I reach for him, squeezing his hand. "You don't have to talk me into this, Rike. I'm in this. I know I've been distant. And I'm sorry; I had to be. I had to figure out who I am."
"I know. I'm sorry. I want to give you time—" He sighs. Shakes his head. "No, I don't. I want to take you home, lock you in our room, and fuck you until you can't remember a time when we weren't together. Until I'm a part of you, so fucking wrapped up in you that there is no you or me. Just us. That's what I've wanted since the day you opened your eyes. But I've given you time and space because I know that what I wanted wasn't what you needed and I love you too much to force you into something."
"You aren't," I protest, and he holds up a hand.
"Let me finish, Peyton," he says.
I fall silent, stung just a little. He huffs out a breath. "I love you. I always will. But I'm not going to force you into this because I do. Not when you can't remember loving me. I love you too much for that. I would walk away and wait for you to come to me. I would wait for you forever, if I had to. But Lindsay doesn't have that kind of patience. She never has. We need you to keep her and our family together. The only person who matters to me the way you do is Scott." His gaze is pleading and sad when he finally lifts those bright blue eyes to look at me. "He's my brother and he's falling apart, Peyton. She's talking about going to her parents’ house. About never coming home. He can't—he can't lose her."
I put my coffee down and lean forward, catching his hand in mine. Squeezing it until his gaze finds mine, so desolate and broken.
I did this. I left him. He's not seeing Lindsay leaving Scott, and how that will fall out. He's remembering me leaving him, and how fucking horrible it will be for his best friend to live through that same nightmare.
I hate that I've done that to him.
"Ok, Rike. Let's go home."
Chapter 25—: Before
It happens a few weeks before Christmas. We’ve been playing for increasingly busier crowds. More nights spent in bars and venues we’ve never been to than in Barrie’s. It’s caused a bit of a strain with him, but I’m following Scott’s lead—this is his dream, and I’ll follow wherever he chooses to chase it.
Ever since we played “Perfect Girl,” we've been growing. It's opened doors for Scott as a singer and me as a songwriter that neither of us expected. And the girls have cheered us along—Linds has worked almost as hard as Scott to find new venues and bands to open for, anything to get more exposure.
Anytime I wonder about her and how she feels about Scott, I remember that.
"See that guy?" she asks now, almost bouncing in her seat. "Black suit, red tie, looks like Simon Cowell's cuter younger brother?" I crane my head and see the dude she's talking about. The guy has been on his phone all night and Scott scowls in his direction. She raps the table sharply with one finger. "He's with an indie label out of Austin, up scouting talent in Nashville. I got a friend to pass him your demo."
"When did we make a demo?" I wonder, and Lindsay flicks me a longsuffering look. I hold up a hand in surrender.
"So he's interested in the guys?" Peyton says curiously.
"Yeah. So do good tonight." She leans into Scott, kissing him before she hops down and scurries for the bar. Peyton follows. They don't do bars alone, and they know we like a minute alone before we take the stage.
There are nerves in Scott's eyes when I look at him, unexpected nerves, and I lean forward. "Same shit, brother. Sing like we're still at Barrie’s.”
"We aren't though," he says, blowing out a breath. "This is real."
I nod. "But it's everything we've been working for. So. Embrace the real shit, dude.”
“The real shit is risky as hell,” he says.
I get it.
It's a risk every time we debut a new song, anytime we do a show anywhere that isn't Barrie's. There's comfort in the familiar old ruts but…"We get to decide who and what we are," I say quietly. Then I stand up and go to where the opening act is winding down, pulling my drumsticks. My koi winks up at me, a brilliant flare of color that grounds me while we ride the crowd's energy.
Scott bounds onto the stage a step ahead of me, and I let out a relieved sigh. The mood has passed and he's ready to perform.
***
"Gentlemen," a smooth voice says behind us. It cuts through Peyton's low murmur and Lindsay's excited chatter as they hug us and we order drinks. The set is over, just, and we're still surrounded by throbbing noise and the energy of the music. And the studio exec is staring at us with a smile on his face.
Real shit is scary as fuck.
"Hey, man," Scott says, disentangling from Lindsay and shaking the guy's hand. "Thanks for being here."
"It was a great set. I had a chance to listen to your demo. I don't think that last song was on it. What was the name?"
"Chosen," I say. Peyton's hand slips in mine and I smile at the dude, a tight, reserved smile, slipping easily into my role of quiet backup to Scott's cocky devil may care disregard "And it's new. We debuted it a few weeks ago."
Apparently, that was after the demo, but whatever.
"I think my bosses would like it. I'd like to arrange a meeting where you boys can play some for them and talk about what kind of future you have. Is that something you think you'd be interested in?"
Scott's tense and still at my side, and the girls seem far away. So does everything. Everything we've come from and tried to get past. He's not speaking, and I nod, for both of us. Taking that step that could change every fucking thing. "Yeah, dude. That would be fantastic. We'd love to talk."
The guy grins and slips us a business card and we exchange numbers, scribbling mine on the back of a cocktail napkin. He promises to call and then he's gone, slipping into the crowd and swallowed up, carrying the promise of so fucking much in his back pocket.
I look at Scott and laugh when I see the stunned look in his eyes. Sometimes, laughing is the only way to keep from breaking down.
It breaks the shock that's fallen over him and then he's screaming and I'm screaming, and the girls are laughing, shrieking as we pull them into the hug, celebrating everything that could possibly go right. She's got her arms around my neck, the scent of her hair in my nose, legs wrapped around my waist, and my best friend is happier than I've ever seen.
The real shit might be scary as fuck, but it's hella worth it.
“I love you,” she whispers, and my grip on her tightens.
Something I learned quick is that watching us perform turns both girls on. Sex with Peyton is always good—fucking fantastic—but when I’m coming off the stage, the girl can’t keep her hand off me. It’s the same as when we practice at home—they both love it and practice used to get cut short by one of us making out with one of the girls before someone ended up naked.
“When you’re rich and famous, you still going to want me?” she murmurs, and even though she’s teasing, it sends a fission of unease down my spine.
“Always, Fish. You’re it. My always. You forget me, and walk away and I would love you still.”
She pulls back, and stares at me, eyes wide and searching. “Do you think I could forget you?”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll remember for both of us, and I’ll make you remember too.”
She kisses me then, that deep kiss that I fucking love, the one she controls with her hands in my hair and teeth nipping at my lips before her tongue tangles with mine and everything falls away in a wave of sunshine and sugar and everything that is her.
“Want you,” she pants when she pulls back.
It’s all I need to hear. I’m moving before she kisses me again, and I hear Scott laughing behind me, but it barely registers as I carry her through the bar to a dark hallway. She squeaks against my throat, her teeth digging in just a little as I bump into a door and then we’re spilling into a stockroom that’s almost pitch black, and I’m letting her slide down my body, cupping her ass as she falls.
I fucking love her ass in those skin tight jeans she wea
rs when I perform. She’s got a corset-looking top on over the jeans, baring a smooth sliver of her belly, and my fingers skim it before I skate lower and cup her, grinding the heel of my hand into her through the jeans.
“Not playing fair,” she gasps, and I groan as her hands cup my erection. Stroke and tug in that way she has—not too hard, but rough. Enough to remind me that she wants this just as bad as I do.
She unzips my jeans and drops to her knees, taking me deep in her throat before I can process, and then I can’t.
The girl is amazing in bed, but I don’t think I’ll ever get over the sight of her on her knees, her lips wrapped around my cock. She licks at my shaft, her hand slipping between my legs to cup my balls and I struggle to keep still. My hand is on her head, my fingers twisting in her hair and she relents, the suction of her lips tightening as she slides down, until my dick hits her throat.
“I’m going to come,” I mutter.
She pulls back and strokes my dick. “That’s the point.”
“Not like that.” I say pulling her up. “As much as I like fucking your pretty mouth, I want your pussy.” Her eyes close and she sways closer. I unsnap her pants and work a hand into her jeans and the door behind us opens.
It’s dark. Dark enough that they don’t know we’re here. But I can see her, all wide eyes and flushed skin.
And I can see them. For a heartbeat, I consider saying something. But she’s trembling against me, and I know Scott well enough to know he wouldn’t care.
I lift an eyebrow and move my fingers, brushing against her clit, and she jolts against me. I lean into her ear, and whisper, so low, I almost don’t hear it, “Stay or go?”
She shudders, and wet warmth is covering my fingers as I slide them into her.
“Stay,” she breathes against my ear.
I smile against her skin, shoving my fingers into her, and grinding against her clit. “Be quiet, perfect girl,” I whisper.
Then I twist us, so she is against the side wall. In the darkness, we can both see them.
“Watch,” I murmur, and she shivers, her eyes on our best friends as Scott drops to his knees, shoves Lindsay’s skirt up, and covers her with his lips. Peyton’s whole body shudders, her pussy clenching on my fingers as I lazily finger-fuck her, and I grin. Lindsay is biting her hand, trying to stay quiet as he licks her cunt, but it’s not working. Tiny noises are leaking out, these gasping little whimpers, and his name, and it’s hot as hell.
And Peyton is so fucking wet. I pull my hand out of her pants and she makes a quiet mewl of displeasure, her hips rising and falling restlessly as I work her jeans down to her knees. I glance over at Scott and Peyton. Her head is thrown back, one leg hooked over his shoulder.
I lean into Peyton, and lick her once, feeling her body go tight as she bows off the wall toward me. I grin, and her hands find my hair, pulling me to her. She’s on tiptoes as I go to work, my tongue sliding through her, nipping at her clit, searching for the little friction I’m not giving her, and then I do, pinching her clit lightly as I tongue-fuck her and she’s coming, her pussy clenching in waves around me.
“Like that, baby?” I hear, and I freeze as Peyton shudders, thrusting against me, her orgasm tripping into another. Lindsay answers Scott in a low murmur, and I hear him groan before he kisses her.
Fuck. Peyton isn’t the only one turned on by this shit.
I stand quietly, and lift Peyton just a little.
Lindsay screams as Scott slams into her, her back thudding against the wall, and he groans again, that noise I’ve heard a million times when we shared women. Peyton is gasping as I grab her ass and fuck her slow and silently, her eyes wide and staring at Scott thrusting into Lindsay.
It’s hot as fuck that she’s getting off on this, but she is. She’s clenching and coming, these continuous orgasms that fall into each other, and she’s so wet I can feel it on my balls. I grit my teeth and drop my head into the crook of her neck, biting her shoulder to keep silent.
“Turn me,” Linds demands suddenly and he laughs, slowing. He pulls out and she moans, her voice rising to a shriek when he shoves his fingers into her.
“You’re demanding,” he mutters, and she whimpers, pushing back against him.
He slams into her and she shrieks, a noise he cuts off with a curse and a hand across her mouth, yanking her head back by the hair and hissing, “Quiet, sweetheart. Or I stop.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” she mutters.
Peyton makes a little huff of air, and I slide a hand between us, toying with her clit as I fuck her. “You like listening to them, sweetheart? Watching Scott fuck her. You love it.”
Her eyes find mine, and I see guilt there—mixed with the glassy desire is conflicted guilt, and I lean into her, kissing her hard and fast. “I love everything about you, Fish. Even the dirty girl who plays rough and likes her sex dangerous. You want him to watch me fuck you?”
Her body shakes, answering me for her as she shatters into another orgasm, and on the other side of the room, Lindsay whimpers, a long, drawn out noise as Scott hisses her name. I look over at them—we both look—and I come as Peyton pulls me into her, biting my chest hard as she rides out the climax, and we watch them orgasm.
It’s hot and dirty, and for a long moment, the room is silent except for the sound of us breathing. Scott moves first, sliding out of Lindsay, and I swallow my groan as he reaches between her legs, cleaning her up with his hand before he brings his fingers to his lips. She watches as he cleans his fingers and Peyton gasps when Lindsay goes up on tiptoes to kiss him.
Scott’s head lifts, and I shift Peyton, shielding her before Scott slaps Lindsay’s ass. “Come on, babe.”
She grumbles but they put themselves back together and she slips out.
Just before he does, his gaze darts to us, too knowing and serious.
Then the door shuts and closes off the noise of the bar. I slip free of Peyton and she redresses quickly and gives me a curious look. “What was that last thing?”
I shrug. “Scott’s a kinky bastard.” She arches an eyebrow, and I grin. “Guess I can’t really point fingers on that account.”
“No,” she says dryly. “Not really.”
I pull her into me and kiss her. Her hands come up to grip my arms, and when I pull back, it’s to lean my forehead against hers. “Are we ok?” I ask softly.
She nods and brushes my lips again. “Always, Jokes.”
Chapter 26: After
Being with you is never
Easy.
It's long nights and
Cryptic answers, and Constant challenges.
(Rike’s poems to Peyton)
Being back at the house is like living someone else’s life. The first few days are awkward as I navigate around Scott and Rike. They’re both busy for the first two days after I arrive, building ramps and supervising the crew moving Scott and Lindsay’s bedroom downstairs. I drift between them, trying to find where I belong. The problem isn’t them. They both are quick to include me in all their conversations, ask me what I want to do and eat and if there’s a movie or a song I want to hear—they’re so quick and eager, it’s almost suffocating.
And when I do snap at them and slap them back into their place, they regard me with wide, hurt eyes. Like I just smacked their puppy instead of their feelings.
That happens four times before I retreat into my loft studio and hide there for most of a day. Rike comes twice to check on me, but it’s a cursory thing. He’s distracted. And I understand. We both get it. I’m here for Lindsay and the family the four of us created, more than I am for him.
Or. That’s what I keep telling myself.
The truth is, I’m here for both. Lindsay is allowing me to come back under a pretense that gives me some dignity instead of me calling and sobbing that I miss him. Because I did. I don’t think I realized how much I missed him until I’m back, and he’s everywhere and nowhere, a constant fucking presence that keeps me grounded and high.
&
nbsp; It’s a little disconcerting. And I would never admit this to anyone—except perhaps Lindsay—but I love it.
“Babe?”
I blink as Rike appears at the top of my staircase. I’m sitting in front of an easel, working on a watercolor that hasn’t really taken shape for me yet. I’ve been sketching since I hugged Brody goodbye in Austin. This is the first time since I woke up in the hospital that I’ve touched paints. His eyes go wide as he takes that in, and I see the struggle to not comment. To treat me like I’m just the girl he’s been with forever, and not the mental case we both know I am.
I glance over him—he’s wearing faded jeans with a few rips in them, a tight-fitting t-shirt that bares his tattooed arms. His hair is pulled into a messy bun at the back of his neck, exposing his bright blue eyes, sharp cheekbones, and infectious smile.
“Are you going with us?”
I nod, and drop my brush into a vase full of water. Wipe my hands dry on my apron and tug it over my head. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
Scott is almost vibrating with impatience next to the truck, and he gives me a sick look when we approach. Unexpectedly, for both of us, I give him a quick hug. “Let’s go get your girl.”
He clings to me for a long minute and when he pulls back, it’s with a shaky sigh. He nods and I give him a small smile. Slide into the backseat of the truck while the boys climb in.
“You good, bro?” Rike asks, his voice low.
Scott shrugs. “Let’s just go.”
Lindsay still isn’t committed to coming home. She wants to go to her parents, and call off the engagement. But Jillian told her flat out that coming home wasn’t an option. A month. She made Lindsay promise to stay with us for one month, to give her time to get the family home ready for a wheelchair and locate a physical therapist for her. Lindsay bitched and threw a fit, but Jillian was implacable.
Before & After Page 14