Vote Then Read: Volume III

by Aleatha Romig

  “It's called leverage. If you want to win around me, better gain some. Quick.”

  10

  Brenton

  I wasn't always an asshole.

  Fuck.

  Maybe I was. The truck was a gift, not fucking leverage. But with her feisty mouth, she backed me into a corner, and I said what was needed to get out of it. If she didn't bend to my bossy ass, I'd leverage the damn truck that she couldn't stop smiling about to make her.

  Damn, I was a dick.

  Beks barely slowed the truck to a crawl in front of the main house before shoving me out the door. Which I had to admit was fucking hilarious. Only that woman would have the balls to pull that shit with me. That side of her was why I couldn't get enough, couldn't let her walk away, not yet. Not when the memories were coming back.

  If all that made me a rotten bastard, as she called me, fine. I'm Brenton Graves, and I get what I want. And I wanted Rebeka Harding around more and more. And for some unknown reason, I needed her to love me again as she did years ago.

  Okay yeah, that made me an asshole.

  Guess I was finally living up to the family name.

  But could someone fault a man for wanting one person on this earth to love him, to make him feel needed and wanted, like only a woman in love could? The surge of protectiveness and need to provide for her was foreign but welcomed. Hell, more than appreciated, it was fucking amazing. Never had a woman pulled that type of desire from me.

  Using my teeth, I bit through the price tag on the shirt in my hands before slipping it on. Damn, the new clothes were comfortable. The jeans had room to move instead of the designer ones I had back in Dallas. Not that I wore jeans that much anymore. In Kentucky, it was all military-issued clothes around the base, and I could give two shits what I wore when I wasn't working.

  The mattress molded beneath my ass as I bent over to pull the tall boot sock on.

  What was it about her that I couldn't get enough of? The honesty, the crude mouth of hers, or the feeling of belonging and peace that settled in me every time she was around?

  All I knew was I never wanted to feel the gut punch she’d landed this morning again. How could I forget nearly killing her? She said I was high, so it would make sense, but why was I in Odessa, and why was she in the car? There were still a lot of unknowns, and clearly she wasn't willing to help me remember. Who could blame her? No one would want to relive the moment they almost died and then were tossed aside by the man she loved and who she thought loved her.

  One boot on, I stretched across the bed for the phone on the nightstand.

  Damn, nothing from Landon.

  I needed to see the document. Maybe reviewing the wording would help me remember why I signed it or confirm what I was almost sure of—that I didn't agree to or sign shit. The low dollar amount, the verbiage to stay away? That wouldn't have been me. Dad, fuck yes, but I hoped to hell I would’ve given the woman I loved more.

  Which that was clear in my memories. I did love her. But was I in love with her was the question. And how did I feel about her now? We were kids, but there was no denying the strong pull we still had for each other. Hell, every time we were together, I was fighting an internal battle to keep my hands off her.

  It didn't help that she was beautiful and somehow the sexiest woman without even trying. Her round, perky ass and curvy hips distracted me every time she moved. I'd had hot-as-sin models walk into my bedroom wearing see-through La Perla, yet somehow Beks earlier in granny panties and my too-large T-shirt had me harder than any of those women ever did.

  After slipping the other boot on, I stood and balanced from one foot to the other, testing the comfort.

  With all the uncertainty and hazy memories, there was one thing I knew for a fact.

  I wouldn't let her slip away, not until I knew what this was between us and I had all the answers about that night.

  And it might’ve made me an asshole, but I'd do whatever it took to keep her around until then.

  11

  Rebeka

  “You're taking me on a personal reacquainting tour,” I mumbled and kicked a dried cow patty as hard as I could, sending it rolling a few feet to the right. “Asshole. Thinks he can boss me around. He's not the boss of me. I'm the boss of me.”

  The truth was I wasn't all that disappointed about the additional alone time with him. When we weren't talking about the past, when I wasn't being forced to remember, I had fun with him. A lot of fun. A few times the nasty nagging memories attempted to break through, but I pushed them away like I'd done for years now. And by the way his eyes would narrow when my mind drifted to what that wreck cost me, I knew he could see it, sense my mood shift.

  Even if my loss was a direct result of his actions that night, I couldn't hold it against him. The man didn't remember a damn thing, so how was that fair to him? That’s why I was moving on.

  Moving on from the years of hurt, resentment, and, honestly, a little bit of self-loathing. And maybe I was letting go of the old Brenton. Based off what I'd seen the past twenty-four hours, young Brenton was long gone. Past Brenton was who left me lying in a hospital bed with nothing more than a few hurtful words from his father and a twenty-page legal document. The old Brenton chose his trust over us when ordered to make a choice.

  This new and improved Brenton was stronger, sober, and intimidating as hell. Mix the new Brenton with the somewhat warm coals of feelings from the past and… well, I needed to keep my head on straight with him.

  The guys I dated in school and the few after weren't like him—and not just compared to his ungodly good looks. It was his confidence, which drove me just as batshit crazy as it turned me on. The way he held a look longer than what was comfortable, or how he demanded things like the thought of someone not complying never crossed his mind.

  Damn the demanding earlier.

  A shiver shook my shoulders at the memory of his deep voice directing me to take off my pants before things went to shit.

  There was also the way he moved and held himself, which told everyone in the vicinity he could hold his own.

  All in all, Brenton Graves was perfect—besides being a royal asshole. Which actually made him hotter, as terrible as it was to admit.

  I sighed and picked up a tumbling piece of trash from the grass.

  We were good together back then, but with Brenton 2.0, we could be great. But he was going back to Kentucky, and I was staying here. He made that very clear.

  End of story.

  End of our story.

  “Right,” I muttered, then stormed through the wide-open doors of the barn, keeping my eyes to the ground. “Don't fall for him, you idiot woman. I bet he's terrible in bed or has some unknown STD that the doctors are still trying to cure. That's the real reason he wouldn't whip it out earlier. Gentleman, my ass.”

  “What did you just call me?” Bradley said from the other side of the stall he was cleaning.

  With a curse, I stumbled back and pressed a hand over my racing heart. “Fuck, Bradley, you scared the hell out of me. Jackass. And I wasn't talking about you. I was talking to myself.”

  His gaze darted to the open barn doors and lingered. “What are you doing out here? Figured you went back to Midland considering Dad's hateful response to you sticking around.”

  I shrugged and leaned against the wall to peer over the side. A strong whiff of sawdust, horse manure, and urine filled my nose. “Nah, just had to run and get some clothes. I'm here for a few days.” Brenton's comment on not caring who knew about our arrangement hummed in the back of my mind, but I said nothing. No need to bring it up until necessary.

  Every few seconds, Bradley glanced back to the front door.

  “You waiting for someone?” I asked.

  “Nah, just wondering when you were leaving so I can get my shit done.”

  My brows pulled together as I watched him work. All these years of him using, I came to recognize the signs when something was up, and something was definitely up.

&nb
sp; “Right,” I muttered.

  Again his gaze flicked up, but that time stayed. Craning my neck around to see what captured his attention I found Brenton marching through the doors, looking sexy as hell in his new ranch gear. Bradley probably wasn't taking in the stunning visual of pure masculinity, but I sure as hell was.

  Damn. Wranglers looked good on him. And again with the visible tats. That man would be the death of my vibrator.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” Bradley said loud enough for most of Texas to hear. “Want me to get rid of him?”

  It had been a while since the overwhelming urge to hug Bradley had hit me, but his statement drove me around the stall door for just that. I wrapped my arms around him in a bear hug and squeezed. “Thanks, but he's the reason I'm out here. He wanted a tour of the ranch since it’s been a while.”

  “Beka,” he started, still focused on Brenton. “Is that a good idea? What that fucker put you through—”

  “We're past it,” Brenton said, now on the other side of the stall. “Good to see you, Bradley.”

  It took a few shakes, but Bradley finally broke out of my tight hold to grasp Brenton's extended hand. By Bradley's wide eyes, he was shocked at the gesture.

  “No hard feelings, Mr. Graves—”

  “Brenton.”

  “No hard feelings, Mr. Graves”—I hid my smirk behind an open hand at the look of annoyance Brenton gave my brother—“but you can shove it up your ass. I hope your dad does sell the place so we can get as far from your fucked-up family as possible.”

  My smirk fell as I stood motionless, shocked at Bradley. Without breaking eye contact with Brenton, Bradley threw down the shovel he was using, shouldered past Brenton, and stormed out.

  “Beks.” Brenton's cautious tone pulled my gaze from the doors to his green eyes. “It's fine. I deserved that. I might’ve treated you somewhat decent, but I do remember being a shithead to everyone else.”

  “It's how you broke your nose that summer,” I quipped. “Your smart-ass mouth and cocky attitude got you in more fights than one around here.”

  “I admitted to being a shithead. Let's move on.”

  “But it's so fun helping you remember those parts.”

  He leaned against the stall and rolled his eyes. “That I remember just fine. It seems to just be you who has my memories hostage.”

  “Do you remember using Bradley as your drug connection when you and Caleb, and maybe your dad too, needed a fix?”

  The way his features hardened told me he did.

  “I have a lot of repair work to do with the people around here. Hopefully I can show them who I am without Dad's coke finger shoved up my nose. And the first person is you. Because honestly, you're the only one who matters.”

  “Me?” I squeaked.

  “Yeah, you. I need you to see the man I am now instead of holding on to the memories of who I was and what I did. While we work on my fucked-up head, I'll prove I'm not that person anymore. By the time I leave, I'll make you see I'm the man you believed I could be.”

  “Why?” I said, near breathless. “You're leaving again. Why does it matter?”

  “Because you do.”

  I swallowed back a lump of unshed tears and turned to pat the golden gelding in the next stall. Desperate to turn the heavy conversation, I shoved Brenton's shoulder and stepped out of the stall.

  “Come on, fancy pants. Let’s go on this 'tour' you ordered.”

  At my back, his low growl had the corners of my lips tilting up.

  “These are fucking Wranglers. Stop it with the damn ‘fancy pants.’”

  “Wranglers with the tag still on 'em.”

  My deep, delighted laugh rattled through the open barn at his scowl before stopping to inspect his ass.

  “There isn't… oh, you're going to get it.”

  I shot a wink over my shoulder. “Looking forward to it.”

  Near the backside of the five-thousand-acre ranch, we spotted one of the longhorn herds grazing in the distance. We agreed a quick diversion was needed and pulled under a mesquite tree to watch the massive beasts for a while.

  “Why vet school?” Brenton asked between long swigs from the Gatorade I’d packed us from the stocked fridge in the barn.

  I shrugged and tossed my empty plastic bottle into the back bed. As I pulled my SIG from the dash, I said, “Guess I thought it would be the easiest transition, you know.” Standing, I slid the holster on my hip and turned back to the cows. “I wouldn't know a thing about the corporate world, so business was out, and there wasn't anything else that drew my attention. I did well in my animal science classes, so I just went with it. That and….” I shoved off the John Deer Gator and looked back at him.

  Attention fixed on me, he furrowed those dark brows. “And what?”

  “I guess I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it. Maybe even try to make Daddy proud of me for something. What can I say, I'm a girl with daddy issues.”

  After a few steps, he fell into stride beside me. “I have a buddy in Kentucky who has 'daddy issues' radar. I swear that bastard can walk into any bar and pinpoint the girl who would go home with him that night.”

  “That's some superpower. You ever used him to find you a one-nighter?”

  “Not answering that one.”

  “That's a yes. Watch for snakes,” I said as I scoured the uneven ground. “Wish you would've brought a gun.”

  “I did,” he said, like I’d somehow offended him.

  I stopped mid-step and gripped the hem of his black dry-fit T-shirt. After an exaggerated look around his bare waist, I met his confused gaze. “And where is this mystery gun?”

  “My boot.”

  “That's stupid.”

  He tossed his hands in the air. “And why the hell is that?”

  “What will you do, tell the snake to hold on a second while you lift your pant leg, dip down into your boot, and pull the damn thing out? You'll have a hundred bites by the time you're ready to defend yourself.”

  Long, dark lashes fanned down to his cheeks with several considering blinks. “Touché.” He reached down to draw up his pant leg and retrieve the gun.

  Not letting the opportunity pass by, I cocked my head for a better angle of his ass while he readjusted his jeans around the boot.

  “I thought I asked you to wear long sleeves,” I mused, my eyes still trained on his firm, round backside. Damn, it truly was delicious. “You have an edible ass, you know that?”

  Still bent over, he looked up with an arched brow. “Thanks? And I'd die of heat exhaustion out here in long sleeves. You trying to kill me?”

  “Not before I use you for your body.”

  “Wow.” He stood and tucked the gun into his waistband.

  “What?”

  “You're….”

  “Honest?”

  “Blunt.”

  “Same thing. Why not put it all out there?”

  The herd didn't pay us any attention as we approached with caution. These beasts were beautiful—deadly massive, but beautiful—and you had to remind yourself of the dangerous part when you’d grown up around them your whole life. The soft nose of one of the older heifers nuzzled my hip, nearly toppling me over in a not-so-subtle request for me to pet her.

  “What?” I asked after catching Brenton staring.

  “I have something to ask you.”

  Resting my forehead against the coarse hair of the cow's neck, I sighed. “What?”

  He massaged the back of his neck with a tight grip and eyes to the grass. “I have a few memories of women with me at my loft in Dallas. I don’t remember when they are, as in time frame, but I do know it happened.”

  “Okay….”

  “The thing is, I can’t tell if it was during the time we were together or not. Was I that much of a shithead that I’d cheat on you?”

  With a smirk, I peered over the tall cow’s back. “No, B. I knew about the other women, but that was before we slept together. After that point, you said
you didn’t want to be with anyone else. But….”

  “But what?”

  I shrugged and continued to move through the cows with Brenton a few steps behind. “I never asked what you did when you weren’t with me. When we took that step to sleeping together, I was seventeen and over six hours away. You were almost twenty-one, living a completely different lifestyle in college. I loved you, yes, but I wasn't under any pretenses of who you were in Dallas. Here you were mine, and there you were theirs.”

  “That's shitty.”

  “That was the fucked-up, complex shitshow we were.”

  Hands on his hips, he looked up with a pain-laced grimace. “I don't know if that makes me feel better or worse. How in the hell did you put up with my shit? Me saying I loved you but still sleeping around sounds like a pathetic excuse for a man.”

  “Boy. You were a boy. I was a girl who fell in love with you before you ever even noticed me. I was your dealer's little sister, the help. If it makes you feel better, you told me, a lot, that you didn't deserve a friend like me, someone who believed in you as wholeheartedly as I did.”

  “Fuck,” he yelled as he dodged a massive horn.

  “Don't yell at them,” I admonished with a grin.

  “He—” Bending below my line of sight, he stood a second later. “She, sorry, almost took off my head. They should pick on someone their own size, like a damn elephant.”

  “Well, maybe you should be more careful.”

  “How many do we have now in the entire herd?”

  “Seven, eight hundred, I think? Not sure really, but it's grown over the past couple of years. Your grandfather stopped wanting to sell the babies.” I shook my head and smiled at the cow in front of me. “He became softhearted toward the end.”

  “He was a good man,” Brenton said so softly I almost didn't hear it over the quick burst of wind.

  “He was.”

  “I noticed on the ride that most of the wells weren't active. Are they dry?”

  “Nah, I don't think your place will ever be dry. They stop pumping when the price of oil drops below a certain dollar amount. When it jumps again, you'll see all of them moving.”