I dreamt of him, of Richie. I dreamt of fingers around my neck, squeezing and cutting off my air supply. I woke up gasping for air, my hands scratching at my throat. My heart raced wildly, and the breaths I drew in didn’t seem to be enough to fill my starved lungs.
I hadn’t had a nightmare that intense in years.
“Mommy?” a little voice said. I turned my head, seeing Aiden’s silhouette at the side of my bed.
“Yes, baby?” My voice shook from the adrenaline of my nightmare.
“Can I sleep with you? I had a nightmare.”
“Of course,” I untangled my legs from my sheet and opened my arms. As soon as Aiden settled beside me, my heart started to return to its regular pace.
I laid there with him for another five hours, but I couldn’t sleep. My mind wouldn’t shut off. As if I didn’t have enough crap on my plate to deal with, but I couldn’t stop beating myself up over my stupid decision to basically ask Travis for a one-night stand. His refusal was a fresh wound that wouldn’t stop pulsing.
I mused that the nightmare could have come from my fear when Braden pushed me mixed with my attempt to force myself on Travis, and the rejection that followed.
Tears blurred my vision, and I blinked them away with frustration. I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself. The funeral was later that day, and I’d have to stand up and read my speech. I took comfort in the fact that our family wasn’t very well-liked around here. At least that meant there wouldn’t be a lot of people present.
Aiden was still snoring softly when I finally decided to give up on sleep. I slipped out of my bed and headed to the bathroom. The woman looking back at me had bags under her eyes and a sadness that seemed to seep out from every pore.
Sighing, I turned on the shower. I needed to wash away yesterday’s mistakes. I dreaded seeing Travis later, but I knew he’d be at the funeral. Even if years had passed since they last saw each other, Brock was one of his best friends, and I knew Travis well enough to know that he would be there for him. Travis was always there for his friends.
I just hoped that he would have the decency to keep my blunder to himself.
Slipping into my robe, I snuck back into my bedroom to dress before I went to the kitchen to make coffee. I tossed on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, knowing I’d have to give my son a bath before the funeral. I wouldn’t be able to get ready until after he was dressed, not unless I wanted to accessorize with bath water and soap.
Braden was still snoring on the couch, and the sound of the coffee percolating barely stirred him. I poured two mugs—one for me, and one for him. Braden liked his coffee black, while I had to cut mine with an obscene amount of cream and sugar to even tolerate it. I took a quick sip and left my mug on the counter before I walked into the living room.
Sitting on the edge of the coffee table, I poked my little brother sharply. He grumbled, swatting blindly at me with his arm. I pulled the mug away from his reach instinctively, my reflexes quicker than his.
“You need to wake up now,” I told him, my voice stern. “You need to shower and get ready.”
“I don’t want to. I’m not going,” Braden grumbled, rolling over so that he was facing the back of the couch. I sighed, glancing at the digital clock on the cable box.
“We have less than three hours before the funeral starts. We need to get ready,” I said, working to keep the patience in my voice. He ignored me, making no move to get up off the couch. He smelled like a liquor store, the scent reminding me of the night before. My brother had certainly made a giant mess for himself to clean up.
Elle had left our house shattered, after putting two and two together. His betrayal wouldn’t be easily forgiven.
I stood up at the sound of a key in the lock, my heart pounding as the door swung open. I relaxed upon seeing my older brother. Of course it was him—burglars didn’t unlock your front door with a key.
Brock walked in, already dressed in his suit for the funeral. His long hair was brushed and tucked behind his ears. His eyes landed on me, then dropped down to our sleeping brother.
He rolled his neck. “I’ll take it from here.”
I brought Braden’s mug back to the kitchen and watched from the service hatch as Brock lifted the coffee table, moving it out of the way and walked behind the couch. He gripped it from the bottom and lifted, and Braden fell with a thud to the floor.
“What the fuck!” he shouted, jumping up to glare at Brock.
“Keep your voice down, your nephew is sleeping,” Brock ordered, his expression hard. “Get your ass in the shower and get ready.”
“I’m not fucking going,” Braden scowled, anger coming off him in waves. His fists were clenched to his side. His blue eyes were bloodshot and crazed. I almost gasped—he looked so much like our father that it made me feel nauseous.
“We talked about this already Braden. I get that you’re hurting—we’re all hurting. But you’re not missing this bloody funeral.” Brock’s tone was final. Braden glowered at him, sizing him up as if he actually planned to fight him.
“I miss Grammy too.” Aiden’s little voice took us all by surprise, and we turned to look at him. He was standing in the narrow hallway, his eyes wide and fixed on Braden. “Mommy says we can say goodbye today. Grammy would be sad if you didn’t say bye, Uncle Braden.”
The anger in my brother’s expression broke, leaving undiluted grief. He drew in a shaky breath. He opened and closed his mouth several times, searching for a response that he didn’t have. The fight left his shoulders, and he wouldn’t meet any of our eyes as he passed us to head downstairs to his basement bedroom.
I pressed my fist against my heart, biting my lip to keep the tears from falling. Aiden’s gentle, empathetic nature never ceased to amaze me.
“Alright, Aiden, how about we get a bath running for you while your mom starts breakfast?”
“I want scrambled eggs and Mommy always leaves the shells in,” Aiden replied, rubbing at his eyes tiredly.
I flushed a deep shade of crimson. I didn’t intend to leave pieces of shells in the scrambled eggs, I just wasn’t a very good cook. Especially when it came to breakfast foods.
“Okay, I’ll make you scrambled eggs,” Brock grinned, his eyes sparkling with humour.
My embarrassment faded, and I allowed myself to feel this moment—to feel the hope in it. Our lives may have changed again, but my son was still smiling and cracking jokes. Sure, they were at my expense, but I’d take it.
Travis
I was so screwed.
I probably would have stood more of a chance if I hadn’t been lusting after her all these years, but she was the girl I could never have. Becky Miller, the younger sister of one of my best friends.
She was nothing like the other girls I knew. She didn’t want me for my money, or my fame. She wanted me because she knew who I was beyond the fame. She wanted me because she trusted me enough not to screw it up.
But I didn’t trust myself.
I knew very little about Becky’s past. I knew that she was a single mom, and that the biological father of her son wasn’t involved. She needed someone who could handle that, and I wasn’t overly confident I could.
But that didn’t change the fact that ever since she put the bug in my ear, I had a massive hard on for her. Maybe not literally the whole time, but any time I let myself truly imagine sinking into her, which was more often than I cared to admit.
More than anything, I wanted to ease the ache in her blue eyes. I wanted to bring a smile to her lips, like I’d done the night before. I wanted to comfort her.
Becky was drifting from group to group, trying to thank as many people as she could for being there. I waited until she was relatively alone to approach her.
“Can we talk for a moment?” I pleaded, nodding toward the hall that led to the bathrooms and the emergency exit. Becky eyed me warily and nodded. She led the way with her arms crossed over her chest, subconsciously shielding herself. She made sure to keep her distanc
e from me until we’d stepped outside into the back alley behind O’Riley’s and the hardware store.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice guarded, a stark contrast to how open and trusting she’d been with me last night.
“I wanted to check in with you, make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine.” Becky couldn’t hold my gaze. Her shoulders slumped in defeat.
I stepped closer to her, pulling her toward me so that I could hug her. “It’s okay to not be fine, you know that right? You don’t have to keep it together all the time.”
It didn’t seem fair that Becky had nobody to hold her while she grieved. I could at least do that, even if I couldn’t give her what she really needed.
But she felt so good in my arms. Her scent was intoxicating, like peaches and honey. She smelled good enough to eat, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she tasted like.
“I know that,” she replied, her voice muffled against my chest. Her hands hung limply at her sides for a moment, and then she brought them up to wrap them around my waist, hugging me back. I rested my chin on the top of her head and inhaled.
Becky lifted her face, studying me while I tilted my head so that I could look down at her. Her blue eyes were full of hurt. She swallowed hard. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Haven’t I always been nice to you?” I asked her, surprised.
“Not like this,” she pointed out. It was true—we’d never touched like this before, and we probably wouldn’t be touching today if she hadn’t asked me for a one-night stand the night before. She needed physical comfort, she’d all but said as much. I couldn’t deny how amazing it felt to have her in my arms, and the appealing thought of spreading her legs had consumed me since the moment she asked me.
I had to back away before she felt the effect she had on me. I ran my hands through my hair, tugging at the roots, and dragged in a ragged breath. I started to pace, restless with just standing there.
“I feel like this is a big thing, you coming to me like you did last night, and I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t want you, because honestly… that’s not it. You’re gorgeous, Becs, and I want you…badly. But you’re my best friend’s little sister, and you can play things off as much as you like, but you’ve been hurt…badly. I can’t promise you the commitment you deserve. I travel a lot, and I like to have fun,” I winced, realizing how crass that sounded, but it was true…and Becky deserved my honesty.
With my grand speech over, I stopped pacing and looked at her, trying to gauge her reaction to my words. I couldn’t bear the idea of hurting her, but I had to make her understand. She didn’t seem put off by my honesty, she looked at me earnestly.
“I’m not looking for commitment. I don’t need those things. We’ve been fine on our own and we’ll continue to be fine. I just…I need…“ Becky broke off, her eyes misting. She inhaled sharply, her eyes finally landing on mine again. “I need to feel desired, Travis. That’s all.”
I stepped up to her, unable to stop myself. Her broken confession sliced into my resolve. Becky was too gorgeous to feel undesirable, and I knew I could make her feel that at least. I looked around, making sure the coast was clear before my hands gently went to her hips and I pulled her against me.
“Do you feel that?” I murmured, my eyes never leaving hers. She drew in a sharp breath, swallowing hard and nodding as I pressed my hard length against her. Even just talking about this in an abstract way with her had me throbbing. “You are desired. Don’t ever doubt that. Any guy would be lucky to have you.”
“Just one night, Travis,” she pleaded, her eyes wide. “Then we can go back to just being acquaintances, almost friends.”
“What if you want more afterwards?” I suggested, waggling my eyebrows at her. I may have been playing it off with humour, but I wasn’t exactly willing to face the consequences.
Like Brock’s fist against my jaw, for example.
I had only just reconnected with him, and I didn’t want to screw things up now that he was back. He’d been gone for four years, and we’d barely spoken. After his arrest, he stopped talking to everyone. It stung, but I was beginning to understand his reasons.
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Maybe we won’t even like each other afterwards,” she countered, her lips twitching to repress a bemused smile.
“Oh, I doubt that very much,” I murmured, arousal making my throat feel thick. Her chest rose and fell with each frantic breath she dragged in. Her nipples pressed against the thin material of her dress. Almost like my hand had a mind of its own, it moved to cup her breast over her dress. My thumb brushed across her nipple, and she let out a tiny gasp.
She looked so responsive, I couldn’t help but lower my mouth to hers. Her lips were soft and seemed to fit mine perfectly. I kissed her slowly at first, then deepened it when she moaned and parted her lips. My tongue darted out, finding hers and beginning an erotic dance.
My hips pressed her against the brick wall, and I felt like I could spend hours just kissing her. Her hands came up to my chest, her fingers gripping the material of my shirt. Then she pushed on me, breaking our contact.
“Not here,” she whispered, flushed. Her eyes lingered on my lips for a moment before she rose them to meet my eyes. “I can meet you tomorrow night.”
“Where?”
She bit down on her lip. “The motel off of Bowes Street?”
I stepped back, rubbing my chin while I studied her. It seemed cheap, and Becky didn’t deserve cheap. I understood why she didn’t want to meet up at her place, and I couldn’t very well invite her back to mine. My mom lived there, and that didn’t exactly set the mood either.
I got the impression Becky needed to be in control of this, so I’d let her set the pace.
“Okay,” I told her, swallowing hard.
“You don’t have my number,” she reminded me.
“So give it to me,” I grinned. I pulled my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and added her number in. I typed out a text and hit send so she’d know my number too. I wasn’t worried at all about her leaking it, and that was refreshing. Usually, I avoided giving women my number. I’d unfortunately had to change it monthly for the past couple of years due to security issues.
“I need to get back,” Becky said, stepping even further away from me and heading inside. I adjusted myself, shaking my head. As soon as she disappeared, the doubt set in.
What in the hell did I just agree to?
The next day, just after ten o’clock at night, I walked up the concrete steps of the motel. I wore a baseball cap low on my forehead and a brown leather jacket to protect my identity. The less people saw of my face and the full sleeve tattoo on my left arm, the more successful I was at going undetected. It didn’t always work, but it was my best shot at anonymity.
My eyes scanned the door numbers, and I moved toward 202 with my heart pounding in my chest.
When we had made the plan to meet up, I was all for it; I couldn’t wait to sink into her. But then I had spent the last twenty-four hours torturing myself with all of the reasons why it was a bad idea, and it really didn’t take much.
A few memories from high school had done the trick. Becky shared those hallways with me—with us—for two years. Brock, Gordon, Grady, Steve, and I used to intimidate any guy stupid enough to look in her direction. Brock wanted to make sure that whoever asked Becky out knew they had to go through us if they hurt her. Nobody was up for the challenge.
I didn’t want anybody to touch her, but it hadn’t started out like that. At first, it was just fun. I didn’t have any siblings, and watching my best friends with theirs made me feel envious of that fact. I told myself I was protecting her on Brock’s behalf.
I had to acknowledge the fact that maybe I had ended up using my status as Brock’s best friend to stake a claim, in a quiet way.
I guess I thought of her as mine, even though I kept my distance from her. She’d always been beautiful, and I didn’t think I coul
d hide my attraction to her. Brock would have kicked my ass if he caught on. We had a bro code—sisters were off limits. That meant both Tessa Armstrong and Becky Miller were no touch zones.
It was easier to abide by those rules with Tessa, obviously. She was six years younger than us and when I knew her, she was a lanky freckle faced kid. Becky fell under my radar because of those two short years we attended the same high school.
When I was in grade twelve, I went to semi-formal with one of the hot, popular girls at school. Her name was Kristen Base, and I used to joke about how I was gonna hit all her bases, if you know what I mean.
I drew in a breath, letting the memory wash over me.
I’d basically spent the first half of the dance making out with Kristen and trying to cop a feel through her satin dress. I didn’t even clue in that Becky had gone to semi-formal until I saw her taking shots with Greg Brimstone. It wasn’t really an activity I had ever thought I’d catch her doing, lest of all in the gymnasium of our high school.
I’d known Greg for years, and he always came across as a self-entitled asswipe. He came from money and loved to wave that fact around in everybody’s face—especially mine. Ever since grade school, he’d show up with some crazy expensive device and drone on and on about it before making comments about how it must suck being trailer trash.
It didn’t sit well with me that he’d chosen to take Becky as his date, so I watched them.
Losing all interest in my date entirely, I debated on what I should do. I didn’t want to ruin her night, but I also didn’t trust the way Greg and his friends were openly leering at her. The shots kept coming, and Becky started dancing with him.
I hated him, and I hated the fact that his hands were on her. I hated that he was basically pouring hard liquor down Becky’s throat, high fiving his friend whenever she wasn’t looking. I knew Becky hadn’t had much experience drinking—Brock made damn sure of it, but he avoided functions like this and she knew that.
Rebel Song: (Rebel Series Book 3) ((Rebel Series)) Page 3