Changing Lanes: A Creekwood Novel (Creekwood Series Book 2)

by A. Marie

  I follow him out to the hallway. It’s open on both ends with two sets of concrete stairs on either end—one to the parking lot, one to the pool out back. It’s not suffocatingly hot yet, but still, it’s warm. Warmer with the air getting stuck in the concrete cage and no airflow.

  “And he can take you to work, too.”

  “Whatever. Ungrateful ass. I’m just trying to keep you healthy.” Something in me jerks to a stop, screaming to keep him here. To show him what he means to me. To make him understand. Without thought I wrap my arms around his middle from behind, pressing the side of my face into his back and whispering hoarsely, “I don’t want anything to happen to you. You’re too important.”

  He freezes, sighing, like he knew this would happen. Like he knew I’d never want to let him go.

  He’s right. I don’t.

  Like a good coach, I need all my boys, my team, lined up in front of me, following the carefully laid out plan—together. Not off scrambling with their own half-baked ideas—alone.

  I need my family like plants need water. I’m not a fucking cactus. I need them. A person can go without water for three days but my throat’s been aching from my mom’s diagnosis two years ago and I’m still reeling. It triggered a drought I’ll never be able to remedy. At least not by myself. I need the boys’ support like they need mine, otherwise I’m scared we’ll all dehydrate.

  Jesse turns around slowly, his guarded eyes meeting mine, and we share a look that holds things neither of us want to say aloud. Things we don’t even want to admit to ourselves.

  I wrap my arms around his trim waist tighter, saying, “I love you.”

  He folds his over my back, letting them hang a little looser.

  “I love you, too.” It comes out chopped up worse than our abandoned salads. I never claimed they were good. Just healthy.

  He pulls back, staring down at me and I can tell it’s over. Over his head. Over this moment. Just over. “Now, how are you going to fix that bike?”

  “What’s wrong with your bike?”

  Our heads turn to see Beckett’s daunting figure taking up half the hallway. I didn’t even hear him approach. With feet that big, it’s quite the, well, feat.

  Although the question was aimed at me, he hasn’t taken his eyes off my brother still wrapped around me. Jesse stiffens, slipping into full brother mode as he pulls away, returning my roommate’s merciless stare. I miss him immediately. Everything. I miss everything about him.

  Except this domineering shit.

  I clear my throat but neither one so much as notices and I roll my eyes hard enough to see the cobwebs swaying from the outdoor ceiling.

  “I don’t know. It wouldn’t start this morning,” I tell the unfriendly giant.

  His eyes finally touch on mine but return almost instantly to my oldest brother. “Where is it now? I didn’t see it in the lot.”

  There’s an invisible wire holding each man in place but it’s getting wound tighter the more words are flung through the air and they both start to shift toward the other. Jesse’s not the bulkiest of my brothers but he’s definitely the meanest, having basically raised three other boys himself. He’s also incredibly smart using any weakness in his opponent to get the upper hand. He taught me that skill before I entered high school. It came in handy enough times for me to hone the skill into a fine point.

  Looking Beckett over, I’d say his weakness is mental, not physical, but I don’t know him well enough to know what that is just yet.

  “What’s it to you? Are you the roommate or something?”

  “The roommate?” Beckett chuckles deeply, taking a step in our direction and I swear he doubles in size, enough to eclipse the sun at his back, casting a shadow over us all. “There’s more where I come from, bro.”

  Jesse surges forward, practically spitting, “Same here, bro.”

  The wire whines from the taut pull now, and I place myself between the two men, giving it some slack before it snaps completely.

  Before anyone snaps completely.

  I put a hand on Jesse’s chest, nudging him. Once he tears his heated glare away from Beckett’s, I shake my head, silently telling him to back the hell down already. I don’t need my brother, or my roommate, bloody before my shift even starts.

  Is that full moon over yet?

  “He’s just a mechanic.” My eyes widen, conveying his alpha male bullshit is unnecessary. “And you’re gonna be late.” For that date, right? At a place that obviously doesn’t offer salads.

  Jesse opens his mouth to argue but I lean up to kiss him on the cheek, stopping him in his blood-sniffing tracks. I used to kiss all my brothers on the mouth until I saw a clip online of a certain A-list actor make out with her brother on the red carpet. Now, I don’t.

  “Thanks for your help. I’ll talk to you later.” Hopefully. Hopefully he answers again, and not just because it’s an emergency. Hopefully there are no more emergencies.

  We can only take so much.

  He pushes past Beckett then, bumping into his shoulder when the taller of the two refuses to move and more death glares are exchanged.

  Really?

  Once Jesse’s out of sight, Beckett turns back to me, asking, “Do you work tonight?”

  I throw up my hands, remembering I still don’t have a ride, and stomp back inside to grab my phone, groaning when I see my forgotten dinner.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  The deceptively deep voice behind me causes goose bumps to sprout like weeds in a neglected garden and I turn to watch Beckett drop his stuff on the counter next to Jesse’s deserted dinner. He eyes it, disgust marring his handsome features.

  “Uh, yeah. I was just calling my friend for a ride.” Even though she’s one of those crazy employees that arrives thirty minutes early for her shifts, I still might be able to catch Cynthia before she leaves.

  “I’ll take you. I can look at your bike while I’m there.”

  Beckett’s eyes sharpen on mine.

  The sincerity is there but he’s working like hell to mask it. Why?

  I work my bottom lip, letting the moment stretch, then say, “I don’t want to put you out. I can find someone else.”

  “Who? Who else can take you to work and fix your bike?” At my silence, he continues, “I’ll take you. Let me eat something and I’ll run you over there.”

  He glares at the salad again before opening the fridge with more effort than necessary.

  “Okay, thanks. You’re welcome to this.” I push Jesse’s untouched plate across the breakfast bar.

  His acidic gaze lands on the food before lifting to mine. “Nah, I don’t do sloppy seconds.”

  What?

  Jesse didn’t even touch it.

  With a shake of my head—I don’t even know what to say—I take my dinner to my room then eat with the background noise of my roommate banging around the kitchen. Call me crazy but I’ve never heard of a recipe that called for every cabinet, drawer, and door to be opened and slammed closed.

  What’s his problem?

  Is my brother stopping over really that big of a deal? If so, this living arrangement will go from mildly uncomfortable to downright unbearable quickly. My brothers may irritate the hell out of me sometimes and overstep boundaries I’ve been trying to set for years, but they’re nonnegotiable. There is no me without them. That’s what they still don’t get. If they did, they wouldn’t be treating me to radio silence over the decisions I made for our last remaining parent.

  Losing our dad hurt. Slowly losing our mom is taking our legs out from under us, one by one. They’re all I have left to lean on and when I get them within reach, I’m not letting go. Not even for some anti-green giant.

  “Ready?” I ask after finishing my meager dinner. As it turns out, the salad wasn’t that great.

  Whatever. It’s cheap and filling…kind of.

  My eyes drift over the bare counters. Nothing. He made nothing. All that knocking around and not a single thing to show for it.
I knew he was a pouter. I just don’t understand what has his massive panties in a bunch now.

  His underwear, regardless of what state they’re in, are none of my business.

  I clean the plates I used then grab my bag, stuffing it with a few granola bars and an applesauce pouch.

  Beckett stalks past, out the front door, expecting me to follow. I do, but only after waiting a beat.

  Seated in his hunter green Tahoe, he cranks the music the second the engine roars to life, making small talk impossible. “Man or a Monster” pulses through the speakers, the after-market subwoofers sending tremors to all the right places.

  I lower the volume, giving him directions to Sunbrook but Beckett’s eyes stay glued to the road so I take the opportunity to check him out. A bit of his light hair is peeking out of a backward hat and his face still has a sheen of sweat on it. His simple shirt says We Ride but has a couple holes in it, reminding me of scratch marks. Beast mode comes to mind and I wonder what he’s like in the sack, too. Probably growly and selfish. Most hot guys are. Like lazy house cats that do jack shit and still get fed by hand. Pants pulled tight against his thighs hint at a rather impressive package so at least he seems to be working with decent equipment. He’s covered in grease stains but doesn’t look filthy—at least not in a hygienic sort of way. He’s giving off dirty, sexy vibes like only a hardworking man can. When I first met him and Marc at their shop, Pop The Hood, he was covered in sweat from a hot day under steaming hoods and the image has stayed with me ever since. Marc’s leaner frame was smudged in dirt like maybe he works outside, but Beckett was all glistening muscle.

  His long fingers spread wide, curl around the steering wheel like streams of hot lava igniting everything in their path. Visions of them on my body have me discreetly fanning my face and turning away.

  Beckett’s head finally twists my way and holds. Unable to resist, I turn to see him checking me out as well. His eyes lift to mine and he clears his throat.

  “So, older men your thing?”

  My eyebrows almost touch.

  “Uh, not particularly?” Why that came out as a question I’ll never know. I mean, most guys I’ve messed around with were older but by a year or two, nothing like a cradle robber or anything. I glance down at my chest, not seeing any signs encouraging sugar daddies to apply within taped to it. Beckett’s eyes follow mine but when I catch him ogling my boobs he glares before facing the road again.

  “Why do you say that?”

  His grip tightens on the wheel. “Dude back there looked old, older than you.”

  My brain searches for the man he’s referring to, landing on Jesse, and I fly forward, laughing.

  “You thought? That-” I start then stop, unable to finish a single sentence while gripping my stomach as tears stream down my face.

  Nobody has ever mistaken one of my brothers for my boyfriend before.

  This must be that infamous sense of humor Marc told me about.

  Wiping my eyes, I sit up to peek over at a frowning Beckett and, I can’t help it, I start laughing all over again. My laughter fills the already hot space so I roll down my window, giving us some much-needed airflow. I regret it almost immediately as my loose hair starts blowing into my open mouth still cackling away. Nothing like a mouthful of hair to sober your sudden hysteria.

  “So, that wasn’t your boyfriend?”

  I pull the majority of the strands out of my mouth before shaking my head. “No, and he’s only twenty-seven. I wouldn’t call that old.” I eye him as my hair flies about chaotically. “How old are you?”

  His shoulders visibly relax. “About to turn twenty-two. You?”

  “I’m almost twenty-one. This month actually. I forgot it was coming up.”

  He glances over at me. “You forgot your own birthday?”

  I shrug. I’ve had bigger things to worry about.

  “Will your family throw you a party or anything?”

  It sounds like he’s fishing but I spot his bait a mile away so I keep to the shallow end, simply saying, “Doubt it.”

  My brothers don’t typically throw parties. They attend them, they crash them, they bust them—well, mine anyway—but they don’t really plan them. Plus, with Mom’s new normal, nobody’s pushed for anything that we’d have to exclude her from.

  “What about yours?” Beckett’s got that All-American party boy look. Throw in that tattoo I was happy to discover the other morning when he was shirtless along with his flashy bike and you’ve got a heartbreakingly beautiful bad boy. “Will your family throw you one?”

  Ah, but the fisherman realizes he’s now the one being reeled in and he goes quiet. There’s a story there. A bad one, I’m guessing. His breathing has thinned and he’s looking out the driver’s side window, ignoring me and my question.

  After a long pause, he surprises me by saying, “We’re not big on family functions.” He continues in a quiet, measured tone. “We, uh, never really felt like celebrating.”

  His pained eyes touch on mine for a split second, making a lump form in my throat.

  “I get it.” More than he could ever know.

  And even though I feel like he just started talking to me, it’s time to lighten the mood before I reveal too much, too soon.

  “I’ll probably go out to my favorite bar anyway.”

  Beckett’s quirked eyebrow makes me laugh.

  “What? I have an ID I’ve been using for a couple years.”

  “And you think suddenly showing up there with a real one on your real twenty-first birthday won’t raise any flags?”

  “Let me worry about that,” I say, tipping one side of my mouth up.

  The truth is I’ve got a couple bars I cycle through. Both have connections without connections. Well, except for the one with the bouncer I half-dated. I say half because while he insisted we were in a full-blown relationship, I was all about having a good time for a short time—a very short time. When he started watching me more than the door, I ended things completely; but he’s still struggling to accept that fact a bit—meaning, he saw the subject line but he’s avoiding reading the full memo. I don’t know how else to say that we are never getting back together, but he lets me into the bar without too much hassle, so I suck it up for the sake of blowing off thick-as-pea-soup steam.

  We listen to music the rest of the drive until he pulls up next to my bike.

  “I’ll have it running before you get off.”

  Our eyes slam together at his words and he chokes a little to cover a laugh.

  “I mean, I’ll fix your ride.”

  His snicker is not lost on me, neither is his love of double meanings, so I fire back with some innuendo of my own, saying, “Oh, don’t worry about that, there’s no complaints in that department.” I wink at his now serious face. “But if you could take a look at my bike, I’d appreciate it.”

  Snatching my bag off the floor, I hop out of his SUV, throwing over my shoulder, “thanks for the ride,” as a bonus for him to chew on.

  I don’t look back. I don’t need to. The guy can kiss my ass and the only way that’s going to happen is if he sees it for himself, so I put a little more sway in my hips over to the employee entrance.

  Unfortunately, the door swings open, cutting my exaggerated saunter short with a red-faced Vernon marching out and sticking his finger in my face.

  “Whoa. What’s this?” I say as I step back, trying to knock his hand away.

  Unfazed, he pushes into my personal space but I match every step he takes with two of my own until suddenly, a large arm shoots between us, halting Vernon where he stands.

  “Can I help you?” Beckett cocks his head to the side in a patronizing way and turns so his back is shielding me.

  Yeah, fuck that.

  I advance forward to Beckett’s side to face off against Vernon…too? Why is Beckett here?

  “Mind your business, boy. This has to do with her.”

  “Vernon, what the hell are you talking about now?”

&
nbsp; His finger makes another appearance but before I can block it again Beckett is there pushing into Vernon’s face. The shorter man sputters as the not-so-gentle giant presses on.

  “She is my business.” My scoff can be heard from space but the two men facing off in front of me don’t seem to notice. “Keep that finger away from her unless you want me to break the fucking thing off for good.”

  Beckett’s low voice raises the hairs on the back of my neck like spirits in a cemetery—awake with absolutely nothing to do besides make people uneasy.

  This is getting out of control. Vernon is all talk and no walk. Him throwing fits is nothing new and I usually bat him away like the annoying gnat he is, but I do have to work with the guy.

  I grab Beckett’s tense bicep and pull, sneaking in a quick squeeze in the process, until he’s facing me. He keeps his eyes locked on Vernon though, who looks like he’s no longer breathing. Great, he probably gave him a heart attack.

  “Hey,” I soothe, gaining Beckett’s attention. “I got this.”

  Growing up with four brothers plus their countless friends, breaking up fights became a pastime of sorts. I even had my second oldest brother, Caleb, put it on my resume—proficient in conflict de-escalation.

  Understanding finally tinges his expression. Resigned understanding, but it’s there.

  “Can you get started on the bike and I’ll join you in a few?”

  His nod is the only answer he gives before walking away with a final glare aimed at my coworker.

  I, however, round on the jerk, not really caring if he is in cardiac arrest. “What is your problem, Vernon? If you have something you need to say, say it already, but don’t ever come at me like that again. Do you hear me? I have four brothers and every single one of them take my safety very seriously.”

  This finally rouses him as he jerks a thumb, sneering, “Is that one of them?”

  I just grin like the cat that ate the dangerously outnumbered canary and say, “Nope.”

  Truthfully, I don’t know what that was but there definitely wasn’t anything brotherly about Beckett’s outburst. His protectiveness bothered me in multiple ways and none of them familial.

  “Thanks to your ideas, my daily shift is getting pushed back further and further. I have a very tight feeding schedule for my cats and now everything’s thrown off with your new snack time.” He all but spits the last words at me like they’re the worst things to ever cross his lips. I have a pretty hard time keeping a straight face actually and I bite the inside of my cheek just to keep from laughing.