by Piper Lawson
“Yeah,” Beck answers raggedly on the second ring.
“What’s wrong?” I ask under my breath, hoping I don’t wake Harrison in the other room.
“We’re done. I overheard my supposed girlfriend last night saying she was dating me to get on the show and help her own career.”
My ribs ache. “No. I thought you guys were good.”
“Guess you can’t change someone’s heart, you know? She wanted me, but she wanted fame more. The fucked-up thing is I would’ve given it to her if she’d asked.”
I squeeze my eyes shut against the hurt in his voice. “Where are you now?”
“The airport. About to get on a plane for a change of scenery. Shooting’s done for the drama, but I can’t even think about Being Beck right now. If I go on camera trying to live my life, I’m gonna break down. My producer would say the fans’ll be down with it, but he’ll want to vilify the girl.”
“It sounds like she deserves it.”
“I’m not the guy to decide what people deserve.”
Beck might be hurting now, but forgiving her will let him move on. I wish the rest of us could learn the same.
“Don’t leave LA,” I say as I hear Harrison stirring in the other room. “We’re flying back in a couple of hours. I’ll meet you at your place this afternoon.”
The bedroom door opens as I hang up.
“Good morning,” I tell Harrison, who looks rumpled and sexy as fuck. His hair is a mess, his blue eyes at half-mast. He’s naked except for black boxer briefs, the fabric stretched thanks to a very discernable erection, and every muscle and plane of his gorgeous body is on display. My throat dries.
“It is. But we could take a shower and make it better.” His eyes darken as he takes me in, and I’m already wet from his indecently slow inspection.
He wraps both arms around me, the heat of his skin feeling like home.
I hold up my wrist. “Is gold shower-proof?”
“Let’s find out.”
“I want to. You have no idea how much.” He rubs his erection between my thighs, which only makes me groan. “But I need to get back for Beck.”
“I have an eight-figure investment burning cash until it’s rezoned, and you don’t see me sprinting onto the plane. Though perhaps I should bring you with me to the hearing. No doubt you could charm that prick Whelan and his zoning committee.”
I stiffen. “Who?”
“Zachary Whelan. The head of the zoning commission.”
There’s not enough air in the room, and I pull out of his arms to get a glass of water from the bathroom.
Once I’ve drained it, I turn back to him.
“Harrison… I know Zach Whelan.”
“From what?”
“He was a friend of Kian’s growing up.”
He crosses to me, folding me in his arms once more. My skin prickles with awareness even though my head is a million miles away.
“Then you can charm him.” He curses. “Dammit, we should’ve figured this out sooner—”
“It’s better I don’t see him. And don’t mention me to him.”
“Tell me you didn’t break his heart.” Harrison smirks. “If I learn you slept with him, I’m going to have to kill the poor asshole, and then I’ll never get my permit.”
“I’m serious.” My fingers dig into his muscled arms, and he frowns.
I don’t think he’s going to let it go, but finally he relents. “Well, we both have reasons to get back, but surely they can wait long enough for me to take you in the shower.” Harrison’s mouth descends to my neck. His teeth and lips send sparks along my nerve endings, making my body pull tight in arousal and distract from the dark thoughts in my head.
“Surely.”
“What’s in the bag? Weed?” Beck asks when I arrive that afternoon, a paper bag in my arms.
He peers in the top, eyebrows lifting. “Ice cream. Solid.”
We take it to the living room, Beck grabbing two spoons from the kitchen on the way.
“You gonna paint my fingernails too?” he quips, sinking onto the couch.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
He peels off the top of the carton of fudge marshmallow and takes a bite. His low groan is half satisfaction, half longing. “That’s good.”
I turn on the TV and navigate to the channel I’ve memorized since spending more time with Harrison.
“You want to watch soccer?” he scoffs. “You’re a terrible wingwoman.”
I say nothing, wait for play to end, and the cameras to zoom in on one of the players at the end of a sequence.
Beck shifts forward, frowning. “Yeah. Okay, sure.” He reaches for another bite of ice cream. “Half a pint of this, I’ll be nonverbal.”
I take the carton from him and scoop a bite of my own. The rich flavors hit my tongue, and I groan.
Beck cuts a look at the screen, a low rumble of laughter escaping his chest. “Shit. That the kid from the boat?”
Ash brings the ball up the field, his expression tight with intensity.
“You have two years on him. Stop pretending it’s a generation.”
The camera zooms out as Ash passes the ball off, gets it back. Then with a lightning-fast move, he redirects it toward the goal.
There’s no chance. He’s too fast, the ball slicing through the air.
The goaltender dives…
And suddenly, a defenseman comes out of nowhere to deflect the ball.
Ash’s handsome face is anguished, the camera showing him tug on his hair before running back up the field the other way.
The commentators speak overtop of the broadcast, stats I don’t fully understand appearing on a digital graphic on one side of the screen. Apparently, it’s been an up-and-down season for one of the sport’s most promising talents.
“Looks like he’s having rougher year than I thought.”
Beck’s gaze narrows on the TV. “He doesn’t know what the fuck to do with himself. He doesn’t know who he is.”
“You got all that from meeting him once and seeing him on TV?”
“How could anyone not get that?” Beck chuckles. “Things must be going well if you’re DVR’ing the little bro’s games.” The look on his face tells me he won’t put up with me holding back on account of his broken heart or for any other reason.
“He gave me this bracelet.”
I hold out my wrist, and Beck grins. “I’m glad he’s taken his head out of his ass long enough to know you’re the real deal. That’ll go with the dress you ordered.”
He points at a garment bag in the living room that I somehow missed. I shift off the couch and unzip the bag.
“All you need is a billionaire on the other arm to match,” Beck says.
“Harrison’s not coming.”
“Why the fuck not?”
“I didn’t invite him. Him being there would complicate things.”
“Seems to me if you trust him, you should give him a shot with the family,” Beck goes on. “The guy’s heavy handed, sure, but he cares about you. I saw it when he crashed our dinner. If you’re worried he’ll go AWOL and interrogate Grandma over spinach puffs, tell him to stay in his lane or he won’t get invited back.”
“It’s not my life I’m worried about him fucking up. If he talks to the wrong people…he’s not going to like what he finds.”
I thought Harrison knew my secrets, but this morning I learned there’s one thing tying my past to the future he wants. The one he needs.
I won’t put that future at risk, even if I have to hurt him to do it.
Before I can respond, there’s a knock on the door. A huge guy with a buzzed head is on the step, dressed in a black suit and sunglasses. There’s a handheld radio on his belt.
“Who are you?” I ask.
Those glasses slide down his face as he addresses me. “Security, ma’am.”
“Whose security?”
“Yours.”
17
Harrison
“
You’re still angry about the security,” I say, surveying my girlfriend from the four-poster bed where I’m lying fully clothed. “That’s why you won’t let me come to this wedding.”
“You arranged it without my knowledge or consent. Sent an armed meathead to Beck’s door—”
“I would’ve thought he’d enjoy that.”
Rae’s quiet, even for her, industriously gathering her bag, lipstick, fussing with her hair in the mirror of our boutique hotel in Napa.
“That’s beside the point. It’s not why you’re not coming to the wedding.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
She straightens, turning to look at me. She’s beautiful, her blue dress hugging curves I dream about every second I’m not touching them. Her eyes are dark, lined to make them darker, her lips full and parted. Her hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders thanks to a curling iron she burnt herself on while she was finishing.
“You can’t come because it’s family and in public and a cesspool of emotions and damage, and I didn’t ask for a plus one. Especially a plus one who’s recognizable and infamous and going to draw attention like a magnet.”
Frustration rises up. “So, I’m good enough to drive you up here but not to attend the ceremony.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Is it?” I cross to her and box her in against the dresser.
The wedding is at a vineyard. I drove with her and stayed over, thinking a night away would be refreshing.
I get that she RSVPed for one person weeks ago, but it feels as if she doesn’t want me to know where she comes from.
“You knew who I was when we started this,” I murmur. “Don’t invite me in one moment and shut me out the next.”
She steps into her heeled platforms, tossing her hair over one shoulder as she bends to fasten the straps.
“Inviting you in feels like inviting a circus,” she says, still bent double. “I want you, but I can’t take the monkeys today, Harrison.”
Perhaps I should have anticipated her reaction. But I’ve rarely encountered a woman who didn’t want to be with me, who didn’t welcome all that came with it. Even my ex acted like she wanted it—until she didn’t.
But there’s a larger issue.
Rae’s my girlfriend, as trite as the label is. That means I get to claim her as mine—in public when we’re walking down the street and in private when she’s panting beneath me. It also means I get to tease her. That she’s the person I think of first when I run into a problem.
From the way she’s been carrying tension since Colorado, the way she burnt herself with the styling tool she could use in her sleep, today is a problem.
But she’s not fucking confiding in me, and that eats me alive. She’s using this event as an excuse not to let me in. She can’t shut me out whenever it’s convenient, whenever something triggers her to raise the walls she’s spent years carefully building.
“There’s a brave woman I can’t stop thinking about,” I bite out. “You’re not acting like her.”
She straightens, eyes wide with shock. It’s the first sign I’ve landed a blow. “You should drive back to LA. I’ll get my own ride back.”
We go downstairs in silence and wait while the valet brings the car around.
When she drops into the passenger seat, her handbag falls on the floor. As she fishes under the seat to retrieve it, I put the car in gear, not bothering to help.
The moment we pull up the long driveway of the vineyard and I park in front, she shifts out and shuts the door.
The car is too quiet as I head back to the highway, so I crank the satellite radio. My knuckles are white on the wheel.
I came to LA for business. To put Mischa in the ground, professionally speaking. Instead, all I can think of is the woman I left twenty miles back.
Being this consumed by another person isn’t healthy, but I don’t know how to change it or even if I want to. I’ve never had someone this tightly linked to my work and life.
A ringing sounds from the passenger seat.
What the…?
As the ringing cuts out, I pull over and reach under the seat.
Her phone.
She must have dropped it when she dropped her bag. She’ll almost certainly need it.
I turn the car around.
Rae
There’s a rule that weddings should be happy. A day to reminisce about times past, dream of the future.
But with Callie at my side, my small talk with relatives and family friends is loaded.
“I haven’t seen you in forever. What are you doing?” is the inevitable question.
“I work in the music industry.”
In most crowds, that would inspire more questions, but with my family, that’s usually enough to shut people down. It’s better to be in law or medicine or politics.
We claim seats in the back, and I open my clutch to text Harrison and say I’m sorry for what happened earlier. He was being unreasonable, but his intuition wasn’t wrong.
I’ve been dreading this day, and I have been keeping him at a distance.
Still, I wish Harrison was with me now—not as protection but because I enjoy his company. The vineyard makes me wonder whether he’d like it or scoff at the natural flowers, which Callie told me cost thousands. If, when pressed, he’d say something like, “If you’re going to spend on flowers, make it look like you did.”
“What’s wrong?” my cousin asks when I curse.
“My phone is missing. Maybe I dropped it.” I stand and dash up the aisle to the main building but run smack into a tuxedo-clad form on the way. I look up to see my brother’s equally surprised face. “Kian!”
“Rae. Shit, it’s good to see you.”
“You look great. I haven’t seen you in anything other than scrubs in years.”
“I haven’t seen you in anything in years,” he points out. “You haven’t come home.”
“I know.” Loaded tension settles between us, and I swallow hard.
“It’s okay,” he says before I can find words. “I forgive you.”
I lift a brow. “You forgive me?”
“Yeah. I mean, when you left for arts school and never came back to visit, even when you worked in LA, I took it personally. But I’m your big brother, and I know I was caught up in my own shit with med school. So, I forgive you. It’s that easy.”
Suddenly, the music starts. As I look around, I’m thinking of all the good times we had as kids, and the heavy stuff falls away.
“This is a big day,” I murmur.
“Start of forever,” he agrees, looking nervous for the first time I can remember. “I keep thinking she’ll come to her senses and say no. Like the officiant will say, ‘Do you?’ and she’ll respond, ‘Fuck this noise. I’m out.’ I never thought I’d be getting married. But life changes you, right?”
My throat tightens as I nod. “You have your something old, new, borrowed, and blue?”
“Think that’s a bride thing, sis.”
I tear a tiny piece of lace off the overlay hem of my dress. “Here. It’s repurposed vintage and borrowed. Just in case.”
His eyes soften, and he pulls me in for a hug.
When Kian heads to the altar to take his place, I remember my missing phone.
It’s too late to go look for it before the start of the ceremony.
I huff out a breath as I slump back in my seat.
“Did you see Kian?” Callie asks when I sink back into my chair.
“He looks good. Happy.”
She squeezes my hand. “Are you happy?”
“I will be,” I say.
There’s a man I care about, and the second I get back to LA, I’ll tell him how badly I wished he’d been by my side today.
The procession music begins, and the first couple comes down the aisle. My attention lingers on the bridesmaid’s dress. The hem kisses the ground as she walks.
“Pretty sure I heard them fucking in the cellar when I got here,”
Callie comments, and I swallow a laugh.
The second couple starts, but this time, all I can see is the back of the groomsman’s suit. Every muscle in me stiffens.
“What’s wrong—oh, shit.” Callie grabs for my hand.
I can’t look away.
“I didn’t think he and Kian were still friends. I didn’t know he’d be here…” Callie’s furious whisper echoes in my ears, and I feel her turn toward me. “Did you?”
There’s no way I can answer.
Because when the couple reaches the front and the groomsman turns, I feel as if I’ve been shot in the stomach.
18
Harrison
I park at the end of the row, not bothering with the valet.
The ceremony is over—the bride and groom are outside, taking pictures. Guests mill about, cocktails in hand. I cross the green expanse toward the vines and the bar, Rae’s phone in my grip.
None of the faces are hers.
A pair of women glances toward me, and their attention lingers as they freeze. Then one of the women grabs another passing by, drawing her in and whispering.
But I press forward toward the bar, where my gaze catches on a familiar profile. “Whelan.”
Zachary turns, and the man who holds my club’s future in his hands straightens his tailored suit. “Harrison.” His mouth curves. “And here I thought putting you on the calendar for this week would get you off my back.”
I extend a hand, and he takes it.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Friend of the groom.”
“Right. I recall my girlfriend saying she knew you. Raegan Madani,” I go on as I look past him, searching for her amidst the crowd.
When I turn back to the man in front of me, he’s transformed.
“This some kind of joke?” His voice is low, his lips thinning into a line.
I don’t answer. I’m too busy trying to figure out what could’ve happened to set him off in the space of a single breath.
Not even a breath. A name.
Rae’s name.