While mumbling a stream of colorful curse words, he rolled down the window. “And I thought a helicopter filled with soldiers after a ten-day assignment was bad.”
“Told you I always win.”
“Is this something you want to win?”
“Winning is winning.”
“How long has your AC been out?”
Right. The last thing I wanted was Brenton Graves to know how broke I was. “Not long.”
“You just fucking lied to me.”
Sweat beaded along my palms at the intensity in his statement. “What?”
“How long, Beks?”
“You can wait in the truck while I grab my stuff. Then we can run by Cavender’s. Out this way, no one knows about our past drama, so we’re okay going in together.”
“Answer my question. Now. And don't lie to me again or I'll whip your ass.”
On their own, my thighs clenched together in an attempt to relieve the rising throb his threat caused. “Last summer.”
When he didn't respond, I glanced his direction. His attention was focused out the windshield, staring at the blank landscape as he white-knuckled the door handle.
“It's fine. Better for the environment.” I shot him a wide smile, which he didn't notice. “Sorry, I'm sure you're not used to being uncomfortable. So fancy.”
Still no response.
Whatever. One-handed, I popped the Stevie Nicks tape in and turned up the sound. Halfway through the first song, me singing along word for word, Brenton broke his random pouting session.
“What the hell is this music?”
“Um, Stevie Nicks,” I said defensively.
“Who?”
“Stevie Nicks, lead singer of Fleetwood Mac who also went on to have an amazing solo career. You know, Stevie Nicks.”
“She sounds like a dying cat.”
“You sound like a dying cat.”
“What?” he said through a loud chuckle.
Ignoring his comment, I twisted the volume knob to the right and went right back to singing along with the fantastic rock star.
An inner self-conscious piece cringed as I pulled into the parking spot in front of my building number and cut the engine. It wasn't the most beautiful place, a little old and run down, but it was cheap and safe. I’d never cared about the looks until that moment with him sitting beside me. Judging.
“I'd love a shower, and I need to pack. Do you mind waiting that long?”
I shoved his shoulder to gain his attention. Those green eyes cut over with annoyance behind them.
“There's a Starbucks up the road. Take the truck and meet me back here in an hour.”
Not waiting for an answer, I tossed the keys in his lap and shoved open the door.
He was dead.
I didn't give a shit how pretty he was or how much money he had, Brenton Graves was a dead man.
Two fucking hours—gone.
After pacing the sidewalk in the blazing hot sun for twenty minutes, effectively negating the shower I'd taken, I’d stormed back upstairs to wait in my somewhat less hot apartment. I peered through the thin metal blinds like a crazy neighbor, staring at the parking lot. What was worse, I was the idiot who never asked for his number, so I had zero way to get ahold of him.
For the hundredth time in the past thirty seconds, I spread open two of the blinds and peeked out.
“What the hell?” I muttered, leaping from my perch by the window. Overnight bag in hand, I stormed down the metal stairs, making a beeline for the smiling Brenton.
“Where in the hell have you been?” I seethed, dropping the bag at his feet, which his amused eyes tracked, to cross my arms over my chest. “You've been gone for over two hours. Did you get the shits or something?”
Behind his sunglasses, both dark brows shot up in surprise. “The shits? No. I skipped coffee to fix the truck’s AC problem.”
My hands fell to my sides and I sighed, now more frustrated with myself at jumping to conclusions. “You didn't have to do that, B. I was going to get it fixed when I had a chance. I've just been working a ton and need my truck so—”
He rested his callused hands on my shoulders. “Say thank you, Beks. I had the time.”
Unable to resist, I matched his smile with one of my own. “Thank you. Really, thank you.” Shifting my attention around the parking lot, I searched for my vehicle. “Now let's go get you some clothes. Where’s the truck?”
“Behind me.”
Eyes wide, I gaped at the brand-new F250 he leaned back on. “What. The fuck. Is that?”
“I didn't say how I fixed the air issue. Now remember, you said thank you.”
“B, this is….”
“Amazing? Perfect?”
“The most arrogant gift. Ever.”
He shrugged, hit a button on the key fob that started the engine, and tossed the keys into the air. Still staring at the beautiful vehicle in front of me, I snatched them before they hit the ground.
“You drive,” he stated, grabbing the bag at his feet before walking to the passenger side.
My fingers brushed along the bright red paint as I inched toward the driver door. It was precisely the color I would've chosen out of all the options. Through the window, I smiled at the staring Brenton, rewarded with a broad smile of his own.
I shouldn't accept it. It was too much. Who gave someone a truck?
Brenton fucking Graves, that was who.
The heavy door swung open with ease. Giggling, I lifted myself inside and settled into the cold seat. My eyes shuttered closed at the air wafting against my ass and back while near-arctic air blasted my face.
“This is heaven,” I mused, rubbing a hand over the soft leather steering wheel. “It's too much. I shouldn't accept it.” Rolling the back of my head against the leather headrest, I slowly opened my eyes to meet his. “But I really, really want to.”
“Then do. Consider it payment for helping me. And it was a bit selfish too. I was fucking hot.”
“Fancy pants,” I joked with a wink.
“I've been in rougher conditions in Afghanistan, but here, stateside, if I can help not being balls hot, I'll do whatever I can to be comfortable.”
“Yeah, I needed to shower earlier. I had total sweaty ass from the hot drive out here.”
“You’re telling me you had swamp ass.”
“Yeah, I guess, if that’s the technical term.”
“Wow, the shit you say, woman,” he grumbled and looked out the window, almost like he was trying to hide his chuckle. “Come on, let's go get my clothes now.”
“Where did you get those?” I asked as I carefully backed out using the backup camera. Damn. Maybe with this I could parallel park.
“Found them in my closet. Guess I've gained some weight since the last time I was out at the ranch. These things are damn tight.”
“You don't hear me complaining,” I mumbled to the window.
At a stoplight, I fiddled with the stereo, programming my favorite stations.
“Do you have the awful dying cat singer albums on your phone?” I nodded while shooting him the evil eye, which made him chuckle. “I couldn't salvage your tape, but this truck has Bluetooth, so you can stream the songs directly from your phone.”
That time I nodded with a wide grin instead of the death glare.
“You haven't stopped smiling,” he said, drawing my attention to the fact.
“It's the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. How could I not smile like an idiot?”
“Surprised previous boyfriends hadn't done it. That truck wasn't safe.”
“First of all, no comment on the boyfriend part. Second, not everyone has enough cash sitting around to buy a truck for a friend.”
“Friend,” he mused with a lingering look at my chest.
“Eyes up here, B. And it's how we started originally.” I shrugged and gripped the wheel tighter as the memories roared back to life.
His smile fell. “Did I never… was I good to you?”
“And when I wasn't?”
“You were gone. The Brenton I loved was hidden, stuffed inside this blank stare. You were never bad to me, but those times when you were high, it slayed me.”
Silence fell as I backed into a parking spot. Leaving the truck running, I swiveled in the seat to reach across the large console and grabbed his forearm. His despondent stare shifted from the side window to where our skin connected.
“What happened? Tell me. I deserve to know.”
My smile fell. “You're the one who forgot. You don't deserve shit.”
Frustrated at the mix of emotions all this remembering conjured up, I stormed out of the truck and marched to the store door only to see the closed sign through the glass. I cursed at my watch. Another thirty minutes until they opened.
Turning to tell Brenton, I kept turning, not finding him directly behind me. I looked back to the truck and saw him still sitting in the passenger seat. When our eyes met, he smiled and gave an exaggerated point to his watch.
Bastard.
Defeated, I shuffled back to the truck and slid into my seat.
“How was your walk?”
“You're an asshole, you know that? How in the hell did I put up with you as long as I did?”
“Good point. How long was that again?”
I sighed and leaned the seat back to get comfortable. “Hell, two years? Three maybe.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him staring.
“How old are you?”
I popped up and reached for the push start button. “You hungry? Whataburger is—”
He swatted my hand away and gripped my chin, making me face him. “Beks. Answer me.”
“Or?” I said breathlessly.
“The same as I said before. I'll whip your ass.”
Heat filled my cheeks. “You'd be wise to threaten a punishment I wouldn't enjoy.”
The grip on my chin tightened a fraction, and his lips turned white as he pressed them together. Tension pulsed in the cab, the heat building between us.
“Thirty,” I whispered. “I'm thirty.”
That snapped him out of the lust-filled haze in his blazing green eyes. “Wait.” Behind his eyes I saw that mind of his working out the math. This should be fun.
“Yep,” I said with a small grimace.
“Fuck! What the hell was I thinking!”
“Now you see why everyone was… upset when they found out we were together. Especially my father.”
“Please tell me my math is wrong that when we first got together… Please tell me I didn't sleep with a fifteen-year-old.”
“You didn't.”
“Thank fuck.”
“We started hanging out when I was fifteen. I was seventeen when we first had sex.”
“Not great—”
“Or legal.”
“Better than fucking a fifteen-year-old when I was what, seventeen? Eighteen?”
“Eighteen.”
While he processed the new-to-him information, I adjusted the seat and saved the settings. “I love the truck. I don't deserve it, and every rational thought is telling me not to accept it. But I want it.” The whine at the end and the dramatic pouty lip were an attempt to ease our growing tension.
“It's yours, so stop fighting it. Once I get the title, I'll switch it over to your name and have it sent to you.”
Right. Sent to me. Because he was leaving again, and this week with him was only a reprieve from life. Too soon I'd be shoved back into reality, without him.
Searching for a distraction from the sad thought, I focused on the clock. Still fifteen more minutes until the store opened.
“When did you join the army?” I asked, hoping to take the conversation off us.
“After rehab. I knew it was my only shot to stay clean. And I have. Stayed clean that is.”
Leaning the back of my head against the hot window, I focused on the still empty parking lot. “You went to rehab.” I bit my lower lip and smiled. “You always said you would go one day. I'm proud of you, Brenton.” I looked at him through welled tears. “So proud of you. What made you finally go?”
“I don't know, really. Wish I could say it was my decision, but I woke up there. I always assumed Caleb or Dad—hell, maybe Pappy—put me in there. They kept me sedated for a while to ease the withdrawal symptoms.”
“Brenton?” Unease fluttered in my gut and spread up my chest. “When did that happen?”
Not sensing my reluctance, he shrugged like his answer didn't matter. But it did. It could change everything.
“I don't know. Look, someone just opened the door. Let's do this.”
Before I could stop him, he was out the door and rounding the hood. I was still staring at the passenger seat, processing it all, when the knock on my window startled me. Brenton stood on the other side of the door, motioning for me to hurry.
If he only knew what his revelation could mean, he wouldn't be as impatient.
Because if he didn't remember going into rehab, if the timeline matched up to our last night, then there was no way he drafted the agreement or made a choice as they said.
Which meant the man I'd spent the past thirteen years hating wasn't the one who broke my heart and left me in shambles.
Someone else did.
7
Brenton
Seventeen.
Hell. My greatest fear was true—I was my father. Getting out of Dallas all those years ago broke the addiction he'd groomed me to be dependent on, but genetics was genetics. I was a fool to think I'd ever be able to escape that family gene.
But the age thing wasn't the big secret she was holding back. Did that mean what Beks wouldn't tell me was worse than seducing a seventeen-year-old? I needed answers. Needed to know exactly what I did so I could beg for her forgiveness, which would hopefully fix my head shit. Remembering, getting better, going back to Kentucky—that was the plan, nothing else. I needed to keep my head on straight around her and not make this worse for her in the end. No matter what I did to her early on, I had the power, and the fucking willpower, to not get wrapped up in her vortex now.
Right. If I believed that, my blackouts weren't my only head issue.
For the second time in the past sixty seconds, I scanned the store looking for her distinctive curly dark hair. I squeezed my hands into tight fists at her talking and laughing with some guy. Her hands moved up and down as she told some story that had them both smiling.
Hell no.
She was mine.
On a mission to break that shit up, I weaved through the racks of jeans and pearl snap shirts, my determined gaze on her. Halfway across the small store, her attention flicked up, causing her smile to falter.
Tension built in my chest at him pulling out his phone and handing it to her.
“Hey, man,” said the guy wearing a name tag, standing way too close to my Beks when I stopped beside her. “You need help with something?”
Not paying him any attention, I kept my gaze locked with hers. “The woman who was helping me needs you.” I nodded behind me. When he didn't move, I shifted my hard glare to him. I was an ass for savoring the slight tremble in the guy's shoulders. “Go help.”
Beks watched him retreat, a deep frown pulling at her pouty lips. “What the hell was that about?”
“I'm ready to go.”
After glancing down, she looked back up with a quirked brow. “Without shoes?”
Shit. Forgot about that. I was in the middle of trying on boots when I saw that dipshit with her. “What were you two discussing? Do you know him?”
“He was in the process of asking me out, I think. Hell, who knows since you scared him off, being all territorial. Surprised you didn't whip out your man bits and pee on me.”
Brows raised, I shot her a questioning look.
“Dogs, male animals, they mark their territory by pe
eing on things. Didn't you learn anything in biology?”
“You're the smart one. I didn't finish college, remember?”
“I only got to go because of you,” she whispered.
The sales girl called my name, but my focus stayed on Beks.
“What does that mean?”
Her eyes turned down to the floor, her black-painted fingers tucking a bit of hair behind her ear. “It means you paid for it.”
The hesitant tap on my right shoulder snapped my gaze to the person at my back with an annoyed growl.
“What?” I gritted out to the now-terrified salesgirl. Hell. I forgot how terrifying I could be when pissed. I'm no small guy, and add in the high level of intensity I put into everything, I was too overbearing for civilians—a civilian woman, no less. The boys on base weren't too intimidated, but by the way this girl’s knees were knocking together, I was her worst nightmare come to life.
“Your boots, sir. They're—”
“I'll take those, every pair of jeans you have in the size I tried on earlier, ten pairs of socks in my boot size, ten pairs of extra-large boxers, ten pairs of boxer briefs, twenty of those dry-fit T-shirts in black, some shirts and a few of those Yeti hats.”
Her blank stare fueled my annoyance.
“Do you need to write it down?”
“No… no, sir. I'll be—”
“We'll meet you up front.”
The second the wide-eyed woman walked off, I turned back to Beks, who was still focused on the ground.
“What do you mean I paid for it?”
With a huff, she fell on to a display rocking chair and leaned back. “Brenton, do you really want to know? It's Pandora's box. Once you know one thing, you'll want to know the rest. Can't we leave it as the way things are now? I was happy then, you were happy, and we ended.”
“What are you hiding?” Needing to train her focus back on me instead of the lock of hair she was intently studying, I dropped to a crouch and rested my forearms on her thighs. Her shoulders rose and fell in a noncommittal shrug. A dull ache settled deep in my chest at her slumped shoulders. “Hey, come on. It's okay. Nothing will change.”
Vote Then Read: Volume III Page 226