At least there wasn't a place for her to hide a gun dressed like that.
In the distance, the deadbolt snapped back and the door swooshed open. Low, muffled voices filtered down the hall as I swung my legs over the side of the bed. A familiar deep one shot a surge of rage into my blood.
Dad.
“Fuck.” My pants only halfway up, I strode out of the bedroom. By the time I reached where the two faced off in the entryway, the jeans were loose around my hips, though still unbuttoned.
Beks stood a foot from the threshold, arms crossed over her chest, glaring at Dad. He looked amused at the fury behind her eyes. There was also a gleam in his eye that said he'd already mentally undressed my girl in the thirty-second span.
“What do you want?” I barked as I pulled the mostly naked Beks behind my back.
“I called to schedule the jet, but they said it was already here and you were headed back tomorrow too. So here I am.” He shrugged and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. To anyone else, it looked like he wanted to appear casual, but the way his gaze kept bouncing behind me, it was a ploy to get a better visual on her.
I shot him a look of warning and turned to the furious beauty. “Go get some clothes on.”
“I'm fine,” she said, shifting that glare to me.
“I'm not. Go.” Not giving her a chance to argue, I turned back to Dad. “That doesn't explain why you're here.”
With an annoyed huff, he pushed off the doorframe and shouldered past into the loft. I slammed the door shut and turned to stalk after him.
He paused in the living room and slowly turned to take in the place. “Haven't changed anything since Caleb, I see.”
“Why would I? This isn't my home.”
“Right,” he mocked. “Forgot you're some government grunt playing soldier. I'll never understand why you left all this.” He waved his hands around the cold loft. “Left your brother. Well, we saw how that turned out for him.”
“You son of a bitch” came an angry voice at my back. Both of our heads whipped to her. “Fuck you for saying he had anything to do with Caleb's death. If anyone in the room is to blame, it's you.”
“I hope for you she's that feisty in bed. More fun to control,” Dad said with a chuckle before his attention swung back to me. “We need to talk. Alone.”
I widened my stance and crossed my arms over my bare chest with a smirk. “She can hear whatever you have to say.”
The hate-filled look he shot Beks drew a warning growl from deep in my gut.
“The attorneys called. Said you were asking about some old legal documents.”
I arched a brow in response. With Dad, fewer words were better in case he was attempting to corner you with your own.
“Drop it,” he stated with force.
“Why?”
“Fucking do it, son. For once in your damn life, do what I tell you to do and don't give me any shit about it.” Dad fell on to the couch and leaned back like he owned the place, stretching his arms out wide across the back.
“No.” Now more than ever, it was clear some shady shit went down in those hours after the wreck. Why, I had no idea, but if Dad was involved and nervous about what I'd uncover, it wasn't good.
“It's for your damn good. You and your ranch hand whore.”
I didn't think, just acted. Two long strides put me in front of the couch. Instead of beating the shit out of him sitting down, I fisted his shirt in my left hand and hauled him upright. His eyes went wide and wild as realization dawned.
The first punch flung him back so hard that his shirt slipped from between my fingers. Dad stumbled back, his knees buckling when they slammed into the glass coffee table. The piercing shriek of glass shattering resounded through the loft.
Blood streamed from Dad's nose as he pushed up to all fours before falling back into the sharp shards.
“Get the fuck out,” I somehow said through my rage-locked jaw.
“She's a gold-digging whore. Can't you see that? Hell, even her father saw it.”
A loud gasp sounded in my ears just before my bare foot connected with his rib cage. With a pain-filled moan, he rolled to his back, chest heaving.
Not giving a damn about the glass, I picked up his feet and dragged him across the living room. After depositing his moaning ass in the hall, I slammed the door and turned the deadbolt.
Anger still boiling, I stormed into the empty living room.
“Beks?” I said before scanning the bedroom. “Rebeka.”
Turning a corner, I stared down the dark hallway that led to Caleb's side. I hadn't stepped foot in that section of the loft since my return and wasn't planning on it now.
A flicker of movement on the balcony caught my eye. The tight breath I'd held as I searched released slow and controlled.
“Hey.” I stepped out onto the balcony and leaned against the railing, mirroring her. “You okay?”
“That?” She huffed and hung her head. A strong gust of wind blew her long hair across her face, keeping me from reading her features. “It's nothing I haven’t heard before. After you left and people found out about us, about the baby, the whore name was as common as my actual one.”
My knuckles whitened as my grip tightened on the metal railing.
“It's why I had to get out of there. I had to leave it all behind, you know? Leave a father who resented me, leave a town that turned on me, leave a brother who was the town drug middleman. Mostly I had to leave our memories. That ranch, every square inch of the land and star-filled sky, reminded me of us.”
“I'm sorry.” Even though the words were heartfelt, they fell flat. Being sorry did nothing for her now, nothing to repair the damage I inflicted in the past.
“Some days, simple moments of seeing a mom and her child, or even seeing the natural motherly nature in animals, it still hurts. For years, guilt pulled me under on a daily basis. Then it turned to weekly, then every so often.” The wind at her back pushed all her hair toward me, wrapping my face in a coconut-scented blanket. “Never once did I regret us.”
“I don't deserve someone like you. Don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
Her smile pulled at my heart, my breath catching. “That's what's amazing about forgiveness, B. You don't have a say in it. Forgiveness is a gift you have no control over. And honestly, forgiving you is less work than harboring the hate.”
“What can I give you? Name it and it's yours.” I'd give her every last penny if she asked.
“If you have to ask”—her smile faltered—“then what I want, you're not ready to give.”
Me.
Only this beautiful, selfless woman would want me instead of all the things thirty million could buy.
She sighed and turned to lean her back against the rail. Her eyes narrowed as they scanned the living room through the large windows. “What a mess.”
“I'll call someone to clean it up.”
Her head dropped back with a loud laugh. “Of course you will.”
“Hey, something came up and we need to head back tonight. Sorry to cut this short.”
She shrugged and closed her eyes. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just some things to handle before I leave.”
A single nod and Beks shoved off the railing. At the door, she turned back with her brows pulled together in a thoughtful look. “Based off your dad not wanting you to look into the files, I’m willing to bet he had more to do with breaking us apart than you.”
I nodded in agreement and followed her inside. “I want to see those documents. Come on, let's go call them.”
23
Rebeka
Being a member of the mile-high club wasn't something on my bucket list. I mean, who thought they would ever have the chance? Wonder if I got bonus points for being initiated on a private jet.
“What are you smiling about?” Brenton asked from behind the wheel of my truck. Or was it his truck? Our truck?
“Do I get a badge or something?”
�
�What?” he laughed.
“You know, the mile-high club, what we just did on the plane—twice. Do I get a badge? Or is there maybe some secret handshake I get to learn?”
Instead of answering, he shook his head and smiled out the windshield.
With a smile of my own, I watched out the window at the diminishing lights of Midland. The day was perfect. Well, minus his dad showing up. And the attorney not having anything new for Brenton. And I guess coming back early was a killjoy too. But besides all that, it was a perfect day.
Because it was just us.
I snuck a side glance his way. One wrist rested on top of the wheel as he leaned back in the driver seat, relaxed. Smiling. Brenton Graves was an enigma. A military-tatted badass with millions in the bank and enough family drama to rival any reality show.
If I had to guess, the man sitting beside me was the true Brenton Graves. The man his dad had shoved so far away with drugs and women when he and Caleb were kids. We were both a little broken in that way. Never been loved unconditionally. And maybe, based on that slight defect, might not be able to give it.
I was running back to the man who had already hurt me once, and I knew it would happen again. What did that say about me?
“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” I asked, wanting to deflect my deep internal thoughts.
“Honestly?”
The leather groaned as I swirled in the seat to face him. “Always.”
“Yeah. I don't know what I'll do if Dad gets the ranch. I want to think Pappy wouldn't leave our family land to him, but it's tradition, what our family’s done for generations.”
“Would you want it?”
“I wouldn't want anyone else to have it.”
“That doesn't answer my question. Would you want it? Could you ever see yourself coming back here and making this place your home?”
“Beks….”
“I'm not saying with me,” I said with a sigh. The hesitation on his part sent my stomach rolling. “I'm just asking a question, not trying to hoodwink you.”
“The army is my home.”
Right. Back to that.
Instead of pushing him, I rested my head against the headrest and shut my eyes.
“It's not you. It's me.”
Behind my lids, I rolled my eyes. “Can you not be so cliché? Don't use a line 90 percent of men use as a brush-off. I deserve originality. At least give me that.”
No response. Only the hum of the tires rolling along the smooth interstate filled the cab the rest of the drive back.
The annoyance at his comment grew to pent-up anger. If he said a single word before I could get out of the truck, I’d probably explode. The engine idled outside Daddy's place, but thankfully Brenton continued to sit silently. I yanked the door handle and shoved it wide open, ready to be alone for a few hours to collect the damn rolling emotions he’d caused.
“I'll walk you in,” Brenton muttered at my back.
Oh hell no. No chivalry shit when he just brushed me off. “Fuck you,” I gritted out over my shoulder as I slid out of the seat and slammed the door.
“Rebeka,” he yelled back. “Stop.”
Bag in hand, I shut the tailgate and stormed toward the house. Brenton stepped in, blocking my path.
“Move.” I had to get in the house before the damn tears spilled over. No way could I give Brenton the satisfaction of watching me break. Because of him. Again.
“Not until you understand something.”
With a loud scoff, I shouldered past him only to be pinned against the truck. With his hands on my shoulders holding me to the hot metal, I shot him my best “fuck off” glare.
“What I meant was… you're perfect. I don't deserve your time, and I sure as hell don't deserve your love or forgiveness after what I've done to you. What I'm saying is… I don't—”
“Spit it out, Graves. I don't have all night.”
“It’s easier to believe someone loves me for my money than for being me,” he whispered. “I'm a broken man who has fucked up more times in this life than any person should be allowed. I’m a recovering addict, a fuckup when it comes to you. What kind of person would I be to allow you to—”
“Allow?” I snapped. “You don't allow me to do anything. If you haven't noticed—”
“Hell, woman, I'm saying if I could love anyone, it would be you. But I can't.”
“Yes you can,” I said, giving up on holding back the hot tears.
“My mom walked out on us. Dad fed me drugs and women as our bonding time. Most of the women I've been with only want me for my money and nothing else. When in the hell would I have learned how to love in all that? I'm a ruined man who is terrified every second I’m alive that my demons might catch up with me and I'll slip back down that dark hole of addiction. You deserve better than me, and I won't tie you to me and drag you down too.”
“You're a damn fool, Brenton.” The bag in my hand fell to the dust as I shoved both hands against his shoulders. “Do you think this is easy for me? You know my story, and yet here I am loving you. Loving the man who devastated me once. Devastated, Brenton. I don't know how to do this either, but I'd rather figure this love shit out with you than anyone else. No one else makes me feel like you. No one makes me love myself as much as you do.”
“You're wrong. You're better—”
“That ruined shit is a lame-ass excuse. You're scared. And you know what? I'm not going to do this to myself again. You were right about something, Brenton Graves. I do deserve better, but not for the reasons you think.” Reaching down, I snagged my bag and started toward the house. I paused but didn't turn to him when I said, “For the record, this isn't me walking away from the real Brenton. It's me giving up on the man you believe you are.”
A warm, strong hand gently wrapped around my wrist but fell away when I stepped toward the house.
Once inside, the sounds blaring on the TV didn't drown out the rumble of the truck driving off.
“Look at what the cat dragged in,” Daddy said from his leather recliner, not looking away from the late-night game show that was on. “Alone. Where's the prick Graves kid?”
“Don't start with me,” I gritted out, somehow able to keep new tears from flowing down my cheeks.
“You're a fool if you think this time will be any different. That family won't let him have anything to do with us. You learned that years ago. Stay away from him.” He cut his bloodshot eyes over to where I still stood by the door, bag in hand. “I don't want our name dragged through the mud again because of you. The first time was bad enough, being the father of the town whore. Don't want to add being the father of the town idiot to it.”
I averted my eyes from his glare to the empty beer cans littering the floor around the recliner. “Right, like I enjoyed being the daughter of the town drunk who killed his wife.”
“I didn't touch her,” he seethed. The can in his hand crushed in his grip, spraying beer on the wall.
“You didn't force the pills down her throat, but you drove her to it.”
“Me? No, that was you and your brother. You two took her from me, drove her damn crazy. Get the fuck out of my house,” he snarled. “I don't want someone like you living under my roof.”
I'd leave that second to put as much space between me and the life-sucking leech I called my father as I could, but I couldn't. I'd need a truck for that, and mine was now parked at the main house, the keys with the man I loathed one second and loved desperately the next. Too much pride kept me from asking for the keys, so instead I stomped through the living room and down the hall toward the bedrooms.
Bradley tried to grab my attention as I passed by his room, but I ignored it. Only seconds were left before the dam holding back a gush of tears broke. The door shook the room when I slammed it closed. The bag fell to the floor with a thud, and the mattress squeaked under my weight when I fell face-first onto the unmade bed.
Finally alone, I let the tears fall to my pillow with deep, loud, soul-cleansing sobs.
“Beka?”
Bradley's concerned voice pulled me awake. I rolled to face the door, tucking my hands under the pillow. He stood just over the threshold, leaning against the frame like he needed the support to stay standing. After a glance behind him, he limped the rest of the way into the room to collapse onto the end of the bed.
“What happened?” he asked, staring at the ceiling.
“Nothing,” I sighed, then scooted down to lie beside him. When his head lolled to the side and those dark brown eyes locked with mine, I knew he saw right through the lie. “He loves me. I know he does. And what's sad is I think he knows it too, but he's too much of a chickenshit to come out and say it. No idea what he's so scared of.”
Bradley said nothing for a minute, letting the silence between us weigh in the room.
“I can see what he's saying. Not all of us are like you, Beka. For some of us who weren't shown love, it doesn't come easy, and it's fucking terrifying when it's in your face. You don't want to accept it, yet the alternative, letting it walk away, is just as terrible.” His fingers intertwined with mine along the quilt beneath us. “It's easier to push people away and get lost in an escape than it is to admit you're too broken inside with no way of being fixed.”
“Bradley,” I whispered and squeezed his hand. “Is that how you feel? That you're broken and beyond repair?”
His nonresponse answered the question for him.
I rolled to my side and leaned up on an elbow. “You and Brenton and all those other people out there who've never been loved, never been shown the basics a mom and dad should give, aren't broken. I'm not broken. Don't give two thoughts to Dad and what he says. You are amazing. You've kept this place going while Dad sat on his ass drinking. You have your demons, we all do, but look at you.” I waved a hand to his face, where clear eyes stared back into mine. “You've been through hell this week, and you're clean. You did that, no one else.”
“I want a hit so bad it hurts,” he said with a slight tremble. It's only then that I noticed his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallows breaths. “I'm trying. I am fucking trying, but it's hard and fucking everything hurts.”
Vote Then Read: Volume III Page 238