“Put your phone away,” Mom scolded, setting a heaping plate of spaghetti down in front of me. “You know I don’t like them at the table.”
“Sorry Ma,” I apologized, slipping it back into my jeans. “Just following up on some work stuff,” I added, not wanting Rob to know and tag along.
I wouldn’t have been able to get away with a stunt like this in Nashville, but Rob was a little less intense about me going places alone when we were in Parry Sound when it wasn’t tourist season. I still didn’t want to take the chance that he’d shadow me.
My mom’s nose twitched, a small indicator that she knew I wasn’t being honest. Luckily for me, she wouldn’t call me out on it in front of guests. To her, Rob was still a guest—probably because he was stiff and formal, and had never once taken us up on the offer to stay in the guest house. He’d drive fifteen minutes to the nearest dive motel and sleep there—which I was counting on tonight.
I made it through dinner, and waited until Rob left before kissing my mom on the cheek. “Leaving so soon?” she asked.
“I’ll be back later tonight, Ma,” I answered, shoving my arms through my coat sleeves. “I need to blow off some steam.” Whether I was in Nashville or on tour, I rarely had a moment to myself. I was always shadowed by someone from the label, be it Rob or Barbara. It was nice to shake everybody off for a little while, to get back to my roots and remember who I was before the fame.
Humble beginnings and what not.
“Alright. Have fun and be safe.”
I headed out to the garage and jumped into my truck. As I drove into town, my hands tapped against the steering wheel in time to the music pumping out of my speakers.
Gordon, Grady, and Brock’s trucks were all parked in the small lot in between O’Riley’s and the hardware store. I parked and hopped out, tugging up the collar of my brown leather jacket to ward off October’s chill.
The heavy wood door swung shut behind me as my eyes scanned the old bar. The hardwood floors had seen better days, and the lighting sucked—but it was still the best place to go for brews in town. The wings were good too, and it was blissfully quiet. During the summer months, it was packed with locals and tourists alike, but aside from the six people sitting at the bar, a few people shooting pool, and a couple of occupied tables—O’Riley’s was almost empty.
I spotted the guys sitting at a booth to the left of the bar, near the pool tables. Surprise shot across Brock’s face when he looked up and saw me making my way over. “Speak of the devil!” he said with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Dread rendered me frozen for a moment, and I had a panicked thought that somehow, Brock had found out about me and Becky. I didn’t relax until Gordon spoke up to clarify.
“Heard you were spotted in Toronto earlier. I figured you’d be bringing your ugly mug back around soon,” Gordon ribbed, moving over to make room for me.
“How long are you back for?” Grady asked as I slid into the booth across from him.
“Just two weeks, then I’m on tour until July,” I answered tiredly. Jet lag was hitting me, but I knew I’d get my second wind in due time.
“Lifestyles of the rich and the famous,” Gordon smirked.
“Whatever, Gordon,” I snorted, glancing around for the old bartender, Mick. I was thirsty, and a beer would wake me up a little. I grinned when I saw that he was already on his way over with a tray of beers in his hand.
“If it isn’t our resident celebrity,” Mick exclaimed, setting a beer down in front of me.
“How’s my favourite barmaid doing?” I shot back with a smile. “Still as gorgeous as ever.”
“It’s the red meat diet I’ve been on for the last seventy years,” Mick responded with a humorous grin. “Let me know if I can get you fellows anything else.”
“We’re good,” Brock said. Something in his voice had me turning my head to look at him. He appeared exhausted and tense, but he wasn’t looking at me. I followed his gaze as it went over to the bar. Braden sat at one of the stools, hunched over an amber glass, not paying attention to anything happening around him. The tension left my shoulders when I realized that Brock’s mood had little to do with me and everything to do with his younger brother.
“How’s he doing?” I asked as Mick walked off, gesturing to Braden with a slight tilt of my head.
“Still drinking his face off every night, causing a shit ton of trouble for Mick,” Brock sighed, scratching at his jaw. “I don’t know what to do with him.”
“I told you, kick his fucking ass,” Gordon chirped from beside me. “That’s what I’d do if Tommy ever pulled that shit.”
“Not every problem can be solved by your fists,” Grady supplied with a frown. He clapped Brock on the shoulder in a show of solidarity. “I think it’s gotta be up to him.”
My thoughts circled round to Becky, and I wondered how she was doing with all this. I’d known that Braden hadn’t handled the death of their mother very well, I’d seen as much the last time I was down, but I figured he would have come out of it by now.
“How’s Becky handling things?” I asked, hoping my voice sounded causal enough not to draw attention to my interest in his answer. Luckily, Brock was distracted with watching his brother.
“She’s doing alright for the most part. She’s still in school full-time, and she graduates from her nursing program in April. She misses Mom and it’s hard for her to see Braden this way, but she’s not giving up…which is good.”
We all watched as Braden tossed back his drink and brought the empty glass down heavily against the bar. “Another round,” he barked at Mick. The old bartender watched him while he continued drying the glass in his hands.
“I think you’ve had enough, son,” he finally responded with an air of authority and quiet disappointment.
“The fuck I have, I’m a paying customer and I want more fucking whiskey,” Braden retorted angrily.
Mick arched his white wispy brows. He set the clean glass he’d been drying down on the shelf beneath the bar and tossed the towel over his shoulder. “Paying customers still get cut off when they’ve had too much.”
“You’re not the judge of that, I am!” Braden said, as he shoved the glass toward Mick a little too roughly, and it fell off the edge of the bar top, shattering against the ground.
Brock stood up warily, cracking his neck. He said nothing as he made his way over to the bar where Braden was still belligerently arguing with Mick.
Gordon, Grady and I all exchanged a look. I got the impression from the lack of surprise on their faces that this was a regular occurrence. We stood up and crossed over to the bar, ready to assist Brock if need be.
“What the fuck do you want?” Braden slurred, scowling at Brock from where he stood beside him.
“Time to go home,” Brock said warily, grabbing Braden’s arm to try and guide him out of the stool.
“Fuck off,” Braden shot back loudly. He yanked his arm free and lost his balance, falling sideways off of the stool to the ground by my feet. He didn’t get up, and a second later he began to snore loudly.
“For fucks sakes, Braden,” Brock huffed, irritation and concern lining his features as he crouched to check the damage. Braden had a small cut on the bottom of his chin from when he’d hit it on the bar stool coming down, but seemed to be okay otherwise.
I helped hoist Braden up, tossing his arm across my shoulders while Brock took his other arm. Braden was like a dead weight between us. He came too, his head rolling as his eyes searched through the spins to lock on his brother.
“Sorry,” he said, shuddering as he closed his eyes.
Every person in the bar was watching as we moved toward the door, and I could feel their judgement. It wasn’t directed at me, but at the Millers.
Anybody else in this town could get piss drunk and fall off a bar stool and not get judged for it. They’d probably get a pat on the back and a few chuckles. If a Miller did it…the whispers and the stares were full of contempt.
The townsfolk had always seen the Millers as hellions. It went back to their old man, Brett. He’d been the town drunk, and in his younger days had gotten into a hell of a lot of trouble. It wasn’t fair that they couldn’t get out from under his shadow, that their every action in this town was watched and scrutinized.
“Oh, like none of you fuckers have gotten too shitfaced before?” Gordon barked at the patrons staring at the show, just as pissed off with the stares and pointed hushed conversations as I was, only more adept to show it. “You drank so much that you pissed your pants last week, Carl!” he added to one of the middle aged men sitting at the bar casting looks of contempt toward Braden. Carl Hanson flushed and looked away, and I grinned with pride.
I used to run my mouth like that; I used to speak whatever was on my mind, but too many times before, something I’d said would get taken out of context and then blasted all over the Internet. Gordon could poke fun all he wanted at my profession of choice, but at least he could give someone shit without it blowing back in his face.
Gordon tossed some bills down to cover our tab as Grady held the door open for Brock and me. We practically had to drag Braden through, and out to Brock’s truck.
Between the three of us, we managed to get Braden in, although he immediately laid down in the back seat and started to snore.
“Mick said he can’t leave his truck here again or it’ll get towed,” Gordon reported, running a hand through his dirty blond hair. “Maybe you should let it get towed. Might teach him a lesson.”
“That truck belonged to our grandpa, I’m not letting it get towed,” Brock sighed, sounding torn.
“I can drive it back to the house,” I suggested. The situation wasn’t the greatest, and I knew it wouldn’t result in me getting lucky…but even still, the prospect of seeing Becky again had me perking up.
Brock looked at me for a moment, weighing his options. I knew if he could drive both his truck and Braden’s truck home at the same time, he would. Brock hated getting help, he liked to be the one to handle everything himself. Sighing heavily, he patted down Braden’s pockets to find the keys to his truck. He tossed them at me, and I caught them one-handed.
“Well, that was a fun night,” Gordon said dryly. “I’ve gotta be at a client’s house early tomorrow, so I’m going to have to take off. Are you guys good from here?”
“Yeah, we’ll be fine.”
Becky
It was nearly midnight, and I had classes in the morning. I should have been sleeping. Instead, I was pacing the length of the living room, glancing out the window every so often. Brock had called ten minutes ago to let me know that he was on his way home with Braden.
Brock was the one who Mick called when Braden caused trouble at the bar, and those calls had been happening more and more lately, especially with Elle in Barrie for school. She hadn’t tried to talk to him after the night of the funeral, when he snapped at her at the reception, and I know it hurt him. I think he thought she’d keep coming around, keep fighting for him.
When Mom died, I’d been so worried about losing my brothers too. I thought Brock would surely go back to Alberta, if even just to escape for a while. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he did, but he hadn’t. He remained here, unwilling to leave with Braden the way he was, and I couldn’t even be happy about it because our little brother was sinking quickly to rock bottom, if he wasn’t there already.
I didn’t know what was worse—the many nights I spent like this, waiting to open the door and get my alcoholic brother to his room without waking up Aiden, or the nights when he didn’t come home at all.
The weight of this new reality was crushing me. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and stressed out. It was hard seeing Braden like this, and it was hard not seeing him but knowing that he was still drowning his sorrows in a bottle every night.
Mom died three months ago now, but some days it felt as raw and painful as the day we’d lost her. Sometimes, I’d forget. I would come through the front door and go to call out to her, only to remember that she was gone.
Two sets of headlights shone brightly through the living room window as two trucks pulled up. I rushed to open the door, pulling the sweater I’d been wearing tighter around my body as I stepped out onto the porch.
Brock shut the door of his truck just as the door to Braden’s Ranger opened. Travis stepped out, his eyes locking with mine for a moment as he stood between the open door and the truck, his muscular arm draped across the top of the door.
It was the first time I’d seen him since our night together in the hotel room, and the onslaught of memories made it hard to breathe.
“I’ll take him inside, then give you a lift to your truck,” Brock said over his shoulder, addressing Travis. Braden was standing, but barely, secured by Brock’s iron grip.
I went to close the door, but Travis called out quietly. “Hey!”
Pausing, I looked over my shoulder. My brothers’ were just clearing the basement door, entering the stairwell that lead down to Braden’s room. When I looked back, Travis was walking toward me.
His eyes didn’t leave mine, a thousand unspoken words passing between us as he paused at the bottom of the stairs.
“You look really good, Becs,” he said, a bemused smile on his face. The unspoken innuendo lingered heavily between us.
“So do you.” I couldn’t stop looking at him. My body remembered exactly what it was like to be with him, and those memories made me surge with desire for him again. An awareness grew between us, the energy changing.
It didn’t help that he looked irresistible, and it had been a difficult, isolating few months.
I could use an escape, and I knew the one that Travis provided would be more than sufficient.
“I’m in town,” he told me. “For two weeks.”
“And?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest and watching as his hazel eyes tracked the movement. I tried to feign indifference, but my heart leapt at his suggestion. He wanted me, and it was exhilarating.
I was dressed in ratty pajama bottoms and a loose fitting sweatshirt, my dark hair piled up on top of my head in a messy bun, but Travis looked at me like I was standing naked before him, his for the taking.
That particular thought made me involuntarily clench my thighs together. His lips twitched up in a devilish smile, like he could sense my arousal from six feet away.
“And I hope I’ll see you around,” he clarified, running a hand through his dark blond curls.
I studied him, my eyes roaming from his Lucchese boots to his tapered waist. I drew in a shaky breath before continuing upward, pausing on his lips. I wanted so badly to feel them pressed against mine, if only for a little while.
“Maybe,” I said, bringing my shoulder up in a delicate shrug. He moved toward me, but paused when he saw Brock approaching from over my shoulder.
“Braden’s out cold,” he announced, pausing beside me. “Thanks for helping out, man.”
“No problem,” Travis smiled, his eyes flicking back to mine when Brock turned to address me.
“I’ll see you in the morning. Mind if I take Aiden back to my place? I need to get some things done around the cabin.” I had classes and Brock had taken over helping me with daycare now that Tessa was in Barrie.
“Sure,” I murmured, conscious of Travis’s eyes still on me.
When they were gone, I locked up the front door and started turning lights out. Pausing by Aiden’s bedroom door, I slowly opened it. Moonlight filtered in through his window, illuminating his skin in its pale glow. His lashes were dark against his cheeks, and his tiny chest rose and fell with each breath he took.
I counted every one of those breaths as personal blessings.
My socked feet were quiet against the floor as I crept over to kiss his cheek and adjust his blankets. I left the room wordlessly, crossing the hallway to mine.
I’d left my phone on the night stand, and I grabbed it before crawling under my blankets. I pulled Travis’s con
tact information up, my finger hoovering near the little message icon. The last time I’d texted him had been to plan our last tryst.
Sighing, I put my phone back and rolled over.
After class the next day, I texted Brock to see how Aiden was doing. When he replied telling me that they were going out on the ATV, I stopped in to visit Katie Armstrong.
I tried to go over as often as I could, to hold the baby while she showered or just talk to her. I remember how isolating it had been having a newborn and no social life, and I didn’t want Katie to feel that way, and I wanted to make amends for bailing out on her in the friend department when my mom was sick.
Plus, baby therapy was even better than psychological therapy for me. Before Alyssa, it had been three years since I’d held a newborn baby in my arms, and I loved all the little coos and gassy smiles.
I’d stopped off at the deli for sandwiches and coffee, and Katie nearly wept when she opened the door and spotted the paper bags with the deli logo. “I’m starving! How did you know?” she asked, standing aside to let me in. She had Alyssa cradled in her right arm as she nursed.
“Because I remember what breastfeeding was like,” I laughed, walking into the living room and dropping my purse down on the plaid arm chair. I handed the turkey sandwich to Katie, who masterfully unwrapped it and started eating it with one hand. “Where’s Ben?”
“At the farm,” Katie answered in between bites. Her husband, Ben, helped run his family’s farm, alongside his father, Bill. “Sometimes I think we should just move there.”
“You knew what you were getting into when you married a farmer’s eldest son,” I pointed out.
“I know,” she sighed. “Oh crap, she fell asleep again,” she added, looking down at her daughter.
“Let me take her while you finish eating,” I offered, holding my arms out. Katie gently passed her to me. She handed me the burp cloth and I threw it over my shoulder, bringing Alyssa up to gently pat her back. After she burped, I cradled her in my arms the way she liked and sat down on the sofa beside Katie. I got comfortable, knowing I’d be there for a while.
Rebel Song: (Rebel Series Book 3) ((Rebel Series)) Page 7