Gravity

by Liz Crowe

  Brock rose, his mind clear and focused on one thing. He had to check on Kayla. Now.

  He marched past the two men watching him with their mouths agape. Someone grabbed his arm but he jerked himself free without a thought as to who it was. “Touch me again, Hettinger and I’ll make sure your future wife doesn’t recognize you tomorrow, do you get me?”

  “Brock,” Austin warned.

  “Shut up. I mean, thanks for getting this crazy shithead off me but shut up. I need to check on her.”

  “She’s asleep,” Trent said. “And if you think I’m letting you within a country mile of her you’d better have another fucking think, if your addled junkie mind can manage it.”

  “Guys,” Austin pleaded, standing up between them. “Listen, I get it that he’s not exactly Prince Charming but you need to back the fuck off a minute,” he said to Trent before turning to address Brock. “And you. You need to come clean. What happened? Did you guys…uh…”

  “No, not that it’s any of your fucking business.” His shoulders slumped. His pulse raced with anxiety and worry over Kayla. “Where did you find her? What had she…done?” But he knew already. She’d cut herself. And it had been his fault. “Shit,” he said, dropping into the chair next to Trent. “I didn’t do anything to her. I swear to God.”

  “Fuck you, loser,” Trent grumbled. But he was holding his beer and looking out across the vast expanse of grass that would tomorrow serve as the scene of his second wedding. “I want to help her but I don’t know how.” He tossed back the rest of his beer and threw the empty bottle over the deck railing to the grass below. “I can’t fucking do this thing. My existing daughter hates my future wife. My future wife is dog-sick twenty-four-seven with my future kid. Ugh.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, spitting blood onto the deck surface.

  Brock and Austin exchanged a look. Brock took a deep breath. “I didn’t do anything to her, Trent. We…we kissed. That was it. And she initiated it. She got upset though, and ran upstairs. End of story.”

  Trent heaved a huge sigh and lay back, arm over his face. “Do you even know what she’s been through?”

  Brock frowned. “Yeah. She’s an ex-junkie. Booze, painkillers, heroin. The gamut. Same as me. We would’ve thrown a mean party together, once upon a time.”

  “No, Brock. That’s not all.” Trent’s words sent a jolt of panic through him. When the man sat up and met his gaze, his eyes were no longer rage ignited. They were flat, exhausted, resigned. “I thought you knew.”

  “Well,” he said, stalling for time as he ran his hand through his hair. “I mean, we’ve gotten to know each other these last few months. Meetings…and shit.” He stopped, realizing how lame that sounded. He didn’t know what else the man was talking about but he had a clear and sickening feeling that he didn’t want to know. “Maybe she should tell me herself,” he said, getting to his feet so he could see for himself that she was all right.

  Austin pulled him back down. “I think her brother wants to tell you.”

  “I’m not sure that’s…”

  “I am. Sit.”

  He sat. But all his nerve endings were humming on high alert. When Trent spoke, he kept his face turned away, looking out over his domain. The words poured out of him, slamming into Brock like hurricane-force winds, sending him reeling until he stood and stumbled inside, hands over his ears. He made it to the downstairs bath in time to throw up his dinner. He flushed the toilet but couldn’t get up from the floor. He sat, hunched over the bowl, staring into its watery depths. Trent’s revelations were bouncing around in his skull, careening off each other and back again. “Oh, God,” he moaned, dry heaving until his ribs ached as bad as his lower back.

  After rinsing out his mouth, he stood staring at himself, wondering how in the hell the universe had conspired to throw the two of them together. A colossal joke—a big fat cosmic chuckle—that was what it was.

  Even as his mind tried to remind him of how she affected him, about how great he felt around her—no longer fighting the sick compulsion to fuck and fuck and fuck some more—he realized it would never, ever work. Not in a million lifetimes. They were doomed to the sort of co-dependent friendship that would end with them ignoring each other out of self-defense.

  He closed his eyes against the horror show of his busted nose and swollen face. She filled his consciousness then—her sweet, soft lips, her fragile frame, her smile, her laugh, everything about her that had compelled him for so long until he found himself here, smack dab in the middle of her lifelong nightmare.

  The ultimate predator—he’d managed to locate the perfect prey.

  That brought on a fresh wave of nausea but he muscled past it, rinsed his mouth again and splashed ice-cold water onto his face. He had to set things straight with Trent. He had to let him and his own brother know that he, Brock, had no intention of doing anything more with her. Of course she had no concept of a healthy sex life and he was the wrongest of wrong guys to teach her how to have one. Him and his disgusting urges, all the faceless, nameless women he’d screwed. The nights he’d spent trolling bars in whatever city he’d flopped in, high as a kite, slugging back water and searching out the ones who’d leave with him and take off his razor-sharp edge for a few hours. The drug-fueled orgies he’d gotten himself into, where he’d wake up the next morning with his head pounding, his mouth coated with slime, and his naked limbs coated in dried sweat.

  He stopped halfway through the kitchen, groaning at his stupid old life, furious at the tease of a new life. And wanting a drink so bad it made his eyes water. Austin was at his side then, guiding him past the fridge, past the liquor cabinet, sitting him down on the couch and handing him another water bottle.

  “Sorry, man,” Trent mumbled. “I didn’t mean… I mean, I did, because I thought…oh shit.” He tossed back his own water and glared down at the empty bottle. “This is such a fucked-up mess.”

  “Yeah,” Austin said, patting the guy on the shoulder. “But it’s almost two in the morning on the night before your wedding. You ought to get some shuteye.”

  Lightning flashed, followed by a clap of thunder so loud it made the windows rattle. “Oh, good Christ,” Trent moaned into his hands. “Now what?”

  “Kayla has the tent on standby,” he said. “We’ll get them on the phone first thing. No worries.”

  Trent sighed and met his gaze. “I really am sorry, Brock. I don’t know what got into me.”

  “I’ll be fine.” He hesitated. “She’s… She cut herself? Tonight?”

  “Yeah. Not too bad, but you know, bad enough.”

  Brock sighed and sipped his water, already missing her but knowing what he had to do now. A woman who’d lived through the hell Kayla had deserved a much better man. One who could control himself, who didn’t have to take drugs to numb his inappropriate urges. “Yes, I do know.” He rose. “I should head back to the Inn.”

  “You can stay here,” Trent said.

  “No, I can’t,” he said, his voice firm. “And rest assured, I won’t be doing…anything more with your sister. I get it. I’m the polar opposite of the guy she needs.”

  “I don’t know… I don’t know anything anymore.” Trent’s voice was flat.

  “Well, I do. And I can tell you without hesitation that you don’t have to worry about me laying a hand…or anything else, on your sister.”

  “She’s gonna kill me for telling you.”

  Brock snorted, wincing at the pain in his nose. Exhaustion washed over him, making him unsteady on his feet. “Guess you should’ve thought of that before telling me anything. Much less the shit you laid on me tonight.” He stood.

  His brother and Trent stared up at him. Shaking his head, fury warring with frustration and a looming despair, he took his leave, flinging himself behind the wheel of his truck and squealing out into the dark Petoskey street.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I am so, so sorry about this. Shit, God damn it…” Melody’s tirade segued into Spani
sh as she sat in front of the mirror, her face blotchy from crying.

  “Well, as big and important as you and Trent might think yourselves, I hate to break it to you that you do not control weather.” Kayla kept her tone light as she brushed Melody’s long black hair. A bright flare of lightning filled the room. Kayla’s neck prickled right before the clap of thunder that followed made her flinch.

  “This is not a good start, is it?” Melody sniffled and patted her hair, which hung loose and silky down her back. “As if it were good anyway. All the sunshine and blue skies in the world wouldn’t change how much Taylor hates me.”

  “Oh, it’s not as bad as all that,” Evelyn assured her.

  “Oh, actually it is.” Melody’s red-rimmed eyes stared at her reflection. “This is a huge mistake. All of it.” She let her hand rest on her stomach.

  Kayla noted that in her loose, silk dressing gown, you could make out the slightest hint of a baby bump.

  “She’ll get over herself. Don’t let it ruin your day.” Kayla fussed around, tidying up for lack of anything better to do. Rain lashed the windows. Lightning and thunder continued their back-and-forth dance.

  “Huh, okay. Guess I’ll focus on the lovely weather for my midsummer outdoor wedding then.” Kayla glanced at Evelyn, but the other woman had her gaze fixed on Melody. Her lips twitched, then she giggled, which made Melody do the same. The two women ended up draped over each other, trying to catch their breath between laughing. Kayla smiled in relief.

  “Hey, I think it’s letting up a little.” She peered through the sliding glass door and took in the fact that it was, in fact, raining even harder. This sent the ladies behind her into more paroxysms of giggles. “Anyway, I’ll go check on…things.” She ducked into the upper hallway, eager to escape the unhappiness, mixed with borderline hysteria. It made her nervous, twitchy, in need of a drink or a hit.

  Brock. She needed to find Brock.

  She was unable to suppress the smile as she headed down the steps to the barely controlled chaos in the main room and kitchen. She’d slept so hard the night before, after Trent had tucked her into bed. She woke at six-thirty feeling fresher than she had in years. She’d found Elle and the hired staff bustling around the kitchen, setting out the morning meal while others worked away on the evening’s feast.

  She and Elle shared a quiet mutual respect, each of them sensing the other’s strength after past personal trauma without having to enunciate it. The other woman was more at home in a kitchen than anyone she’d ever seen. Kayla could watch her for hours, moving around the space, managing prep for multiple meals. This morning, Elle had put her in charge of the coffee and tea for breakfast, as well as making sure everyone was up and at it early enough.

  Trent had to be dragged from his bed, which surprised everyone as he was always one of the first one of them awake. But she figured it for nerves. Evelyn had intimated that the men had stayed up way late, well past the time she and Brock had been left alone together. He’d managed to avoid her, which worked, as she was embarrassed at the scene she’d made in his nice bathroom that he’d had to jump in and handle.

  She pressed her fingertips to her lips, reliving the amazing kiss, as every inch of her skin tingled from the memory.

  “Where’s Brock?” she asked the crowd in the kitchen and great room.

  “Haven’t seen him yet,” Ross said as he distracted fussy toddler Rose around on the floor. Only a little irritated by this, she refilled water glasses and took a quick look out onto the top of the massive white tent she’d ordered at seven-thirty that morning. The installers were wrestling with the wind while attaching the sides with their fake windows. She’d also had them bring in more gas heaters and extra strings of lights. She still couldn’t quite get over how easy things became when there was plenty of money to spend.

  Elle had set up her staging area for food in the walkout basement, using the almost-as-big-as-upstairs kitchen down there for ease of service later so the whole house was already teeming with people, which rubbed her the wrong way, for no good reason.

  Brock. She needed to lay eyes on him. To be eased by his wink and smile as he went about his caretaking duties for the day. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text.

  Hey. You’re slacking. Get your ass over here. Pretty please?

  She waited a few beats then followed that with:

  I’m sorry I wigged out last night. It was a nice moment and I ruined it. But I won’t the next time. I’m sort of not good at the kissing thing. I’ll explain why someday.

  She frowned when the little ‘delivered’ message didn’t show up right away. But when Taylor appeared in the kitchen doorway, she allowed it to distract her.

  “Hi. Want something to eat real quick? I’ve got to run these up to Melody. I’ll be right back.”

  The girl didn’t speak, just moved aside so Kayla could get past her.

  “You should get a shower, Tay. I know we’ve got some hours to go still but…”

  “Whatever.”

  With a sigh, she headed upstairs, deciding to give Mr. Invisible a call. She needed his help today. After handing off the water glasses to the now-recovered Melody and Evelyn, she ducked into her room and touched ‘call’ next to Brock’s name on her text screen. The sound of his voice requesting that she “leave a message” that hit her ears after only one ring made her anxiety ramp up fast.

  Recalling what a mess he’d been upon arrival two days ago, she stuck her head into Melody’s room and motioned for Evelyn to join her in the hall. She glanced around, nervous and fidgety. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Evelyn put cool hands on her upper arms, which made Kayla instantly recoil for fear the woman would see the mess she’d made of her own skin there. “Sorry.”

  “No, I’m… It’s okay, but, um, do you know if Austin’s heard from Brock this morning?”

  Evelyn frowned and crossed her arms. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him since last night. He was dead asleep when I got up with Rose. Ross was up so I handed her over to him once Melody needed me.”

  Before Kayla could explain her concern, Trent’s bedroom door opened, revealing him in his full, fight-club-faced glory. “Oh, my God and sonny Jesus in Heaven, Hettinger, what have you done?” Evelyn whisper-shouted.

  He blinked fast, as if confused, then sighed. “Oh, right.” He touched his swollen nose. “Got into a bit of a…”

  “Whatever it is, it’s nothing compared to what Melody’s gonna do when she sees you.”

  “Yeah, I know. So can you help me out and make sure she doesn’t see me until she has to marry me later today?” He shot Kayla a weak smile. Her Brock radar pinged like mad. She took a step toward her brother. He took a corresponding step back.

  “What did you do, T?” She glared at him. He averted his gaze like the little kid he’d once been, confronted by her for some trivial, childhood reason. “Look at me.”

  He dragged his gaze up and met hers. His eyes were bloodshot. One of them would be a brilliant purple and gray by tonight, she knew. The hand he kept pressed to his side gave away that he had bruised ribs or worse. All of a sudden, she knew what had happened. Anger filled her skull, followed by embarrassed horror.

  “You fought with him,” she said, her words matter-of-fact.

  “Fought with who?” Evelyn demanded. But Kayla kept her focus on Trent. He nodded and looked at the floor again. The incongruity of this—of her tall, strong, rich-as-God brother unable to meet her angry gaze—was lost on her as she felt her knees wobble. “What’s going on?”

  “Hey,” Melody called from her doorway. “What’s all the whispering about?”

  Evelyn glanced over her shoulder then moved so she and Kayla were blocking the possible view of Trent’s mangled pre-wedding face. “Nothing,” she called out while glaring at Trent, whose face flushed even darker under her scrutiny. “Get back in there and take that bath I told you to take already.”

  “Is that mi esposo? I want to see him.”

  “No!�
�� Kayla and Evelyn both yelped as they turned to face her and Trent slunk back into his room. “Don’t be silly,” Evelyn segued, smooth as silk. “It’s bad luck. Now get your ass in there and soak it. Pronto!”

  Melody’s dark eyes narrowed at the two of them. Kayla slapped a reassuring smile on her face but when the woman gave up and shut the bedroom door behind her, she almost slid to the floor. “Jesus,” she muttered into her hands.

  “Okay, first things first,” Evelyn insisted. “I’m going to get Austin up and over to the Inn to check on Brock. You”—she pointed to the closed door—“you’re on keep-Trent-out-of-her-sight duty.”

  “Okay, but…” Kayla stopped, unwilling to share anything with this tall, imposing and obviously pissed-off female. “Fine. I’ve got her. But tell Brock to call me or something?”

  Evelyn sighed. “I will. Where’s Taylor?”

  “Sulking around but I hear a shower so maybe she’s at least doing that.”

  At that moment, a toddler-issued howl rose from downstairs. “Shit,” Evelyn muttered, glancing at her watch. “I’m gonna leave that for Ross. Go on.” She pointed to Melody’s door again. “Keep her calm and away from your brother until the last possible moment.”

  Kayla nodded and headed for Melody’s door, her heart pounding with worry over Brock and what had happened between him and Trent while she’d been passed out the night before. Distracting Melody distracted her for an hour or so, but when the time came to help her into her dress—a gorgeous, custom-made cream silk sheath that highlighted her deep bronze skin and raven’s-wing black hair—she still hadn’t heard a word about Brock’s whereabouts or wellbeing.

  She snuck out of her assignment room, leaving Melody lying quietly on her bed in her dressing gown a few more minutes, and headed downstairs, wishing she could hear his voice sorting through the chaos as only he could. But all she found when she got to the great room were Ross, still with Rose, who was fussing louder than ever, and Austin who was staring out onto the rain-lashed deck, his phone clutched in one hand. When she touched his shoulder, he flinched.