stay home tonight so you can sleep in your bed?’ And I would always say the same answer. ‘Because I never want to miss a show.’ When we were home, my dad was on his guitar, and he never told me to go away so he could write his songs. I was always just…there. That was my life. I had the best childhood. He can’t talk well, only whisper, but he would say that music was in his blood, and he’d given that to me. One day I came home from school, I was maybe seven, and he had an old secondhand guitar he’d bought at a pawn shop for me. And he set to teaching me. I started to imagine what it would be like to be on stage. He was…enthralling. Up there shootin’ whiskey between sets with my uncle, all eyes on him when he played. And that man can play. The first time he pulled me on stage, I thought I would piss myself.” She laughed at the memory. “I really did. I thought it would be so embarrassing, and I would shame my dad and my uncle. I froze. But my dad didn’t let me run off the stage. He just kept playing, and my uncle started singing my part. Eventually, I sang with him, and eventually my uncle let me take over the song. I loved music.”
“Loved. But not anymore?”
She smiled sadly. “I had this dream that I would find bands like the Beck Brothers and gift the world with real talent. That I would change the industry and give people music that spoke to their souls, not just their pocketbooks.”
“And?”
“And I never figured out how to do it. Not in time.”
“Juno?” he asked.
“Hmm?”
Rhett’s face was so serious and his eyes a dark blue as he asked, “Who’s your dad?”
“Brighton Beck.”
“Holy fuckin’ shit,” he said before she’d even finished the last syllable. “I knew it. I knew it had to be him or Dennison Beck when you were talking about how you grew up. Look at this.” When he lifted his forearm, it was covered in gooseflesh. “Juno Beck?”
She smiled and sang softly as she strummed the guitar, “That’s meeeee.”
“Holy fuckin’ shit,” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What does it matter?”
“It matters to me. You said you look up to me, right? You look up to what I was trying to do for the industry and for shifters? Who do you think I looked up to? Do my actions remind you of anyone? Your dad and uncle were who I idolized growing up. My Pride was falling apart, my life was falling apart, but I had one thing to focus on.” He gestured to her guitar. “Music. And when I was a kid, shifters had just come out and the world hated us, but your dad was making music anyway. Bear shifter, uninterested in fame, recording albums in some hole-in-the-wall studio called…”
He pulled his phone out, punched in some keys, and then laughed and shook his
head again. He turned the phone around, and it was a picture of the studio they’d made in the office of Layla and Kong’s bar. And there she was in a little blue tutu and ballet shoes, legs crossed on a chair as she frowned down at a coloring book. Her hair was up in curly pigtails and her tongue was sticking out in concentration. She still did that when she was really focused. And there was her dad and Uncle Denny, both playing guitar and singing into a pair of microphones. The picture was an old black and white grainy image, and on the back wall of that makeshift studio was a sign the Ashe Crew had made for them that said Beck Brothers.
Rhett pointed to the little girl. “That’s you, isn’t it?”
She didn’t know why she was tearing up. Maybe it was just because she hadn’t seen this picture in years, or maybe it was the good memories it brought her, or maybe it was holding a guitar again. “That was in the back of Sammy’s Bar. It was the best room for acoustics they could find. My dad and uncle didn’t have two pennies to rub together, but they didn’t need it. They just did their thing and stayed out of the spotlight and kept the attention on their music. I wanted more of that. And I never saw anything come close…until you.”
There was no humor in Rhett’s face now. No smile waiting to happen, no wicked glint to his eyes. There was only shock. “You came here. Out of all the mountains, out of all the Crews, you landed on my doorstep.”
“Maybe the universe thought we were supposed to meet.”
“Your dad… Apex experimented on him, right?”
She nodded. “They took him and my uncle when they were young. They cut out my father’s voice box to see if his shifter healing would grow it back.” She swallowed down the rage she felt every time she thought about it. “It didn’t.”
“But he didn’t let that stop him from making music.”
She smiled and shook her head. “My father is a very strong man. He just didn’t know it until my mom came along and pushed him in the right direction.”