Save My Heart (Sticks & Hearts Book 3)

by Rhonda James

  I give him mad props for getting all that out while keeping a straight face.

  “You through being a dickhead?”

  He taps a finger against his lips, pretending to ponder my question. “Yeah. I think so.”

  “Anyway, I got back from Chicago and stopped in The Hideout for a drink.”

  “Dude, I keep telling you you’re not going to find anything but skanks in that dive bar.” He makes a tsk tsk sound while shaking his head.

  “I wouldn’t say that. That bartender Melissa is pretty sweet. Nice rack, too,” I point out.

  “True.” He nods in agreement. “But that rack is already spoken for.” Realizing I’m not following him, he adds. “Her fiancé, Jax, owns the bar.”

  “Wait,” I interrupt him, still confused, though I’m not sure why I even care because this is totally off topic. But now that he’s brought it up, I feel compelled to clarify. “Bald? Goatee? Wicked tattoo sleeves down both arms?”

  “Six four. Ex-military. Could rip your balls off with one hand and force you to eat ‘em. Yep. THAT guy.” Cage leans back in his recliner. “You weren’t in there hitting on her again. Were you?”

  I blow out an exasperated sigh. “For the last time. I’ve never hit on Melissa. I pay her to get me drunk. That’s it. Besides, that’s not where I was going with my story.”

  “Well, then, make your goddamn point. I’ve got some serious sexin’ to get back to.” He glowers at me.

  Cassie loves him. Cassie loves him. I silently chant the words and take a cleansing breath to keep from taking his head off and stuffing it under that damn recliner.

  “The fuck, dude? You know, you’re lucky she loves your sorry ass, or I’d throat punch you right now.”

  He throws up his hands in a show of concession. “Sorry, it’s just that you’re starting to piss me off. Stop rambling and tell me what made you drive all the way out here when you clearly weren’t in any condition to be driving.”

  “Stop interrupting and let me finish.” My brows shoot toward the ceiling, daring him to argue. “I ran into Ashley at the bar.” He opens his mouth again, and I hold up a hand to cut him off. He steeples his fingers beneath his chin in an attempt to appear calm, but the look on his face tells a different story.

  “We had a lot to drink. One thing led to another. There was kissing, and she wanted me to screw her in a bathroom stall. Solicited sex in a dingy bathroom.” His eyes go round with shock. “For the record, I didn’t sleep with her. For a minute there I thought about it. I tried to make myself numb and just go through the motions, but this woman came into the bathroom, and the fragrance she was wearing reminded me of someone. After that, I told Ashley it would never happen for us and that she needed to move on. I went home, but that damn scent was in the stairwell of my apartment building. It was like I couldn’t escape it. Then I heard this woman laughing.” I pause and take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Dragging it out. “Cage, I’m not sure if it was the alcohol or if it really was her.”

  Come on, dude. You already know.

  “Her, who? Which her are we talking about?”

  “Skylar. Skylar Dennison. High school. Senior year.”

  “The virgin?”

  “That would be her.” I meet his sympathetic gaze.

  “Oh, shit.” It’s funny how two simple words can sum up what I’m feeling so eloquently.

  “This woman in your building.” He pauses. “Does she live there?”

  “I don’t know. She had keys, so I guess so. I’ve never seen her there before, but she went inside the apartment across from mine.”

  “Well, this is good. At least now you’ll be able to find out if it really is her.”

  “And just how the hell do you propose I do that?” I scowl.

  “Umm, by knocking on her door.” There’s a duh inflection in his tone, but he spares me the eye roll this time.

  “Uh, no fucking way.” My head moves back and forth to reiterate my objection to his stupid idea.

  “Why not?” he demands.

  I hop up and start pacing the living room. “For starters, she fucking hates me. Can’t say I blame her, either. Looking back, I was pretty awful to her.”

  His brows rise with amusement, and a smirk tickles the corners of his mouth. “You’re seriously gonna pussy out? Geezus, Rivers. It’s been four years. You really think this girl is still pining over you? Hell, judging by the pictures I’ve seen, she’s probably dating some guy who respects the hell out of her. Gives her two point five orgasms a day.” I shoot him the finger, and the look he returns says fuck you, too. “Look, all I’m saying is, that was high school. Things change. People change.”

  “You still don’t get it, do you? I’m not saying I’m hung up on this girl. But when we were together… She’s the only girl who didn’t want me to be something else. Ashley was always looking to change me into her ideal man. But with Skylar, I already was her ideal man and all I had to do was be myself.”

  “If she was so perfect, then remind me why you broke up with her?”

  “Because I was a dumbass who listened to his shithead friends instead of his heart. A few of them suspected I hadn’t popped her cherry, and they gave me shit about it all the damn time. They grilled me day in and day out, reminding me that I had all these girls lining up to sleep with me and I was busting my ass trying to do the impossible. They took to calling Skylar ‘Fort Knox.’ Things just got really bad. Looking back, I should have told her about everything I was feeling, but then she came over and told me she was ready. Fuck. I was so goddamn hard my hands were shaking. I fumbled around trying to roll that damn condom on.” I chuckle at the memory.

  “Dude. Been there. Go on.” His hands go behind his head and his eyes close, as if he may be reliving his own memory.

  “We were so close, but at the last minute, she asked me to stop. I don’t know, man. I was eighteen. Stupid. Horny as hell. I lost my head, and at that point, I was so angry with her for toying with my emotions. All I could think about was Rachel Westin offering to let me back in her bed.” My face falls into my open hands, and I let out a frustrated groan. “After that night, Skylar wouldn’t even talk to me. I tried. I sent text after text. Then, one morning, she just vanished into thin air. I went to her house, and her mom told me Skylar had moved away. I haven’t spoken to her since that fucked-up night. I never found out why she left without saying good-bye.”

  “Dude, can you blame her? Sounds to me as if she was just scared. Women really aren’t as complicated as men make them out to be. All they really want is to know they’re loved. They want you to hold them when they cry. Tell them they look beautiful, even on mornings when they wake up with the previous day’s crusty mascara and they haven’t brushed their teeth. They need you to show them that you’ll be there for them when times get hard. Especially when times get hard,” he emphasizes.

  My gaze drops to the floor. Ashamed. “I tried doing all those things, but in the end, I failed her.”

  “Scott.” His voice commands me to look at him. “You were a kid. You need to stop beating yourself up. You tortured yourself enough during freshman year. What’s the worst that can happen? So, you knock on this woman’s door and it ends up being Skylar. You apologize. Pour your goddamn heart out if that’s what it takes to move on. Whether or not she accepts your apology is on her. Not you. Even if she slams the door in your face, you haven’t lost anything.”

  “Okay, Dr. Phil.” I smirk at him. “Thanks for listening. I guess I just needed to process everything out loud. And you’re right. I shouldn’t let the past consume me. After all, I’m sure we’ve both moved on. I don’t know why I reacted the way I did. Thanks for not thinking I’m crazy.”

  “Oh, I never said that.” He starts making his way toward the stairs. “You hooked back up with Ashley; that right there tells me you’ve got a screw loose somewhere in that fool head of yours.” I give him the finger, but it’s a half-hearted attempt, because he is partially right. “You want to crash
here?”

  “And listen to you two screwing each other’s brains out? No thanks. Go. I’ll let myself out.”

  “Lock up behind you!” He calls before bounding up the stairs three at a time.

  I let myself out, locking up as I go, but when I reach the sidewalk, I find myself turning, rooted to the small section of concrete beneath my feet as I stare back at the house I called home for the last three years. Flashbacks flicker through my brain as fast as a thirty-second infomercial. The day we moved in. The first party we ever threw. The inevitable hangover the next day. Davis burning a bag of microwave popcorn in the middle of the night, which led to the screeching smoke detector rousing us out of bed in our underwear trying to turn the fucking thing off. Coming home to find Cage in our kitchen with Cassie and the fight that occurred moments later. The last night the four of us stayed here...

  Now, everything’s different. Life is changing so damn fast, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. What I do know is, some days I find myself wishing I could go back to the way it once was.

  CHAPTER 5

  SKYLAR

  Dinner’s at 6:30. Eating on the patio. Laney suggested a sweater. Maybe?

  I can’t stop myself from smiling after reading Derek’s text a second time. I’ve only spent a few hours with Derek, but the thought of his pregnant wife directing him to have me bring a sweater is enough to put a smile on my face. I will admit I’m looking forward to meeting Laney, but the closer I am to leaving, the more the reality of my situation finally begins to settle in and leaves a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Whether I’m ready or not, soon I’ll be staring into the face of Scott Rivers. The only man I’ve ever loved. Of course, he was more a boy when I knew him.

  How will he react when he sees me? And worse, how will he feel after finding out I’m going to be following him around, chasing after him like some common puck bunny? I hate the corner I’ve painted myself in. If I’d been honest with Mitch at the very beginning, I would probably be home in Atlanta, curled up on the couch with a good book. Instead, it’s Thursday evening and I’ve spent most of the afternoon fretting over what to wear. Skinny jeans? Leggings? Sundress? One makes me look too skinny. One makes me look as if I don’t care. The other may give the impression I’m trying too hard. I don’t know. Maybe I am. I’ve applied, removed, and re-applied my eye makeup three times to achieve the perfect smoky eye. First, I tried straightening then ended up curling my hair. All this trouble to make myself feel better when I face him.

  I never spend this much time in the bathroom. Not for anyone. Least of all some asshole who knowingly broke my heart and didn’t stop until he’d crushed the remains with the heel of his boot. The effort I’ve put forth tonight says way more about my own insecurities than I care to admit. Out loud, anyway. I study my reflection one last time in the mirror and search for something. Anything. But no matter how long I stare, the flashing neon sign fails to reveal itself, which can only mean one thing: I’m in the clear. My secret’s still safe.

  Well, safe for now. But I have a sinking suspicion that’s all about to change

  ***

  The drive to their house is long but mercifully uneventful. Traffic is thick, but I’m used to driving defensively during rush hour in Atlanta, where I-85 becomes one twelve-lane monstrosity its travelers have not so affectionately named “The Connector.” And don’t get me started on “Spaghetti Junction,” the part of town where I-285 and I-85 meet. If you’re anywhere near there during rush hour, you may as well forget about arriving at your destination on time. So, driving from Detroit to Chelsea feels like a walk in the park compared to that. The closer I get to their house, the more beautiful the scenery becomes. The two-lane highway is surrounded by large oak and maple trees, and I admire the way they form a canopy over the road. Love the way the evening sun filters through the lush, green leaves. By the time I reach their driveway, it’s safe to say I’ve fallen in love and am ready to contact a realtor. As I exit the car, reality snaps me out of my fantasy in time for me to make my way up the front porch steps. I knock on the screen door and hear a soft feminine voice call out.

  “Door’s open. I’m back here in the kitchen.”

  I step through the door, and the aroma of garlic and Italian seasonings lead me straight to the kitchen, where I find a very beautiful and very pregnant brunette.

  “Skylar?” She approaches with a smile before opening her arms to embrace me in a heartfelt hug. “I’m honored to meet you. Derek’s had nothing but wonderful things to say about you. Come on, place your stuff on the counter and let me get you something to drink.”

  I place my purse and cardigan on a section of the counter that appears to be a catchall area and smooth down the front of my tank. I ended up going with the skinny jeans and ballet flats, deciding I’d take skinny over desperate any day of the week.

  “Tell you what, you look all sorts of busy. Why don’t you just point me in the direction of the drinks and then allow me to help you in here? Sound good?”

  Relief fills her heart-shaped face. “Really? I hate to ask. I could have sworn I had everything together, but now that you’re here, I realize I’m running behind. There’s beer and wine in the fridge, but if you prefer a mixed drink, I believe Derek has a mini bar set up out back.”

  I laugh and pull open the fridge. “Actually, water will be just fine. Thank you.” I grab one of the bottles of water. “Can I get you anything while I’m in here?”

  “Gah! You’re an angel. I can already tell I’m going to love you.” She smiles again, and I find myself remembering what Derek said before leaving my apartment yesterday. They’re going to take one look at you and fall in love. “There should be a bottle of green juice in there. I’ll take that, please.”

  I scan the contents of their refrigerator and spy a short bottle of something resembling pureed spinach. I read the label, Bolthouse Farm’s Green Goodness. “This it?” I hold it up for her to see.

  “Yep. That would be the one.” She chuckles after seeing the look on my face. “Hey, don’t knock it till you try it. There’s some good shit packed in this little bottle.” She twists off the top then grabs a small glass to pour me a sip. She holds it out for me to grasp, but I give her a look.

  “It looks like someone pureed a bunch of spinach and lettuce, threw it in a bottle, then suckered you into paying a fortune for it.” I laugh through my grimace.

  “Oh, shush. Just take a sip, and I promise you’ll be singing a different tune.” I pick up the glass and give a sniff before bringing the rim to my lips. It doesn’t smell like salad. It actually smells fruity. Sweet. I swallow down my fear of trying new things and take a swig of the putrid-looking green stuff.

  The moment it hits my tongue, I find myself wanting to savor its refreshing flavor. It slides easily down the back of my throat, and I lick my lips for any residue left behind. Laney already knows what I’m going to say, because she’s bouncing on her toes and clapping.

  “I knew it! I told Derek the same thing, and he thought I was crazy. Now he drinks them all the time.” She opens a drawer and pulls out a set of wooden salad forks. “Would you mind pulling that bowl of salad out of the fridge and giving it a toss? I’m just about to pull dinner out of the oven and throw in the garlic bread.”

  “I knew I smelled Italian.” I smile because it’s my favorite. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Ziti.” She reaches for the oven mitts before opening the heavy oven door. “The guys love it.”

  “Yum. I’m also a big fan. You sure you don’t need any help over there?” I ask as she heaves the largest baking dish I’ve ever seen out of the oven. Derek walks in just as she’s setting it on the counter to cool.

  “Babe, I told you I’d wrestle that thing out of the oven for you. She never listens.” He plants a kiss on her lips before stepping my way to give me a hug. They have to be some of the friendliest people I’ve ever met. “Glad you could make it. Was traffic insane?”

  “Please. I’ve
spent the last four years fighting Atlanta traffic. This is nothing. Atlanta drivers are ruthless, but I suspect that is only because they would be run off the road if they didn’t learn to be defensive.” I laugh.

  “Bro, I thought you were bringing me a bucket for—” The guy speaking stops talking and halts in his tracks the moment he sees me standing in kitchen. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.” He looks between all of us while I sip my water and take him in.

  “Nah, man. Not at all. Masterson, allow me to introduce you to Skylar Dennison. She works for Harrison Media and is a journalist for PLAY. That’s an up and coming sport’s magazine Mitch launched earlier this year. Skylar’s doing a story on Rivers and Cage,” he tells the guy with the dark hair and even darker eyes.

  He holds out a hand for me to shake, and I find my eyes drawn to the intricate tattoos covering his forearm. “Hi, Skylar. Please, call me Jordan. And might I add, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Our hands connect, and I can’t stop myself from smiling up at him. He’s incredibly handsome and downright charming. Not really my type, though. I’m partial to blonds. But my mind immediately goes to Samantha. If she were here, she’d be all over him. Poor guy probably wouldn’t know what hit him.

  “Likewise, I’m sure.” I do a quick curtsy, which in turn makes him laugh.

  “Masterson was on the team with us, and we spent the last three years sharing a house on campus. Cage and Cassie live there now, or at least until they find another place,” Derek adds.

  “Cassie?” I ask innocently, already fearing he’s referring to Scott’s sister. I was really hoping to get through tonight without having to rehash the history I share with Scott.

  “Oh, Cage is dating Scott’s sister. Actually, I’m pretty sure he’s going to propose soon,” Derek informs me.

  “It’s about damn time. God knows he’s been carrying that ring around for months.” Jordan laughs, and it’s this melodic, happy sound.