With a sigh, I downed the last few sips and tipped my gaze to the bright night sky. Against the lights of the city, not a single star blinked. Hell, with the pollution, even the moon was barely visible. At Pappy's ranch, the stars peppered the sky every night when I visited during those extended summer stays and holidays. Those stars and the vastness of the night sky were my favorite part of the family estate.
Long-forgotten memories flitted to the front of my mind, urging a small smile to curl the edge of my lips. That ranch, those nights, fueled my obsession with the sky, which drew me to the career I now love.
Damn, when was the last time I even thought of that place?
Most of the memories were hazy at best, diluted by those years filled with copious amounts of coke and booze consumption. There was too much I didn't remember, not only from those trips to the ranch but also from life here in Dallas before rehab. Even though it sucked, missing pieces of my life, it never nagged or worried me. What did keep me awake at night, kept my mind reeling, was the ever-present sensation that I'd forgotten something, maybe even a someone, that I shouldn't have—something or someone important. But how do you pinpoint the cause when nearly six years of your life were blurred?
Vibrations against my chest pulled my attention back to the present. I wiped the dampness from my hand to snag the phone once again. Brow furrowed, I stared at the bright screen that flashed with an unknown number. Considering it came minutes after the previous call about Pappy's death, there was no doubt who I'd hear on the other end of the line.
“Yeah.” Turning on the heels of my thousand-dollar shoes, I strode back into the loft and straight for the wet bar. No doubt liquor would make this conversation easier, but no way would I let Dad be the reason I fell off my thirteen-year sobriety wagon.
“Did you hear?”
“Yeah.” The gurgle of the clear fizzing liquid pouring into the glass echoed in the otherwise silent loft. A pang of guilt and loneliness hit at the reminder of my solitude.
No. Not going there now. Caleb made his own damn choices.
“Bastard finally kicked it. Damn. Have you heard when the lawyers will disburse the estate?” Dad asked. Steady bass and a loud giggle filled the background. Of course he was at the strip club minutes after his father died. And Dad wondered why Pappy never approved of who he became and how he dwindled his trust.
“No.” Fuck, the conversation was already too long. The thick vein in my neck beat faster and faster with my rapid pulse. The dark granite of the bar was cool beneath my grip when I latched on to steady myself. Each breath grew shorter with the building anger and resentment. “What do you want?” I said through clenched teeth.
“Let's go out and celebrate, son. Tell your boss you need to head home for the funeral. Bring a few of your buddies with you. Damn, I should plan a damn parade. The mean bastard is finally gone.”
Funny, the mean bastard in my life was still alive and well and wouldn't let me off the fucking phone.
No way could I tell him I was already in town. First, I didn't want to see him, and second, I couldn't tell my father the reasons behind the two weeks’ leave I’d started three days before.
I couldn't tell anyone.
Two weeks to figure my shit out before reporting back to base. Two weeks to get my head back on straight so I could fly again. Safely.
I shook my head to bring my focus back to the conversation. “I'll be at the funeral.” The large swallow of sparkling water burned down my throat, easing a bit of the growing tightness. “The man who called mentioned it would be at the ranch in three days. I assume you're going?”
“Damn, I miss your brother right now. He'd go out with me to celebrate this momentous occasion. When the hell did you get so damn boring?”
He cannot be serious.
Closing my eyes, I attempted to will my blood pressure to lower. Unfortunately, it didn't obey the direct command. He missed my brother, his son, who was dead because of the lifestyle he coaxed us both to need. No sign of remorse, just pissed he didn't have someone who would go party with him.
Sweat beaded along my temples and neck. I set the phone down on the bar and shrugged off my jacket. After hitting the speakerphone button, I snapped off my cufflinks and rolled up my right sleeve then left.
A loud, obnoxious giggle flooded the apartment. If I weren't so damn pissed at the whole fucked-up conversation, I'd roll my eyes at the typical scene playing out on the other end of the phone. My father, such a class act.
“Shhh,” he chuckled into the phone. “Brenton, hey, I gotta run. I'll call the attorneys to see when the estate will be divided out. I could use that money to support the next club venture. Hopefully he didn't pour it all down the drain on those dumbass cows.”
Right. Fucker. All he cared about was making the next dollar, which he then shoved up his nose or down some dancing girl's G-string.
When he hung on the line, a sense of dread settled deep in my gut. Staring at the phone, waiting for the next bomb to drop, I popped each knuckle. Twice.
“Oh and listen.” I glared at the phone. “When you come into town, you might want to lie low. Not make a big deal that you're here, you know, but with this news, every gold digger in Dallas will be looking for a payday. Who knows what accusations will come out just for some damn hush money.”
Hell, not again.
“What did you do?” I seethed. The glass trembled at my lips as I attempted not to chuck it across the room.
Being away from this place for so long, I'd forgotten who Dad was. Who I was. The son of a slimy, washed-up multimillionaire. Our family name forever tainted by the multiple assault accusations against him and the failing strip club empire he kept pouring money into.
“Nothing. It's nothing. Call you tomorrow when I know more.”
Everything blurred as heat simmered beneath my skin, flowing through my veins and ticking up my temper with each rapid heartbeat. With a raging bellow, I flung the expensive glass across the room. The crystal splintered against the concrete wall, sending shards scattering along the floor.
My chest heaved as sweat dripped down my temples to my cheeks and neck.
Fuck that bastard.
Sealing my eyes shut, I focused on the deep breathing exercises I'd learned to lower my stroke-level blood pressure.
The first “episode” happened moments after the call notifying me of Caleb's death. The second happened the day after the exhausting twenty-four-hour turnaround from Kentucky to Dallas to attend the funeral. I chalked those up to shock and exhaustion, but then it happened again. And again. And again.
Now here I was once again on the verge of blacking out. Darkness encroached from the corners of my eyes, soon to cut off my vision completely. My muscles trembled and weakened.
Slowly, carefully, I shuffled to the long leather couch and fell onto it. The cushions conformed around my back and thighs with a soft thump.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
Shit, this couldn’t happen again. It had to stop. I had to find the cause and the cure by the time I was due back to base. If I couldn't, there was no way in hell I could risk my brothers' lives for the sake of my pride. No, if I couldn't get my head back on straight, I'd file for medical discharge no matter how devastating it would be. And it would be. The army, flying, my brothers—it was all my family and life. They saved me, and I needed them as much as they needed me.
Chest puffed out in a deep inhale, I paused at a light knock at the door. Slowly I blew the air out through my nose and waited. Another knock came seconds later, a bit louder, persistent that time.
Who the hell knew I was home?
I pushed off the couch with a groan and gave myself a minute to steady. The first step was tentative, the next stronger until I was convinced the episode was over and I was strong enough to meet whoever was here with the strength and confidence of regular Brenton Graves.
It was bullshit that the word “episode” was even in my damn vocabulary now
adays. But really, what did I expect from Caleb's sudden death combined with years of hoarded anger, a high-stress job, and a fucked-up childhood? It's a wonder this didn't happen sooner, honestly.
Not bothering to look through the viewer to see who was there at such a late hour, I yanked the door open, ready for anything.
A tall blonde stood just over the threshold, hand raised ready to keep knocking at the now-nonexistent door.
“Sorry, I heard a crash and thought….” Her smile pulled wide, exposing brilliant white, straight teeth. “Hi, Bren.”
Should I remember her? Hell, all those buried memories. Maybe she was the someone I'd been attempting to recall. But staring into her empty blue eyes triggered nothing, no flick of emotion or recognition.
I gripped the back of my neck and flexed my fingers to alleviate the tight tension building as I shot her a confused look.
“Right.” She laughed. “It has been a while. It looks like you've kept the place though. Too many good memories to let it go?”
“Sure.”
Her smile dropped, and she took a step closer, putting us toe-to-toe. A strong waft of expensive perfume saturated my nose and caught in my throat. “Sorry about your brother. Guess we all thought Caleb would grow out of it eventually. We still saw each other until… well, you know. It all happened so fast, and I'm just grateful I wasn't in the car with him that night.” Tears welled at her lower lids, but still, I stood unaffected. “I miss him.”
Nope. Not going there. Especially not with a damn stranger.
“Hey listen, I just rolled into town and—”
“Can I come in?”
I should’ve said no, but I'd love a way to blow off steam, and she was pretty enough. I didn't have to guess why she wanted to come in, where her mind was. Between being the wealthiest bachelor in Dallas and the military groupies back in Kentucky, it was always the same.
With a shrug, I opened the door wider and gestured inside the loft.
“Want a drink?” I asked over my shoulder as I headed to the wet bar to make another for myself.
“Vodka. Neat.”
As I poured the drinks, she meandered around the loft, slowing to gaze out the floor-to-ceiling windows on the other side of the room. The click of her heels against the concrete floor drew my attention to her red stilettos. From the shoes, my gaze traveled farther north, up her long legs to lean hips and a nonexistent ass.
When did women buy into the lie that men wanted their women rail thin? What the hell were we supposed to hold on to in bed when there was nothing to grab? Where's the fun when your hand was larger than both ass cheeks?
Glancing over her shoulder, she caught my roaming eye and smiled. With each step closer, her sensual smirk grew. At my side, she flicked her bright blonde hair over her shoulder, drawing my gaze to the low dip of her dress.
“Like what you see?” The twinkle in her eye and soft laugh implied that she was used to men saying yes. After a short sip from her drink, her pink tongue swiped along her bright red lower lip to lap up the excess. “I've waited for you. Do you remember the amazing night we had together? Right here in this loft all those years ago?”
“No.” No lies. It'd been a while since rehab, but pretty sure the last thing a recovering addict needed was to revert back to lying.
“Ah, well it's a bit of a blur for me too, but I remember having fun. Remember you being the best I ever had and waking up the next morning needing more of you.” Her warm palm skimmed up the front of my dress shirt and curved around my neck to haul her body flush against mine.
“Listen….”
“Candice.”
“Right. Listen, Candice, I don't—”
“The rumors are that all the money left in Caleb's trust shifted to you.”
And there it was. Knew she was the type from the second the door opened. Just another socialite who was hunting her own sugar daddy. Little did she know her type wasn't mine. Not anymore.
Maybe it never was.
“Does that matter?” I retorted, then turned to look out the windows she was just admiring. I needed to get away from here. Maybe being at the ranch for a few days would be good, even if it would pull me away from the high-priced therapist I'd already contacted to help with my issue.
The sly smile and smirk she gave in return to my question said it all. “I've loved you since that night. Since all the nights we had together. I've missed you, wanted you to come home, and now you're here. It's fate. We're destined, don't you see that?”
I choked on the laugh threatening to erupt. This woman couldn't be serious.
“Listen, Candy—”
“Candice.”
“Right. Listen, it's been a long day. You should—”
The hand around my neck slid lower and cupped me outside my suit pants. “Well then, Bren, maybe you should be the one doing the relaxing. Come on, baby, let me help you.”
Taking the drink from my hand with her free one, she set it on the bar before guiding me to the couch. Standing toe-to-toe, she shoved her delicate hand against my chest, pushing me to the couch with a smile.
I'm no idiot. I knew where this was going. Also knew I should stop her since there was zero interest past this one night, but I wouldn’t. Because I was Brenton Graves. And a Graves never said no. It was my heritage. All I needed to complete this family tradition was glassy eyes, lines of coke on the glass coffee table, and a raging party in the background.
Clinking of metal against metal pierced through the loft as Carley… Cathy… whatever her name was unclasped my belt. Soft brushes of her lips against the planes of my stomach relit my earlier temper.
“You need to leave Cassidy.” I stood making her fall back to her ass. As I strode to the door, my raging hardon screamed I was an idiot for kicking a willing woman out of the loft.
“What?” she shrieked. “You can’t be serious.”
I swung the door open and gestured out toward the hall. “I am. Now Candy. Out.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she seethed as she stormed past and down the hall.
Only after the door slammed behind her did I respond. “I have no fucking clue.”
It was the truth.
Between my blackouts and now the sudden disinterest in a woman on her knees, something was fucked up in my mind.
Wish I knew what and how to fix it.
2
Rebeka
My skin heated to an uncomfortable level through the back of my T-shirt where it touched the hot metal of the truck door, but I didn't pay it any attention. The only thing I focused on was Ryder's words.
“You're kidding me,” I breathed into the phone pressed between my ear and shoulder, where sweat immediately made the screen slippery.
“Nope. The rumor mill says the whole family will be in town for it. Three days, Beka. Three. Did you hear that part?” Ryder asked. Sympathy and concern poured through each word. “What will it be, face him or hide?”
“I won't hide from him again,” I grumbled. “I missed my chance to confront him at Caleb's—”
“Dr. Harding,” called the man I'd completely forgotten was around.
“Shit. Have to run. I'll call you later.” I ended the call, slipped the phone into the back pocket of my Wranglers, and forced a broad smile as I turned to face my client. With the hem of my Texas A&M T-shirt, I wiped the sweat from my upper lip as he jogged closer.
So over this day.
So over yesterday.
And the day before that.
Who was I kidding, I was just over this. Too bad I still had a shit ton of student loans to pay back before I could even think about choosing another career.
“Hey,” the man exhaled loudly at my side. “Thanks for coming by and checking on Stella. I know it was a last-minute call, but I was worried about my girl. It's her first.”
“And yours?” I asked with an arched brow. Newbies, so overprotective.
The young man pulled his Stetson down low over his brow and grumbl
ed, “That obvious?”
With a comforting pat on his shoulder, I tossed my supply bag into the bed of the old Ford. “She'll be fine. Just let nature take its course. If she seems in pain or can't deliver on her own, then call me and I'll come back out. But from checking her just now, I'd say you're waiting for another two to three weeks.”
His groan of frustration grated my already frayed nerves. The day started twelve hours ago, and in this heat, I had zero patience left.
Looking to the barn, he shrugged. “Women. Always running on your own schedule, am I right?”
The earlier smile fell from my lips and turned to a scowl. “I'd say it’s more about the proper gestation period needed for a healthy colt. We want the babe in there to cook a little longer so he or she comes out healthy. Agree?”
Chastised, he hung his head and gave a slight nod.
Not waiting any longer to get out of there, I swung open the driver side door and hauled myself onto the bench seat. Immediately my already sweaty ass and thighs suctioned to my jeans as the heat from the fake leather seeped in. Hell, it was too hot for June. What did we do to deserve this early heat wave?
If it weren't a complete blasphemy for a Daughter of the Republic to curse the state of Texas, I'd be wishing the whole state would go to hell. Even though it felt like we were already there.
Add in that I chose not to fix the air conditioning this winter as I’d promised myself I would, and my shitty day just went from awful to… well, shitty.
At a four-way stop, I banged my forehead against the hard steering wheel. Why didn't I ever make things easy for myself?
Each bump along the unlit county road elicited a creative string of curse words. It was pitch black past the dim headlights due to the zero streetlights around, making every turn treacherous. I should have left over an hour ago, but that didn't happen. And they call women chatty. In the past year I’d been out of school, I'd met more lonely, isolated ranchers wanting to talk my ear off for hours than any woman in Midland.
That could be me though.
My unladylike talk and sailor's mouth didn't win any points with the self-important women my age around here. Which sucked because once you got past my somewhat gruff exterior, I was a girly girl. Beneath these dirty, horse-shit-covered boots and sweat-soaked socks, my toes were perfectly manicured and painted a deep purple to match my nails. I devoured blog after blog of beauty products and had a month’s salary worth of face shit beneath the bathroom sink. I loved Hallmark Channel movies and enjoyed a good glass of white wine with an even better conversation. And of course, like any proper lady, I enjoyed a man who treated me like a lady in public but spanked my ass behind closed doors.
Vote Then Read: Volume III Page 222