by S. E. Hall
I walk back to my car, running down the list in my head of who would be my best choice to talk to about my current, huge fucking predicament.
By the time I’ve settled behind the wheel, I’ve narrowed it down to three choices:
Uncle Sawyer—who was already my first thought and will be real with me, holding nothing back and is familiar with being “relationship challenged” in his day. But he can’t keep a secret worth a shit.
Aunt Bennett—who can keep a secret and gives objective input, but I’d have to get her away from Uncle Zach, not an easy feat, because he’ll automatically side with Brynn on any matter.
Or my older sister Skylar—female perspective, 50/50 chance she’ll keep a secret and gets as frustrated as me with the whole “Brynn’s the baby” bullshit. But after what happened between me and Judd, who may have apologized but obviously thought about it, she might already be biased.
And suddenly, the best choice pops in my head and I literally laugh out loud in shock. Dumbfounded. About to choose the absolute last person I ever thought I would. Must be due to the loss of blood to my brain from the hard-on Bellamy left me packing.
I’m gonna talk to my dad.
Dane “Daughters Are Different Than Sons So I Must Demand The Most From JT” Kendrick.
This oughta be fun.
Ten
Bellamy
I’M ABSOLUTELY LIVID, and I don’t get livid—I’m pretty even keeled.
I’m also enthralled. I’ve never felt anything even close to this all-consuming fascination and I find myself wondering what more I’m missing.
But most importantly, I’m disappointed. Saddened to realize there’s some manipulation with other people’s fates going on, with no thought or regard for their feelings.
No offense to Mr. and Mrs. Kendrick, who I have no doubt are clueless to the games being played, but their children’s behavior is severely lacking the values and morals I know they pride their family on and work endlessly to instill.
My head and body are still reeling from that kiss Jefferson put on me. The way his warm lips grazed over my skin. His fingers digging into the flesh of my thighs as he held me up as if I weighed nothing and crushed his body to mine. He definitely has a right to his always confident smirk. The confident swagger in his walk. The twinkle of primality ever-present in those dark brown eyes. I now know, first-hand, it’s not an act. The man can make your body do and feel things you didn’t know it capable of…and I want more.
But I want more of the man who just took control and demanded my surrender, made me abandon all sense of reason and submit to him willingly. Deliriously.
Made me feel like a woman. A wanted woman, who needn’t think or worry about a thing while in his arms.
I have no desire to pussyfoot around and keep the secrets of a coward.
And the little time I’ve spent around his father was more than enough to know, he doesn’t come from cowardice stock. The man, so crazed with pure, masculine desire and dominance, ready to make me his, right outside my door? Unconcerned with who may see or what they’d think? That was the real Jefferson Kendrick. And I won’t settle for anything less.
So when, if ever, he’s ready to man up to everyone else…he knows where to find me.
In the meantime, I’m gonna teach a couple people a lesson. Serve them up healthy, heaping doses of their own medicine. You never forget the taste of cod liver oil, my grandma’s horrific remedy every time I coughed or sneezed.
Open wide, Kendrick kids—I’m about to show you exactly how it feels to have your life, choices and emotions fucked with behind your back.
Or am I? Just when I get all geared up to plan my counter-attack, a huge wave of guilt washes over me.
I hate games—when people callously play them—and I certainly wouldn’t ever engage in them myself without serious provocation. But if I simply call them out on what I know is going on…then I’ll never be certain if Jefferson would’ve fought for me and Brynn would’ve done the right thing on her own. So, the second route isn’t an option…or I might as well just stop speaking to them both for good right now, because I can’t pretend for the rest of my life to have faith in your character if I don’t.
What to do?
Call Emma, my best friend from back home. Yes, good plan.
“Hey,” she answers on the third ring. “Kinda late, you okay?”
“Physically, yes. Emotionally, not so much. I need some advice.” I sigh in her ear.
“What are we talkin’ here? Like, I can keep lying down with my eyes closed and insert a “yep” once in a while or do I need to sit up and be cognitive?”
I laugh, already feeling lighter. Good ol’, dry as toast humor Emma. I love and miss her. “Sitting up and cognitive please.”
“Oh shit,” she mumbles and I hear the sheets ruffle as she maneuvers herself upright. “I’m up, shoot.”
“Okay, but you have to keep in mind, I’m working strictly off assumptions and the piecing together of a few clues, but…I’d bet a tit I’m right.”
“Which tit?”
“What? Why does that matter?” I ask, now questioning whether or not she actually knows what “cognitive” means.
“Hello, your tits are like your hands, one is dominant. My left tit? Eh, she’s cool, but kinda dull. My right one? She’s my girl! Super sensitive and my orgasm trigger.”
I just…nope, I’ve got nothing. “I have no idea what the hell you’re even saying, or why, so moving on. Emma? You still there?”
Silence.
I look at my screen—the call’s still connected, didn’t accidentally push mute with my cheek. Oh my God…“Emma! Quit rubbing your right tit and listen!”
“My bad,” she clears her throat. “Done, promise. Go on.”
“So you know my friend Brynn, right?”
“Pitcher, the wall to your flower, got it.”
“Yeah, her. Well, she has an older brother, Jefferson, and there’s something there.”
“Dude, that’s disgusting. Find her a man not related to her, stat.”
“What? Oh. Emma, no. Jesus! What’s gotten into you, weirdo? Not something there between them,” I rub my forehead, questioning if my friend hit hers…like, really hard. “Between him and I.”
“Okay, yeah, that makes more sense,” she laughs.
“You know what, never mind. You’re too out of it to consult on a serious matter. I’ll think of something myself.”
“No, I’m listening. I’ll help you. It’s just, I went to this party tonight and I’m starting to suspect those cookies they were pimping had an extra dash of cannabis in them, but I’m good. Promise. Tell me about the brother.”
I fill her in on the instant attraction, every detail of his sexy allure and strikingly good looks, how he appeared out of nowhere at the bar and gave me a ride home, and finally, the kiss. Every sordid detail. And I can’t help but use more breathless adjectives than most probably do when talking about sex.
“So, what’s the problem exactly? ‘Cause I’m not hearing one.”
“That brings us to the suspicions and assumptions part of my story. I got a package delivered, no card, with a bikini, sunglasses, and a skimpy dress. Brynn didn’t say she sent it, but she didn’t say otherwise either, and she was awfully interested in what was in it. The she said something about it earning the help of someone, like blackmail.”
I go on, replaying the fight at the breakfast table, the whole “can I keep a secret insistence” from JT, the “forbid” comment he let slip and wouldn’t explain and Brynn all of a sudden ignoring Ryder.
“So, Sherlock, what’s your theory?” Emma asks.
“I think Brynn forbid, the exact word he used, JT from me and he agreed! Just like that! Then tonight, he couldn’t resist anymore and once I agreed to keep it a secret, he attacked. And the worst part? I think he told her if he couldn’t date me, that she couldn’t date Ryder, and she agreed too! Ignored the poor guy all night. They never considered our feeling
s, bartering and trading behind our backs like we’re inconsequential pawns they just move around the board according to their mood!”
“Shitty, very shitty indeed. Why are you friends with these people again?” She asks the valid question with disgust in her voice.
“Because,” my tone drops in shame for having painted them in perhaps too harsh a light, “they are good people. Brynn thinks she’s protecting me because Jefferson is a known player, and he’s just trying not to hurt his baby sister over something that may turn out to be nothing. Their hearts are in the right place, they’re just not in all the right places.”
“So talk to them.” She thinks she has it solved that quick—until I explain my hesitation there.
“Then what is your plan?”
In a hushed, doubting voice, I explain my cod liver oil revenge plan.
She cuts me off with a loud snort. “Easy, Cruella. That’s not you, and it’s totally not cool. Slap yourself on the hand.”
“Are you serious, or is that the cookies talking again?” I ask.
“Dead serious, do it. Hard, I wanna hear it.”
So, I slap the shit out of my hand, then pick the phone up again. “That hurt, bitch.”
“You’re the bitch, and a fucking hypocrite. Are you done with the crazy plan, ‘cause I have a better one. Still kinda revenge, but the playful kind.”
“I’m listening.”
THE NEXT DAY is Sunday; a beautiful, sunny one. And the day of the week Brynn and I have always agreed to take off from schoolwork, practice, whatever, to spend girl time together.
I call her around eleven.
“Hey!” She answers cheerfully; confirming that my new train of thought and plan are the right ones. Brynn cares about me and our friendship, I’m positive, but she has to learn she doesn’t have a right to dictate the destiny of others.
“Hey yourself, whatcha doing today?”
“Nothing special. It’s Sunday, you wanna do something?”
“I was thinking we could lounge around in your pool, beat this heat and work on our tans. I’ll bring snacks.”
“Sounds good, you need me to come get you?”
“No, I’ve got it covered but thanks.”
“Alright then, just head over whenever you’re ready. And don’t worry with snacks, we have plenty.”
“Okay, see ya soon.” I hang up, a clever smile breaking out, and push call again.
“Lo?” Ryder answers.
“Ryder, hey, it’s Bellamy. You busy?”
“Uh…hey Bellamy. No, not really.”
“Good! I just hung up with Brynn and we’re gonna hang out in her pool today. You know she’s too shy to call and ask you, so I’m intervening. Why don’t you join us, in, say an hour?”
“Sure, if she wants me there,” his voice perks right up.
“Pshhh, don’t play coy, you know she does. See ya in an hour!”
Harmless…and helpful, to everyone. This approach I can live with, guilt free.
I gather my stuff and run outside as the cab honks the horn. Yep—I even swung for a cab on my piddly income. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
The meddling Kendrick duo may have support in numbers, money and fairly good intentions, but they made a grave mistake. They underestimated the force that is Bellamy Morgan on a mission.
Especially after a kiss she can still feel every time she touches her fingers to her lips.
Eleven
JT
“HEY MOM,” I walk in my parents’ house on Sunday, hell-bent on having a talk with the mastermind himself. “Dad around?”
“He’s in the den, why?” Not surprisingly, she has a little pout on her face.
“I just need to talk to him.”
“You can’t talk to me?” The little pout grows into full-on, make me feel guilty, sorrow.
“Sorry, I need him on this one. But you know I love you most,” I wink.
“Don’t say that…out loud. You love us equal.”
“I do,” I laugh, “but your sad face is killin’ me. Make up your mind.”
“Just gimme a hug and go talk to your dad. He’ll tell me what you say anyway.”
I hug her and kiss her forehead, then go find my father, lounged back on the couch—watching the Asian stock market report or some such shit. Actually watching it; with interest…on purpose.
“Hey Dad,” I flop down on the couch beside him. “How goes the exhilarating world of overseas commerce?”
“Well, I couldn’t find any channel reporting on Beyoncé and what’s his name’s latest fiasco, so I was stuck with this. There’s no words to describe my disappointment.” He gives me a smug side glance.
“Good one,” I slap his leg. “Proud of you.”
“Thank God, I was afraid I’d lose points for not knowing her husband’s name. So, what can I do for you, son?”
“I…uh…need to talk to you about some personal stuff.”
His eyes double in size. “Is your mother on the phone?”
“No.”
“In the bathroom?”
“No.”
“Missing? Kidnapped? Mad at you?” He grins.
“No.”
“And you’re coming to me?”
“Yes,” I snarl. “Can you stop with the big production? I seriously need your advice.”
“Well okay,” he rises, trying to hide his pleased smile. “Let me get a cigar and pour a Scotch. I have a feeling I’ll need both.”
“Mom will kill you if you light a cigar in the house,” I chuckle.
“Gazebo it is then, meet you there in ten.”
Great idea, since it’s not hot as fuck outside or anything. I get up and head out the front door and to the side of the house, taking a seat in the gazebo, my dad not far behind, already walking toward me.
“Now,” he sits down and lights his cigar, blowing out a huge cloud of smoke. “How can I help?”
I’m glad I chose him. Even though he’s doing his best to act all nonchalant about it, I can tell he’s happy I’ve come to him—something I seldom do. I usually connect better with my mom because my father is so critical of me.
“I need your advice. As a man, not a dad. Can you do that?”
“Probably not, no. I’m your father first, always, but I’ll try.” He takes a long drink of his Scotch, prepping.
“Suppose when you first met Mom, didn’t know her but wanted the chance to get to know her, and,” I gulp, “Uncle Tate banned you from doing so because she was his best friend. Would you have listened?”
“Shit,” he groans. “I’m gonna need more Scotch, aren’t I?”
“Dad, enough joking around, tell me. Would you have listened?”
He drains his glass, crosses one leg over the other knee, and relaxes his posture… stewing in silence. Finally, he opens his mouth to answer.
“We’re talking about her, aren’t we?” He motions past my shoulder with his head and I turn around to see Bellamy climbing out of a cab in our driveway.
I snap my head back, before she sees me looking, and run a frustrated hand through my hair. “Yeah, we’re talking about her. Brynn doesn’t want me anywhere near Bellamy. Thinks I’m a shallow playboy who’ll only hurt her, thus ruining their friendship.”
“And?” My dad’s tone is even and simple.
“And I agreed. Well, I started off by saying Brynn couldn’t date Ryder either since he was my friend first, but I ended up quickly amending my bullshit and telling her to forget that because it’s unfair and stupid. I still agreed to stay away from Bellamy though.” I pause and look him straight in the eyes. “And then, I kissed her.”
My dad’s head falls back as he laughs, loud and from the gut. “I knew I’d need a refill,” he shakes his head and mutters when he’s done cracking up at my expense. He pulls out his phone and types something then returns his attention to me.
“One thing at a time,” he speaks intently now. “No, I wouldn’t have listened to any ultimatums from Tate,�
�� he blows out a heavy breath; just saying his deceased brother’s name causing him pain, “because that’s a completely different dynamic than two girl- friends. Plus, I had enough to worry about with your Uncle Evan trying to cockblock me. And lastly,” his voice carries a whole new weight, “my brother wouldn’t have done that to me. He was always in my corner, and I his.”
My mom comes walking up, concern etched across her face. “Here’s the drink you asked for,” she hands my dad a full tumbler. (Now I know who he texted). “JT, the girls are swimming in the back, oh and look,” she points, “Ryder’s here too. Why don’t you join them?”
“I’m good here,” I grunt, not evening turning to wave to the swimmers.
“Laney, your children are acting like selfish, callous asshats. Please, have a seat,” my dad pats the cushion beside him and my mom literally leaps at the invite to be involved in the secret discussion I know has been eating at her since I got here.
“Dad, damn!” I protest.
“Son, to hell with your damn. Hurt your mom’s feelings and see what happens,” he raises a single brow, the right one—his death signal. “Baby,” his hand, like always, audience be damned, finds my mother’s upper thigh. “Your youngest daughter is out of line, calling shots willy-nilly with other people’s lives. And your son broke a promise to her. Albeit a dumb promise he didn’t owe her, he made it, and broke it. Your children are out of control.”
“My children, huh?” She laughs. “That’s fine, I’ll claim them all day…asshat.” She gives my dad a snarky grin. “JT honey, tell Mama what’s going on. I’ll fix it.”
“Oh, I didn’t say I wouldn’t fix it,” my dad grumbles, “but I’m not going to. And neither are you. They’re gonna work this out themselves. I just wanted you informed so you could share in my disappointment of your children.”
“Hey Dad,” I toss out casually, “did I mention I secured the meeting with the head of Investment Acquisitions at Maxwell Trucking?”
“That’s my boy!” He raises his glass, grinning from ear to ear.
My mom and I smile at each other, shaking our heads. I go from her child to his boy in one sentence. It’s actually quite comical, especially because I truly believe he doesn’t even realize how often he does it.