With You: With you, I am who I want to be.

by Jensen Kristyne

  "What does Wes have to do with whatever the hell you just did?" She uncrosses her arms.

  I stare down at her and can see that she's not going to help me until I give her something more. I groan to myself, letting out a deep breath and rolling my eyes. What the hell is it with Becks and Wes, feeling like they’re warranted with knowing the most private details of my life. Fuck. They really are the perfect match.

  I drop my head and stare at the bar top. "Fuck. Fine." I turn toward her and push a shaky hand over the top of my hair. My fingers completely sink into the top of it, reminding me that I’m due for a haircut. I've been a little preoccupied lately. "My father is threatening Brielle because I won’t marry Katrina for a business deal."

  Becks launches into a succession of rapid blinks before throwing her head back in a fit of laughter. "You're fucked up, Wescott."

  "I'm not lying."

  "Sure." She backs away when a man in a white dress shirt across the bar, grabs a bottle and starts pouring himself a hearty shot. She heads in his direction but not before adding, "I don't care what the fuck your father wants. Just leave Brielle out of it, okay?"

  I follow her. "I can't do that."

  I walk up to the man in the white dress shirt and grab a fistful of it. Becks reaches for the bottle just as I slam his face against the bar top. "I don't like thieves. Pay your tab, and get the fuck out of my club," I spit out at the man. After I release him, he tosses a few bills on the counter after I release him, and then stumbles toward the exit.

  "Becks, listen to me." I chase her around the bar as she tries to ignore me. "I wouldn’t lie about this. I wouldn’t lie about Brielle being in trouble." That gets her attention.

  "What the hell are you talking about?" She whips around to face me. The guy who’s in front of her is waving dollars at her in an attempt to get her attention, which annoys me. I narrow my eyes at the jackass, and Becks pulls the money from his hand.

  "Three lemon drops, love. And hurry," he slurs. His eyes linger on her chest. He reaches into his wallet and pulls out another bill, sliding it slowly and facedown on the counter. "There might even be something extra in it for you if you play your cards right."

  I feel my pulse pick up, my skin prickling as I press my lips together. What the fuck? I walk over to Becks and step in between her and the man. My instinct to beat the shit out of this asshole wins out over my better judgment. She looks up at me confused when I lean toward the man. Slamming my fist down on the counter, I rip the bill from his hand and pass it to Becks. "Get the fuck away from my bar before I kick your ass," I speak slowly so that he can hear me.

  "The fuck? What about my shots?"

  "How about some advice instead?" I jerk his hand from the counter when he doesn’t move away. "Keep your eyes to yourself. If you want a peep show, the closest strip club is a couple of miles down the road." I turn my head towards Becks, who is watching with a sense of amusement I haven't seen before. "The money stays with the girl; now get lost."

  I wait until the guy stumbles away, before I turn around and find Becks smiling. "You didn't have to do that, you know? I can take care of myself."

  "Yes, I did. He was out of line." I roll my shoulders, raising my wrist and check the time. "Look, I need to leave and check on Brielle." Sighing, I lift my arm and place my hand on her shoulder. "Are you going to be okay without Wes?" She nods but doesn't say anything. "Okay, well, I guess I'll see you around. Tell Wes to call me when he gets back."

  I turn around and start to walk towards the exit, when I feel Becks's hand on my arm. Her fingers clasp around my wrist. "Theo, wait," she whispers. I turn around and stare down at her. "Is your dad really going to do something to Brielle if you don't marry Katrina?"

  Searching her eyes for any sign of humor I come up empty. There is none. She actually believes me. "Yes." I suck my bottom lip between my teeth and bite it. "There's more to the story, but I owe it to Brielle to tell her first." I drop my eyes. "I won't lose her like I lost Mason." Although I’m doing my best to keep my feelings under control, my voice betrays me as I hear the emotion building up in it. "I can't lose her."

  Becks shakes her head as if what she’s about to say pains her. "Fuck." She closes her eyes. "You really do love her, don't you?"

  "I do. I always have." I nod. This particular conversation is making me uncomfortable. I'm not the type of guy to openly share my feelings. But fuck if this girl isn't blessed with the skills of making one talk—something my father would see as something to exploit.

  She bites her lip. "Well, don't hate me, but I called her." She shifts nervously. "I . . . I didn't know."

  I shake my head and drop my hand. "It's okay; I figured as much." I smile at her, when I suddenly remember the phone call that I received before everything really went to shit. I reach in my pocket and pull it out. "I think she called me." I say as I open the missed call log. But the only name that I see is Wes’s. I look off to the side and feel my mind starting to spin out of control. "Damn it," I say when the worst possible scenario comes to mind. "It wasn't her." I slide the phone back into my pocket. "You don't think that she's with Luca, do you?"

  I can see Becks’s hesitation, and it does nothing to stave off my irritation. If he's there, I’m going to lose my shit, I silently tell myself.

  "Knowing him, I wouldn’t doubt it. Luca is nothing, if not predictable, and he’s not the type to give her up without a fight," she says in a matter-of-fact tone.

  The fuck? How the hell is that supposed to make me feel better? I squeeze my fists and try not to show the effect her words have on me. "Yeah, that's what I'm scared of," I admit. "Well, I better go.”

  "Hey!" Becks reaches out to me but drops her hands when she can clearly see the frustration written on my face. "I'm sorry. I was wrong about you." She shrugs as if to say she’s not good at apologies. "You play the part of an asshole, perfectly. But you're kind of a good guy too. I'm happy she has you."

  I tilt my head, sweeping my eyes to her. "Thanks," I say, but I'm still not sure if she means it, or if she's simply fucking with me. "I better go."

  She laughs as I walk around the corner and exit the bar. "Take care of my girl, Theo!" she yells. "She's not like me. She's too nice for her own good."

  I’m not sure how much time has passed when I pull into Brielle’s driveway and throw my truck into park. My whole body is on edge. I planned to take the bike, but it's cold as shit tonight. I run up to the door and lean into its frame, listening for any signs that she may not be alone. I raise my fist to knock, when from the window that’s adjacent to the door, I see two figures sitting side by side on the couch. My shoulders tense when I recognize Luca’s slouched frame.

  I trail my eyes along with her as I watch her stand and move into the kitchen. Her petite frame is hidden under a longT-shirt and pajama shorts. As much as I want to bust down the door, stride over to Luca, and rip him from the couch, I can’t.

  She’s laughing? I feel my stomach drop out. She takes the bowl and leans over the side of the couch, Luca moving with her, happily.

  He says something, and she smiles in response. Whatever it is elicits Luca to lean into her and close the remaining distance between them. Their lips meet, and my skin comes alive as a slow burn heats every inch. That irritating itch to punch something gnaws at my core.

  I take a step back and turn around. I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone. My fingers feel numb as I dial and walk back to the truck.

  “Hector, yes, I’m sending you an address—Brielle Sutton . . . you’ve met her once before. Blonde, five foot two. Yes, that girl. I want you and Ramirez on a twenty-four-hour watch until further notice.” I pause before opening the driver’s side door. I’m thankful to hear that, the two are just around the corner. My eyes flit up to the window. “She’ll probably have a Lucas Garrett with her. He’s friendly.”

  I click off the phone and pull out of the driveway. I need to put as much distance as possible between myself and Luca, before I do something I
might regret—something she’d never forgive me for.

  Besides, I can’t protect Brielle in jail.

  chapter thirty-six

  THEO

  I finally stop sobbing when I pass out on the couch, my arms clutching a box of tissues and an ice cream spoon. Sense and Sensibility is idly playing in the background because, of course, I'm a glutton for punishment. This past week has been a series of bad days on top of bad decisions. So I’ve made the choice to spend the weekend alone.

  I keep playing our fight over and over in my head, and I get why he left. It only took seeing him with that hostess for me to think the worst. I just wish Theo could see it from my perspective. Luca isn't a threat. It shouldn't be about choosing between the two of them, when they both mean so much to me. Luca’s as close to family as it gets. He’s my best friend. Losing him would be like losing a tiny piece of myself. But I love Theo.

  We’d been only a few feet away, but I could see it. The walls behind his eyes were already starting to build back up, and I could sense he was hurt as I watched him walk away, hop on his bike, and speed off. I called out to him but he ignored me. I called his phone, but he didn't pick up. I know he probably feels like me not choosing was my choice, but that's not true. Maybe if he had let me talk to Luca, I could have explained it to him without it turning into what it did. But it’s too late for that. Theo’s gone, and I doubt he’s the type of guy who gives second chances.

  I wake up to my alarm, and it's six in the evening. Squinting my eyes, I silence it. I feel like crap, and I don't need to look in the mirror to know that my eyes are swollen from crying and my makeup probably looks like something out of a horror movie. But why do I care? I toss my phone back on the coffee table and sit up on the couch.

  Out of habit, I sweep my eyes around the room, but I don't know what I expect to find. I know I'm alone. Becks told me this morning, before she left, that she’s sleeping at Wes's this weekend, since they’re working together and going to Theo’s big fight tomorrow night. But a girl can dream. . . of brown hair, and hazel eyes.

  I run my hands over my face before I push them through my hair, wrapping it in a bun. Yup, tonight’s definitely going to be a lazy one. I eye the mint chocolate chip ice cream, which is now more of a soup after I left it sitting on the coffee table. Crap. That was my last pint. I stand up and walk into the kitchen and dump it down the drain. I finish rinsing the bowl, when I hear my phone start to ring; Becks’s special ringtone playing loudly.

  "Hey B, I just wanted to check in and see how you were doing?" Becks's concerned tone, rings in my ear. I pull the phone back and drop it on my chest, hitting the speaker button as I do. "Are we out of ice cream yet?"

  "Hey, friends aren’t supposed to judge one another." I roll my eyes. I can practically visualize her pacing around the club's walk-in fridge, brow's crinkled and biting her nails. "But I’m good. How's work?"

  "It's fine," she says, drawing her words out in the way she knows I hate. The way that tells me she's about to tell me something that she knows I won't like—kind of like the time she accidentally slept with my English teacher’s aide last semester, and then she pretended like it never happened until we bumped into him outside of the Union. The poor guy practically ran from us.

  "But . . ." I say, urging her to get on with it. My mind is teeming with all the different possibilities.

  "But Theo's here," she begins, and I don't talk because I can tell that there's more. "W- with Katrina."

  Wait. What?

  Katrina . . .?

  "He's with Katrina?" I sit up. My phone flies off my chest and lands at my feet. Picking it up, I ask, "What . . . ugh, what are they doing?" Though I'm not sure I really want to know. An image of a scantily clad Katrina hanging all over him instantly comes to mind.

  Should I head up there?

  My eyes move down to my pajama shorts and the T-shirt I'm currently wearing, remembering that I'm also not wearing an ounce of makeup, and my hair is in a bun. No. I'm in no shape to compete with Katrina tonight. not that I ever could even if I tried. She’s gorgeous and well-traveled—a perfect match for someone like Theo. I'm just . . . me.

  "Nothing, really," Becks finally admits. "I've been watching, though, so don't worry. They've just been sitting up there with his dad and another man. Talking."

  I feel sick, thinking about the two of them together. Apparently, Theo didn’t love me as much as he thought if he’s able to move on already. How the hell did I let myself believe that he could actually change? I should have stayed away.

  "Thanks, Becks, but you don't have to watch him," I say, trying—but failing—to sound like it doesn’t bother me. But lying has never been my strong suit, so I add, "I promise, I’m fine. Besides, you said it yourself. Theo will always pick Theo. I don’t know what I was thinking."

  "Maybe," Becks says, but she's even worse of a liar than I am. "Oh my God. This bitch!"

  "What? What's wrong?"

  "Now she's leaning on him, and he's not shoving her away. That asshole. He's—"

  "Becks, I really don't want to know."

  I lift the phone to my ear and turn off the speaker. "It's okay, really." My voice is strained. "But I appreciate you letting me know. You're a good friend."

  "Damn, you're handling this a lot better than I would be." She half laughs. "If it were me, I'd get my ass up here and mark my territory. Show the whore who she's really messing with."

  Oh my God. I raise my hand up to my face. "Becks, just because she and Theo are hanging out doesn't make her a whore." I shake my head.

  "Oh, she's a whore all right." I listen to Becks take in a quick breath. "A dirty, man-stealing hoe bag with a . . . ugh . . . hold on one second."

  Oh Lord. I laugh to myself. I hear Becks murmuring something in the background to someone else but it's distant. She must be holding the phone down, because it sounds like I'm underwater.

  "Ugh . . . I have to run. Apparently, his highness needs drinks made," she chokes out the words.

  "All right, but do me a favor. . ."

  "What?"

  "Try not to spit in their drinks, please?"

  Becks chuckles. "I make no promises."

  Hanging up with Becks, the doorbell rings, and secretly I hope it’s someone whose heard my silent plea, bringing me more mint chop. I throw the door open and instead I find it’s karma slapping me in the face, when I see . . . “Luca? Hey!”

  “Hey, Bree!” He walks in the door.

  “Ugh, not that I’m mad. But I thought we said tomorrow?”

  “We did.” Walking over to the coffee table, he grabs the remote and makes himself comfortable on the couch. “Hey! You got anything to eat? I’m starving.”

  Um . . . “Sure.” I’m so confused.

  Did Becks send him?

  Half an hour later, he’s still here. The only explanation he offered was one in the form of a question: What? I need an excuse to hang out with my best friend?

  “Okay, but this is our last bag of popcorn, so chill out, would ya?” I laugh, tossing the last popped kernel at Luca's head before dumping the new bag in the bowl.

  Luca leans over the couch; his arm is extended down the back of it. "No promises, Bree. I'm a growing boy."

  I roll my eyes and drop the bag in the trash, grabbing the bowl and moving to settle back on the couch Luca reaches out to take a handful and I swat his arm away.

  "This is my bowl," I tease him, raising the popcorn above my head as I lean back over the arm of the couch.

  He drops his pillow, the small, square one with daisies, and it falls to the floor. His body brushes up against mine while he reaches for the popcorn; our lips are an inch apart. "We'll see about that."

  It's then, somewhere in between the smell of his cologne and the tender way he’s watching me, I let myself wonder what it might be like to be with him. Everyone else seems to think we belong together. What if we are? Maybe he’s right, and I haven’t really given us a chance. For a long time, it’s just been the t
wo of us and Becks. Maybe the reason I’ve been so reluctant to give him up is because, deep down, I know he’s the one I should be with. Not Theo.

  "Ha." Luca snatches the bowl from my hand, a playful smirk pulling at his lips as he readjusts himself back on his cushion. "Don't worry. I'll share. . . if you're lucky."

  I let myself smile, but I’m not sure if it’s more forced than real. The sudden shift in my mind makes my head hurt. I lift my eyes and find he’s watching me again. His attention lingers in places that it should never be. I reach for my blanket and lay it over my bare legs, my shorts and T-shirt are no longer enough.

  "Sorry," he whispers. But he doesn’t look away.

  Instead, he leans forward and frames my face with his hands. I part my lips to ask what he’s doing, when out of nowhere, he crushes his lips against mine. The force of his kiss knocks me back, and I stumble trying to keep up to him. His lips are soft, softer than I’m used to. I close my eyes and try to give in to the moment, if only to see if there is anything. Then I hear Luca moan, and at the sound of it, I squeeze my eyes shut. A part of me, hopes that I can feel something for Luca. But I don’t. I feel nothing.

  Luca pulls away before I can break the kiss. His body slinks back against the couch. He pushes a hand through his hair. "Sorry, I just . . . I had to."

  I nod, feeling a twinge of guilt resonate within my chest. The weight of the kiss settles and casts an uncomfortable heaviness throughout the room. I reach for the controller to start our show. But something Theo said pops into my head, He loves you. I hear his voice, and with it, our entire fight flashes across my mind again. I plead to my inner conscience, wishing that I could turn it off. It’s no use. I close my eyes, feeling the barrier build between us.