The Art of Sage (Cruz Brothers #2)

by Melanie Munton

  I hesitated, thinking the “no pain” thing sounded pretty good. “Nah, I’m good.”

  He kept the straw in my face and scooted the coffee table across the floor, closer to me. There were two small white lines left on the glass surface, taunting me. “You want to feel like you’re on top of the fucking world, man?” Tyrese asked. “You want to feel like nothing could ever touch you? No drunk asshole dad or shit brands of food in the cabinets? This shit right here is the answer to all of your problems. This is how you get away from all of it and make something for yourself. This is an escape. So, fucking escape, man.”

  I wasn’t stupid. I’d known for a long time what shit like that could do to you. How it could mess you up if you let it.

  But I never thought about what it could do for you.

  And I’d been looking for an escape from all the misery—the anguish, the anger, the hate—for a long time.

  I just wanted a break from it.

  So, I took the straw from his hand, bent over the table, and snorted up my future.

  That was a memory that too often made it into my dreams. I hadn’t truly known back then what path I was taking and the kind of hole I was willingly jumping into. I’d been having more and more dreams like that lately. Dreams that were more memory than anything. They kept popping up in my mind during the days too and I wasn’t quite sure why.

  Sage and I had been together—officially—for weeks now and I was the happiest I could ever remember being. All that shit from my past had no room in my present.

  But the fact that Sal’s worsening condition was coinciding with these memories hadn’t escaped me. The more I recalled all the pain that man had caused, the more I wanted that escape back. I knew it wasn’t really an escape—it was more like a prison. Nonetheless, it made me forget.

  That kind of high wasn’t a vacation, but it could sure be a damn good ride.

  Temporary. The high doesn’t last because the higher you go, the farther you have to fall.

  If only I could just get Sal out of my head. He was the reason for needing an escape in the first place. Maybe if I finally had some kind of closure, I could rid him of my mind and memories for good.

  That’s what I told myself I was doing as I stood on the front porch of my parents’ house. I was bringing groceries over and maybe seeking a little closure. I noted that my mom’s car wasn’t out front, so I knew I wouldn’t find her passed out on the couch like last time. After going inside, I put the groceries away, ignored the liquor bottles everywhere, and slowly made my way to the back bedroom where I knew he would be.

  I paused at the door, doubting my reasoning for wanting to see him. But I bypassed the nagging questions and gently pushed open the door. What I saw couldn’t have left me more shocked.

  It was Sal…but not at all like I remembered him.

  He looked weak. He looked old. And even in sleep, he looked a miserable sight.

  He was at least thirty pounds lighter than when I last saw him. His skin was far more wrinkled and now had a jaundiced, yellowish tint to it. What little hair he had left on top of his head was gray, even though he was only in his mid-fifties. He looked like he could have been my grandfather. And I couldn’t miss the half-empty liquor bottle that sat on his bedside table.

  He couldn’t stop drinking, even though he knew it was killing him. He couldn’t stop. That could have been me.

  I wasn’t prepared for his eyes to open. For him to look at me through squinted lids before recognition set in and a certain hardness fell over his features. I hadn’t expected to talk to him, and I wasn’t sure that I was ready, nor that I could handle it.

  “Come to tell me how much you hate me?” he asked in a broken whisper, his voice unrecognizable. “Or spit in my face? Or just smile at the fact that I’m dying?”

  I swallowed around a dry mouth. “I don’t really know why I came.”

  His thin lips twitched in an eerie grin. “Maybe because you wanted to see what your future looked like.”

  Tyrese’s words echoed in my ears, jolting my system. “Excuse me?”

  “Your mom told me that you’re a cokehead now,” he rasped. “You like the drink too. Can’t say I’m surprised. You all three took after me in your own ways.”

  My mind went into a tailspin. Fury, resentment, and regret all battling for dominance inside me. “I’m five years sober. I haven’t touched a bottle or any other shit in five years. I have a much stronger will than you ever had. I realized I had a problem and fixed it.”

  His grin turned into an evil smirk. “And that’s why you’ve been looking at my bottle every three seconds since you walked in here?”

  I steeled my shoulders. “The temptation is always there. The weaker ones are those who keep giving into it.”

  “They teach you that in therapy?” he asked, laughing. “Don’t think for one second that you are any better than me. If I was born a bad seed, then so were you. All three of you. You’ve got that gene in you that will always keep you looking for something to make it all better. You’ll always be reaching for that easier way, whether it’s in the form of a bottle or a bag of snow. You are no different than me.”

  Now, he was just starting to piss me off. “Well, I know one thing. I would never, ever, beat my wife or children. Hurting those weaker than me is a cowardly act. You were always a coward.”

  “I made people respect me!” he growled, leaning forward in his bed. “I knew what the world was like out there, and I made you three tougher so you could handle it. So, nobody would fuck with you.”

  I huffed, shaking my head in disbelief. “You did it because it made you feel more powerful. More important. Your control over us was all you had, and it gave you some sort of sick pleasure to make us cower beneath you. We were kids for Christ’s sake!”

  “I did what I had to do as a father,” he replied. “It was the way my father taught me and he made me better for it. I had no illusions about the shit life could dole out and neither did any of you. You don’t have a family so you wouldn’t understand.”

  “I’m not even sure I want a family because of you.”

  “Don’t cry to me about how I screwed up your life.” His eyes were so cold, always had been. “You made your own choices, just like I did. And look where you are now. Parker’s a millionaire baseball star, Dawson’s some hot shot detective, and you’re what, a mechanic? They won’t give me credit for their success, but you’re going to blame me for your failures?”

  “I own my own business and I make good money,” I said through gritted teeth. “I actually have someone in my life who cares about me. And more than anything, I know that I’m not going to die alone, unlike you. Because even with Mom at your side, you won’t have anyone standing with you at the end who loves you. She stopped loving you a long time ago. And so did we.”

  I walked out before I could say anything else.

  I felt like a volcano about to blow and I needed to get out. But I saw it again, sitting on the goddamn coffee table.

  The little bag of white powder. Your escape.

  No. Not my escape. My destruction.

  The itch started. The closer I walked to the bag, the weaker the itch became. The better I felt. I stood over the table, staring down at it for long minutes. Remembering. Reliving. Recalling how good and how bad it all used to be.

  My phone rang. I picked it up without looking at the screen. “Yeah?”

  “Hey, man.” Dawson. “You busy on the 18th?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said absentmindedly. I couldn’t stop staring at the bag. “Why?”

  “We’re thinking of doing the kids’ birthday party that day. Works out best with mine and Mickie’s schedules.”

  I was barely aware of what he was saying. “Sounds good. I’ll be there.”

  “Good.” He paused for a second. “You okay, bro? You sound kind of weird.”

  “I’m fine. Just busy at work. Got a lot on my mind.”

  He grunted over the line. “I hear tha
t. Okay, I’ll let you get back to it. Make sure to bring Sage to the party. We’d like to finally meet this girlfriend of yours.”

  “Will do.”

  I hung up and went on auto pilot, hardly aware of what I was even doing as I…

  …picked up the little bag…

  …and left.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sage

  “Shirt off. Pants down.” I pushed Mason toward my living room couch, helping him pull off his clothes in the process.

  “And what about you?” he asked as he fell onto the cushions with his pants at his knees.

  I smirked. “I’m in charge right now, so I say when I get naked.”

  My mouth watered whenever I finally removed all his clothing and was rewarded with the beautiful sight of his tattooed chest and rippled muscles, his face hardening with predatory intent.

  “Weren’t you in charge last time?”

  “What can I say, I’m a 21st century woman.”

  I climbed on top of him, straddling his legs, and went to work on his stiffening manhood. His moans were music to my ears after another hectic day at work when all I really wanted to do was stay in bed with Mason all day. My mouth touched every inch of his skin and was heading toward his lap when his hands gripped my arms, stopping me.

  “How about we take this to the bedroom?” he asked.

  I raised my head and grinned. “I know the couch isn’t as comfortable, but I thought that was half the fun.”

  He lowered his voice, the timbre taking on a more serious tone. “I want to take my time with you tonight, Sage. Don’t get me wrong, I love our sex. I love the passion, I love the desire, but sometimes it’s nice to just slow things down. And I wouldn’t mind laying you out on that bed and savoring you all night.”

  No, no, no. Slow wasn’t good. Slow made me remember.

  “Mmm. But I’m having way too much fun this way,” I purred in his ear, trying to distract him. “You’re really going to deny a girl what she wants?”

  He pulled me back by the arms again, forcing me to meet his eyes. “We haven’t had sex like that even once, Sage. There’s nothing wrong with taking a break from fucking every now and then to make love. Why do you have such a problem with that?”

  “I don’t have a problem with it. I just have certain preferences, that’s all.”

  Those green eyes softened as he took my face in his hands. “I know you do, baby. And I love them. We’re similar that way, but I want you the other way too. It’s a different type of connection, and I want to be able to have that with you.”

  My breath was coming in a lot faster, my air passages feeling a lot smaller. “What if I can’t do that?”

  He leaned forward to give me a kiss. “You can. Just let me do all the work and I promise you’ll love it. I’ll take care of you, Sage. We’ll go slow.”

  I shot off the couch, backing away from him. “No, I can’t. You don’t understand.”

  He followed me across the room, reaching his arms out but I dodged his touch. “Then help me understand. Tell me why that’s hard for you and we’ll work through it together.”

  “Maybe you should just go,” I blurted as I walked to the front door. “This wasn’t a good idea tonight. I think I just need some time to myself.”

  Mason stopped in his tracks and stood his ground in the middle of my living room, naked as the day he was born. “I’m not leaving until we talk about this, Sage. You’ve kept this from me since the very beginning, and I let it go for so long because at first it was none of my business. When I realized it was a big deal for you, I told myself to let you tell me about it when you were ready. But that hasn’t happened and it’s starting to worry me. I feel like there’s a disconnect between us because this part of our relationship is missing. Yes, we have passion. Yes, we have this incredible physical chemistry. But we haven’t had intimacy, Sage. I want that and I think you do too.”

  My heart was slowly breaking. “So, you’re saying that I’m not giving you what you want or what you need.”

  He took a step toward me but I threw out my hand, holding him back. “No, I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that I want more. I want you to give me that part of you that you’ve been hiding. Rough, hot sex like we’ve been having is great. But sometimes it feels like your way of keeping me at arm’s length. Like it’s a defense mechanism for you so no one sees more than you want them to.”

  How had he figured me out so fast? The truth of his words felt like a punch to the kidneys.

  “It feels like you don’t trust me, Sage. At least not enough to let me completely in.”

  Tears sprung to my eyes. This was all starting to feel too similar to my break up with Scott, and it was making me panic. Scott had wanted more from me—or something different—and I hadn’t been able to give it to him. But I also hadn’t tried very hard to either.

  Mason made me want to try.

  “I do trust you,” I whispered. “More than I ever thought I would. But…” I swallowed, gathering courage to continue. “But you’ll feel differently about me when you hear everything. You’ll look at me differently and I don’t want that, Mason. I couldn’t handle that.”

  A spark of anger flashed across his eyes, his jaw tightening. “Do you think that little of me? You think I’m that big of an asshole that one thing you tell me about yourself would change my entire opinion of you? Change how I feel about you? I’ve told you things about myself that I’m not proud of. Things that would scare people or turn a lot of them off. Do you see me differently because of them?”

  “No,” I answered immediately. “I would never.”

  He had revealed his past addictions to me, admitting how hard going through rehab and withdrawal had been. Not to mention how hard starting his life all over had been. Hearing all of that had only made my feelings for him strengthen, not diminish.

  “Exactly,” he said, walking over to me. I let him take me in his arms because I needed his assurance right then. Assurance that we could still be us after I revealed everything to him.

  A few tears escaped my eyes, his fingers catching them, erasing their existence. “It’s fucked up, Mason,” I whispered, holding back the sobs in my throat. “The only person I’ve ever talked about it with was Pierce and even he doesn’t know everything.”

  He nodded and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. “I know, baby. I’m here to listen, okay? I just want to help. I know what it’s like to have something eat you alive and I don’t want it to come between us.”

  Minutes went by before I finally responded. “Okay.”

  ##

  Out of respect, I never drank around Mason. I understood the struggles of temptation and even if we were in a bar around other people who were drinking, I refrained. But he was the one who grabbed the bottle of wine I had chilling in the fridge and brought it into the bedroom for me. He had a Coke for himself, but he knew that I needed to imbibe just a little to get through this hellish story.

  Which was why I also didn’t feel too guilty whenever I took a few puffs of his cigarette. Just enough alcohol and nicotine to take the edge off. In the bedroom, Daughter’s ominous melodies played from my bluetooth speakers, filling the room with their haunting lyrics.

  Ominous. Haunting. Appropriate words for this particular story.

  “I can remember the pajamas I was wearing when my foster father Roy came into my bedroom in the middle of the night that first time.”

  I was lying in bed with Mason, my back pressed against his chest as he sat propped against the headboard. And at that confession, his entire body tensed. I couldn’t be affected by his reactions, though. I had to push on or I was never going to get through this.

  “It’s so ridiculous, isn’t it?” I asked with a mirthless laugh. “That I’ve blocked out so much of my life from back then. That I can’t even remember the simplest of details about certain things, yet I remember what I was wearing the night he first touched me.” Tears tracked down my cheeks but I ignored th
em. “It was a matching shorts and tank top set, baby blue with green frogs all over them. They were my favorite.”

  Mason squeezed me tighter to him whenever I had to suck in a deep breath. “I was asleep that night, but I never slept very well because I used to have such bad nightmares. I woke up as soon as he came into the room and shut the door. He never did that so I didn’t know what was going on and I didn’t say anything. He didn’t say anything either, which made me think that maybe he thought I was asleep. When he walked closer to the bed, I got scared so I closed my eyes and pretended that I was asleep.

  “He pulled the covers back, slowly, and sat down on the bed. And then he…” I squeezed Mason’s hand so hard, wishing I could permanently obliterate those images from my mind. “He touched me. I tried not to flinch because I was so afraid that he would get mad and I’d be in trouble if he knew I was awake. I had no idea what he was doing or why and I was terrified the entire time. After he left, I cried myself back to sleep and acted like it never happened the next day. I could tell that he was weary around me, and I hoped that it wouldn’t happen again. But he came back, again and again, in the middle of the night after his wife had fallen asleep.

  “I didn’t hide the fact that I was awake after a while, but it didn’t stop him. He just told me that I couldn’t tell anyone or I would be in trouble. His wife didn’t find out until years later when it was already too late. He was very good at hiding it. He…” I paused because this was the part that was fucked up. This was what I was afraid Mason would detest me for. “He was always…slow and…quiet. He had to be so my bed wouldn’t make noise and wake up anybody else. I can’t really say that he was gentle because it always hurt me, but I think he thought that he was. Gentle and tender. Maybe it made him feel better about what he was doing, I don’t know.

  “I got older and things changed. I wasn’t as quiet about how much I hated him, and his wife started to notice. And when I was assigned a new social worker, I was so miserable and desperate that I ended up telling her everything. He denied it when it all came out. We went to court, dragged the whole thing out for over a year, but the charges didn’t stick.”