When I was in high school, I had the biggest crush on Travis Channing. His hazel eyes were always so warm and friendly, always sparkling with elation. His dirty blond hair was always slightly messy, like he’d run his hand through it a billion times, or the wind had mussed it. He was the kind of guy that lived for the thrill of adventure.
He came from a family like ours—poor and struggling, only he didn’t have to grow up in a house shorn in darkness. Despite his circumstances—growing up in a trailer, fatherless, never having new clothes or the latest gadgets, Travis was inherently happy.
Sadness is drawn to happiness; sadness seeks out the light, hoping it will drive away the darkness, and so I was drawn to him, even then.
But Travis had always looked at me the same way the rest of Brock’s friends looked at me: like I was their honourary little sister.
“Oh I don’t know,” I looked away, blushing. The way he was smiling at me made me feel like a teenager again, and not at all like his honourary little sister. “I haven’t had anything to drink in a long time,” I admitted, immediately regretting my confession. How pathetic was I?
“You look like a Sex on the Beach kind of girl,” he responded with a charming smile. Brock slapped him on the back of the head, and Travis laughed. “I’m just saying, something fruity and tasty. I didn’t name the damn drink.”
I glared at Brock, annoyed at his interference. So what if Travis was flirting a little. It had been a long time since someone had flirted with me. It felt good and I didn’t want Brock to scare him away.
I craved this.
“That sounds good actually. I’d love to have Sex on the Beach,” I said to Travis, smiling as I accepted his outstretched arm and followed him to the bar. I shot Brock a warning glare, letting him know I wouldn’t tolerate any further intrusion. Travis paused when we reached the bar, tapping his fingers against the glossy surface.
“Sex on the Beach for the lovely lady and an Old Fashioned for me,” he said to the older man behind the bar before turning his attention to Grady and Steve, who nodded their heads at me and raised their beers in greeting.
“Evening, Becky. I’m sorry to hear about your mom passing. She was a sweet lady,” Mick O’Riley, the bartender and owner, said as he mixed our drinks.
“Thank you,” I murmured, unsurprised at the fondness in the old bartender’s voice. Mick had always been kind and warm to me, not that I’d spent much time in his bar.
He’d also been kind enough to offer up his bar to Brock for the reception, which saved me the trouble of hosting it at the house. O’Riley’s was a short walk away from the church where the funeral would take place.
I had dreaded the idea of hosting it at the house. Our tiny, three bedroom bungalow was cramped, and it needed a lot of work. I didn’t want people to focus on the old worn furniture or the roof that was in massive need of repair, or the water stains on the ceiling and walls from multiple leaks over the years.
I also sort of wanted to be able to leave if it got to be too much.
Maybe having the reception at the same bar our father had frequented when he was alive was in poor taste to some, but truthfully… a dark part of me was thankful for O’Riley’s. This bar had kept my dad entertained and out of the house.
“I’m honoured,” Mick said, flashing me a gentle smile as he slid the drink toward me. “Your mom was a sweet lady. She used to be friends with my daughter.”
“Really? I didn’t know you had a daughter,” I said with surprise, my hand wrapping around the highball glass.
“She died when she was nineteen,” Mick told me gruffly, and I could tell that the pain of losing her was still etched into every part of him. His eyes closed off, and he slid Travis his whiskey.
“Thanks, Mick,” Travis said. He had watched our exchange quietly and with interest. He looked at me with care, his hand coming up to rest on the small of my back.
Once we had our drinks in hand, Travis led the way to a relatively private booth, his large palm still pressed to my back. I tried to ignore the fact that one of my brothers was basically acting like a self-proclaimed bodyguard and the other was already attempting to drink his weight in alcohol—again.
I wanted to ascend from my sadness, to lose myself in a moment that was only for me.
Travis regarded me from across the table. “How are you holding up, Becs?” he asked. His eyes were gentle, and as always—I got the sense that I could really trust him.
“I’ve been better,” I confessed, drawing in a shaky breath. I didn’t want to talk about my grief, but he made me want to open up. I had to focus extra hard to keep my walls up around him.
My brothers had their girlfriends, and I had nobody. My closest friend was Katie and I hadn’t made time for her in months.
I’d been so preoccupied with my mom’s illness, school, and work, and she’d been busy settling in to married life and awaiting the arrival of her baby. The last thing I wanted to do was bother her with my grief, or discuss the heavy weight of my feelings over an impersonal message.
Katie and I hadn’t always been friends. We’d gone to the same high school, but she had been one of the popular girls while I had fallen somewhere in the middle. We both worked at her parent’s grocery store as part time cashiers, and we formed a quiet friendship, one where she’d smile at me in the halls and I’d smile back.
When I got pregnant and started to show, the rest of our classmates all stopped talking to me. All except Katie, she started going out of her way to talk to me. She fought even harder to be my friend, because she had sensed that I desperately needed one.
Over the years, we grew closer and closer, but when Mom got sick…I withdrew into myself, focusing only on my small world.
It was the only way I knew how to get through it.
Katie understood, but I still felt guilty for doing it…especially after I’d seen her round belly at the wake.
I’d heard she was pregnant, of course. She had told me herself six months ago when we met up for lunch. I’d happily congratulated her, but I wasn’t there for her the way I should have been.
“I’ll bet. Want to talk to about it?” Travis didn’t ask questions that he wasn’t interested in hearing the answers for, so I knew he was asking how I was because he truly cared, on some level. Maybe that would have been enough, but mentally, I slapped myself. Opening up to Travis Channing would be a mistake. He wasn’t the same boy he once was—he was a country singer now, and a famous one at that. We were worlds apart, and I couldn’t burden him with my sadness.
“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind. I came here to forget about things for a little while.”
“Alright,” he smiled, the whites of his teeth bright against his thick lips. “And just how would you like to forget about them?”
His smile was easy, playful even, but his eyes smoldered and I couldn’t help but question the meaning behind his words. The way he was looking at me evoked tingles of awareness across every inch of my skin.
“I don’t know, tell me some stories about being a famous country singer,” I replied, feeling light headed. “Your life is far more interesting than mine.”
“I don’t buy that.” Travis shook his head, but he must have sensed my reluctance on the topic and obliged my request. I lost myself in his dazzling smile while he told me all about his adventures on the road, about the hilarious people he’d met. His stories intrigued me. His stories made me forget about things, for a little while.
With each sip of my beverage, I relaxed more and more. One drink turned into two, and two became three. My eyes traced his carelessly tousled dirty blond hair as we chatted. We drew closer and closer, our eyes never leaving each other’s faces and a powerful desire overcame me. I longed to taste his thick, kissable lips.
After three drinks and nearly an hour of conversation with Travis, I started to get antsy. My carnal urges were consuming my thought process, helped along by the alcohol in my system. I wasn’t kidding when I had told Travis I d
idn’t drink—I really didn’t, aside from a glass of wine during special occasions.
I wanted him. Desperately.
My first instinct was to run fast, but I knew that wasn’t exactly healthy. Still, I knew I needed a moment to collect my thoughts and my composure.
“Excuse me, I need to visit the ladies room,” I told him, instantly wishing I could retract that sentence. As if Travis needed—or wanted—to hear about my bathroom habits. But he smiled easily in response and nodded.
I darted quickly to the bathroom, relieved to see that it was empty. I used the restroom and washed my hands, studying my reflection in the mirror with uncertainty.
I had smooth skin, high cheek bones, a nose that wasn’t too big or thick for my face, and my blue eyes were framed by naturally thick long lashes.
I wasn’t ugly, and I knew that, but that knowledge didn’t make looking in the mirror any easier. I wore my sadness and my scars like a cloak, even though I tried not to. I could see it in the worry line between my eyebrows, and in the depths of my eyes.
But for the first time in a long time, I saw something else. A spark; the urge to be reckless and selfish.
Taking a deep breath, I made my way back to the table. Travis was sitting there, alone. It was almost a rare sight...him alone. He usually had a bunch of women circling him like vultures, or he was hanging out with his friends.
I sat down, a peculiar look on my face as I studied him, allowing myself to drift away in the possibility of one night with him.
If I was ever going to have a one-night stand, it had to be with someone who made me feel safe, and it couldn’t ever be serious. There was no way in hell I’d ever give my heart to another person again, not after Richie had destroyed it.
Plus, there was Aiden to think of. I didn’t want to be the kind of mother who brought all sorts of men home. I didn’t want him to get attached to anyone I saw. Again, a one-night stand made sense.
Travis seemed ideal because he was always on the road touring and had absolutely no desire to settle down any time soon. He seemed to enjoy casual sex, so I figured it was a no-brainer.
“What’s up?” he asked, tilting his head and trying to figure out the meaning behind my strange expression.
I bit my lip and forced my eyes away from his. “I was wondering if you wanted to go somewhere with me?”
“Where?” he asked, his eyes sparking with interest as he watched me.
“A hotel room.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. My cheeks heated with embarrassment at the astonished look on his face.
To my surprise, the astonishment faded pretty quickly, and Travis’s eyes smoldered as he stared at me. Tension crackled between us, making every fine hair on my arms stand up. That look melted all of the oxygen between us. It left me dizzy, a feeling akin to stepping off one of those twirl-a-whirl carnival rides.
“That’s a very enticing idea, Becs,” Travis drawled, pausing to take a heady sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving my face. I loved the way his lips shaped my nickname. He lowered his heady gaze to my lips, and my tongue darted out in response to the animalistic glint in his eyes. He shook his head, trying to snap out of whatever R-rated place his thoughts had taken him. I squirmed in my seat, squeezing my legs together to ease the ache between my thighs. “But you’re grieving. You aren’t thinking clearly.”
I froze. His words doused me as if they were cold water.
I hadn’t planned on him saying no. Travis was a known womanizer, I figured he’d go for some no strings attached sex in a heartbeat. Immediately, embarrassment washed over me. “You’re saying no?” I swallowed. I had no idea why I was asking for the clarification. I suppose I was shocked, and what he had said had taken a moment to sink in.
Travis leaned back against the booth and ran his hand across his stubble-free jaw. He studied me while he did this, like he was trying to figure out the easiest way to reject me without hurting my sensitive feelings. It got my hackles up, and I bristled.
“You know what? Forget about it,” I said, standing up hastily. My eyes prickled, but I refused to let him see me cry. That would only make this situation more embarrassing for me.
I drew in a quick breath, trying not to let the rejection maim me. What was I thinking? Travis was a chart-topping country singer. He had been with models and actresses. What on earth had given me the audacity to assume he’d want to have a one-night stand with a broken, single mom?
This was exactly why I didn’t drink, or give into reckless, spur of the moment whims.
Travis’s hand shot out and grabbed mine before I could move away from our table. “Becky, you just lost your mom,” his voice was gentle, and his eyes implored me to listen. “I don’t want you to make rash decisions right now, especially decisions you’re going to regret later.”
“What makes you think I’ll regret a one-night stand with you?” I deadpanned. “Unless you’re confessing that you are terrible at sex, which whatever. I don’t have much experience to go off here. Whether it’s with you or not, I’m going to have sex. I have to.”
I knew as soon as the words left my mouth that they were true.
“I’m not terrible at sex,” Travis retorted, arching a brow and smirking. “I just want to know why? Why now? Why the rush? Why me?” he added. The look that flitted across his face almost seemed…vulnerable.
“It’s just time, and you were here,” I answered, flushing a deeper shade of red. For a moment, he looked stricken. “I’m sorry I even said anything. Forget about it.” I pulled away from his touch and scanned the crowd for an escape.
I spotted Braden over at the bar, his lips locked on a girl that definitely wasn’t his girlfriend. Elle was back at my house helping Tessa watch Aiden. I stormed away from Travis without saying another word, intent on slapping the stupid off my younger brother. I needed to focus on his self-made problems so I didn’t fall apart.
Brock was attempting to pull Braden away from the blonde girl. “Brock is right, we’re going now,” I told him, grabbing his arm and trying to tug him away. He shoved me, and I stumbled, the air leaving my lungs as I was propelled backwards.
Travis caught me, his strong arms enveloping me for a moment before he helped me find my footing. I hadn’t even realized he’d followed me. I thought he was as eager as I had been to escape the awkwardness between us.
I tried to control my breathing. Seeing Braden like that scared me. In that moment, he seemed so much like our father.
“I’m not a kid! You can’t fucking tell me what to do,” he shouted angrily, acting every bit like a child.
Mick limped around the bar to confront Braden. “Hit the road, Miller. You’re cut off,” he said, his tired blue eyes flashing with anger. I’d never seen the quiet man respond to rowdy patrons like that. Then again, I didn’t spend a lot of time at O’Riley’s.
Braden still wasn’t having it. He glowered at Mick. “Oh, you know how to cut people off, huh? Could’ve fooled me,” he spat. “Maybe you should have tried cutting my old man off so he wouldn’t come home and beat his family. But, then how would your shitty bar stay open without his wallet, eh?”
“Braden, you’re making no sense. Let’s just go,” I pleaded, mortified. Every eye in the bar was on us, watching this altercation, hearing his words. The shame made me feel about two inches tall. I sent an apologetic look to Mick as Brock grabbed our little brother by his shirt collar and dragged him outside. “I really am sorry, Mick. If you’ve changed your mind about letting us have the reception here, I understand.”
“It’s okay,” Mick said. “I’ve been called worse. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Mick.” Relieved, but still ashamed, I gave him a tiny smile and went to follow my brothers outside. Whispers followed me, and I did my best to keep my breathing under control.
I almost made it to the old oak door that lead to the street, but before I could reach it, Travis stepped in front of me, blocking my path. He stood there, his
head titled down to look at me, his fingers brushing across the back of my hand. I looked down at where his fingers touched my skin, and tried my best to ignore the tingles they evoked.
“What?” I half hissed, half whispered at him.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said, pulling his hand away like touching me had burned him.
“I’ll live,” I responded, stepping around him and following my siblings outside.
I was livid at my little brother. I knew it wasn’t any of my business, but I’d come to love Elle. She’d spent so much time with us and she had been a major help. Seeing her heartbroken expression when she noticed the lipstick on Braden’s mouth infuriated me. Braden loved her, that was obvious, but he was hurting and he wasn’t thinking clearly.
And he had shoved me. Braden hadn’t pushed me since we were kids, and having someone push me like that triggered memories that were better left buried. I knew if he’d been sober, he would have never done it, but that didn’t make it any easier to digest.
For a second night in a row, Braden was snoring loudly on the sofa, too intoxicated to get to his bed downstairs.
“He’ll be okay, Becky.” Brock sounded so sure.
“How do you know?” I asked, casting him a glance.
“He’s not like him,” Brock shook his head slightly. “He cares so much, almost too much. He just doesn’t know how to process it.”
“Well, I hope this isn’t how he decides to process Mom’s death. I can’t have him around Aiden if he’s going to be drunk and angry all the time. I can’t go back there, Brock.”
“I know.” I felt the weight of Brock’s heavy hand on my shoulder. He squeezed gently before releasing. “Get some sleep. I’ll be by in the morning to deal with him.”
Brock left and I got ready for bed. It took hours for me to fall asleep, between worrying about my little brother and beating myself up over the mortifying situation with Travis.
When I finally did sleep, the nightmares came.
My limbs were twisted up in my sheets as I thrashed about. Sweat coated my skin, and fear clenched around my heart like a vice.
Rebel Song: (Rebel Series Book 3) ((Rebel Series)) Page 2