Mr. So Wrong

by R. C. Stephens

  “Fucking hell, Blake, get out of here.” I run at him and begin to push him toward the door like a lunatic. “Go Blake, please go,” I beg, my eyes stinging with tears. I need him gone. I want him gone. I push but he’s big and strong and he’s not listening to me.

  “Hey, man, you should leave.” Al walks up to him all big strong and alpha male, and I know he’s watching me go ape shit, and he doesn’t understand. He’s only trying to help, but he isn’t helping. He’s making things worse.

  “Fuck you, man,” Blake spats and instead of moving toward the door, he’s walking back in and trying to get in Al’s face.

  Papa walks up to him, and Blake shuts his mouth. “Son, leave now. I don’t want to have to shoot you.”

  Gage walks up to Blake and whispers something as he tries to usher him out the door. Blake is swearing and words come sputtering out of his mouth. “No, dammit.” My heart stops for an instant, and I fear I may pass out. Blake charges back into the house.

  Autumn runs up to Blake. “Grow up, Blake. It’s Christmas Eve,” she scoffs. “I don’t need you making a scene in front of Ethan or Theo.” She rolls her eyes like Blake is an idiot, but on a deeper level I see fire in her gaze. I’ve never seen Autumn look that scary or pissed before. Blake cowers and Papa and Gage walk him to the door. Autumn locks the door once he’s outside. I take a breath for the first time in what feels like too long. When I stare back at my family, I don’t know what to say.

  “I’m sorry.” I fall forward and cry as air is sucked from my lungs. Mack is there to catch me. She pulls me by the hand up to her room, and I fall apart in her arms.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Sam

  “Why did you bring me up here?” I shout at my sister. Her room suddenly feels like a cage, and I’m a wild animal.

  “Because you need to calm down. You need to clear your head, and we need to consider what just happened,” she says, and my heart beat continues to soar to a dangerously frantic speed.

  “Damn that Blake,” I curse him.

  “Cursing Blake now isn’t going to help.” Mack is always the voice of reason. “Truth is, Blake was dumb drunk, but your reaction was batshit crazy. You wanna tell me that you’re still sleeping with that sore loser?”

  I give her a look that says don’t start with me now. I fall back on her bed.

  My heart hurts. Maybe that’s why I keep going back for more with Blake, because as much as I hate him—and I do hate him—there are parts of me, of him, that will be broken forever.

  “Okay.” I swallow and stand from the bed. I take a few cleansing breaths.

  “Okay?” Mack asks. She looks worried. I don’t blame her.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” I force a smile. I inhale a deep breath and square my shoulders. “We should head back downstairs. Being up here too long will look weird, and I don’t want Ethan to think there’s something wrong with me. You know he asks lots of questions.”

  Mack nods. “He’s one perceptive little boy. You sure you’re okay to head back down?”

  “Yeah.” I nod and stalk out of Mack’s room. I head to the washroom to throw some cool water on my face and use some makeup to cover up the redness from crying. I usually don’t wear makeup, but I need it now.

  I walk down the stairs, and Ethan comes running toward me. “You okay, Auntie?”

  “I’m good, kid.” I ruffle his dirty blond hair. “You wanna play a board game or something?”

  “I brought Legos. Can we do that?”

  “Sure, what are we building?” I ask with a smile because Ethan doesn’t have any questions, but I’m sure Al will.

  “A dragon,” he confirms. I sit on the rug and build a dragon with Ethan. It’s as if Blake, Kell, and Gage never dropped by. Papa sits in his recliner, watching us play, while Autumn and Mack mumble to each other in the kitchen. Al and his sister are outside on the front deck since Izzy is a smoker. Everything seems normal, and I can’t ask for more than that.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Al

  Everybody’s gone off to bed. What a crazy night it’s been. Even Izzy is passed out cold on the couch. I’m relieved to know she’s safe here with me. I head back to Sam’s bedroom because I have a lot of questions about what went down with Blake tonight. My imagination soars with all kinds of possibilities. My gut tells me Sam isn’t going to give me any answers, and I have to wonder what I’m still doing here. She completely lost it tonight over Blake, like having him in this house was equivalent to a carbon monoxide risk. It doesn’t make sense.

  When I reach Sam’s room, she isn’t there. She isn’t anywhere in the house either. I put on my puffy winter jacket, the one Izzy says makes me look like a redneck. I chuckle at the thought. I grab the bottle of Glenfiddich that I bought at the supermarket and head outside. It’s a little warmer today than it’s been, but it’s still cold outside. I look around for Sam. Her truck is parked out front. She must be around here somewhere. I head into the bull barn, wondering if she’s practicing on the bull again. I think it’s insane that she rides a bull because it’s dangerous, but given her personality, it doesn’t surprise me one bit. She isn’t riding the bull, though. She’s leaning on the wood fence surrounding it and staring into thin air.

  “You want company?” I ask. Her thoughts must have been so intense that she jumps.

  “Shit.” She holds her heart. “Didn’t hear you come in,” she says.

  “Sorry.” I turn the cap on the Glenfiddich and take a long swig. It’s a twenty-one-year-old single malt with a hint of rum. It slides down my throat, making me feel warm while awakening my taste buds. “Want some? It’s freezing out here.” I offer her the bottle.

  “The expensive stuff … huh.” She gives me a look that tells me she’s going to take it. She does, and she throws back a large gulp.

  “Easy there.” I smile.

  “Damn, that’s good stuff.” She smiles back but she doesn’t give me the bottle.

  “You like scotch?””

  “Sometimes,” she nods. Her mood is solemn, the look in her eyes distant. “You ever wish you could go back in time?” she asks, using the back of her hand to wipe at her mouth.

  “I don’t know …” I shrug. “Maybe … sometimes.”

  “Would you do things different if you could?” she asks, and she passes me the bottle. I take another long pull on the whiskey.

  “Hey … share,” she chides. I give her the bottle, and she takes a long pull.

  “I don’t think I’d change anything,” I finally answer after some long intense thoughts. My words surprise me. My time with Brie, Colton, my family … I wouldn’t change any of it. My family are a bunch of assholes, but walking away from them brought me closer to Colt. I’ve learned a lot in the time I’ve spent as his chief of staff, not just professionally. I learned about life, what matters. I would’ve never learned those lessons if I hadn’t stuck by his side. “I wouldn’t have ended up here,” I say, looking at her. She turns her head, and her blue eyes are smoldering. She leans toward me, and I lean toward her. We kiss. The smooth taste of the scotch mixing with the kiss is hot as fire. Our lips melt together as electricity singes my body, sparking a need to ravish her. She wraps her hands around my neck, and I’m still holding an open bottle of liquor. I continue to kiss her while reaching into my coat pocket for the lid. I find it, twist it on, all while our tongues dance, and I let the bottle fall to the floor. The thick brush of hay protects the glass from breaking. With my hands free, I wrap them around her waist. She begins to move her legs, guiding us to the bales of hay along the wall of the barn.

  As we reach the wall, she flicks on a heater. It’s the kind that plugs into a wall. The barn is freezing, but the standing heater provides enough heat along with the burning throb in my body, making me forget about the cold air. My hands move up her back and tousle her hair. I grab a fistful and tilt her head back, giving myself access to her neck. I slowly lick and suck her skin, and she melts beneath my touch, her head lolling aro
und. She works my jacket off, and I work hers. She doesn’t even bother with my shirt when she reaches for the button on my jeans.

  “Make me feel good,” she says. Something about her words and the needy look in her eyes has a deeper meaning. This is what she does. She uses sex to feel good. She doesn’t create attachments. My body is on fire. My dick is rock solid when I lift her by her thighs so they wrap around me. I lay her on her back in a pile of hay. I continue trying to nip and suck at every exposed spot of her skin, and she moans.

  I move my hips against that spot in between her legs, and the passion between us grows. My body burns with need. “Yes, please. Make me come,” she pants, and her words are another subtle message. She wouldn’t talk to me or pretty much look at me all throughout dinner, but she wants me to make her orgasm. She’s low and now she wants to feel high. Sex makes her feel good. As my thoughts register, I stop kissing her. I’m about to give myself the worst case of blue balls ever. I can only imagine how dripping wet she is for me, but we can’t do this. Not now. I don’t want her using me for sex. Huh! The words in my head make me laugh and cringe and feel sad for Sam, but I’ve been here too many times, using sex to feel good. Of course we all want to feel good, but I want more with her. She probably won’t talk to me in the morning like the other times.

  Through ragged breaths, I pull away. I register her confusion. “We have to stop. I don’t want to take you like this. The next time we have sex, I want you speaking to me afterward. I want you to let me in,” I say, and I’m not deluded. I see the flabbergasted look on her face. She’s acting as if I’ve slapped her. She struggles to straighten herself out, doing up the button and zipper on her jeans. I do mine up too. I give her a hand to help her up.

  “Fuck you,” she sputters. She’s angry. She’s had a bad night. I get it, and I’m willing to stick around and wait for her to see the light of day.

  “Come on, Sam. I told you I wanted you, but not like this. I want you in a bed. I want to make love to you. I don’t want to just make you feel good.” As my words leave my mouth, her jaw drops and her eyes look angry, upset, or insulted. I’m not sure which.

  “Just get out of here.” She waves for me to leave. I leave her alone because she needs the space. I can see it. Whatever went down earlier, she’s had a rough night. I back away. I walk back to the main house and head into the kitchen and grab the other bottle I picked up at the supermarket. It’s Black Label. Not the best, but the variety wasn’t great. I turn the lid and chug it down on the way to her bedroom. It doesn’t fly past me that I am still here in Sam’s room after she asked me to leave. I don’t have a choice but to stay here tonight. I can’t go and leave Izzy sleeping on the couch. Besides, maybe after Sam’s anger fizzles out, she’ll come to bed and finally admit that there is more between us, because if she doesn’t then I’m just a sick fuck. An old guy that’s been stalking her.

  I drink until my nerves have eased, telling myself I will pack up and leave in the morning. I can stay with Izzy at the cabin and make sure Tristan is really gone. I will pick up my car when it’s ready and maybe get it shipped back to Chicago. I will find a law firm and get a job and forget that Sam Belmont ever existed. I pass out.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Al

  I wake up at the ass crack of dawn because my body seems to have become trained at waking at this hour. It’s dark outside, and I will my mind to slide back into the land of sleep, only the bed feels empty beside me. I turn to see that not only is it empty but Sam’s side of the bed looks untouched. I laugh at those words … Sam’s side of the bed. My chest stings. I like sleeping beside Sam, enjoy waking up early in the morning with her. She’s a force to be reckoned with from the moment her cerulean eyes open in the morning. As I think of her, sadness blankets me. Being here has made the memory of Brie resurface in my mind. Only I’m a grown man now. I’m not a powerless boy anymore. I push myself out of bed worried about Sam. She was upset last night, her emotions running high. My rejection to sleep with her just made things worse in her head. I’m sure of it even though my intentions were good.

  I pass my sister sleeping on the couch. The floor creaks, and she opens one eye. “What time is it?” she croaks.

  “Go back to sleep,” I answer, and she does. I don’t see any sign of Sam. A peek out the front door tells me her Ford is parked outside, and relief washes over me that she didn’t run to Austin or Blake for sex. I’ve never been on the second floor in this house, but I trudge up the stairs. I need to know if she slept up there, wanting to make sure she’s safe. Mr. Belmont opens his bedroom door the moment my foot steps on the last step up to the second floor.

  “What the fuck you doing, City?” he grumbles, and I startle and pause mid-step.

  “Just wanted to check on Sam. She didn’t sleep in her room last night,” I answer.

  “Well, there’s no fucking way she slept with Mack and Autumn,” he scoffs. I forgot how cheery Farmer Joe is.

  “Maybe with Ethan,” I suggest, and he walks into a dark room.

  “Not here,” he mutters. “Fuck.” He curses and my heart picks up speed. Where the hell are you Sam?

  “We better check the barn,” he suggests.

  “Right,” I run back down the stairs back to Sam’s room and grab my boots. I’m wearing a pair of lounge pants and a T-shirt. I grab my puffy jacket. Mr. Belmont is out the door before me. I head into the heifer barn first, but there’s no sign of Sam. That’s when I hear it Mr. Belmont screaming, “HELP!” It’s loud and gargled and filled with pain. I register his voice coming from the bull barn, the one I left Sam in last night, and my heart sinks.

  “Help. Help,” he screams some more, and I know it’s Sam. Something bad happened. I run into the barn, and Sam is on the floor. Mr. Belmont is on his knees, crying. “We got to help her,” he says. I register the bull bucking toward us. Sam is on the floor outside of the bull’s cage. She has a bump on her head, and she has dry blood oozing out of one ear. It doesn’t look good, but she’s muttering so I know she’s alive even if she isn’t coherent.

  “I’m going to get help,” I murmur and run back to the house as fast as my legs will carry me. I pick up the phone, hoping they actually have 9-1-1 in this backward small town. Someone picks up after one ring. My heart is beating so fast I worry that I won’t be able to formulate words but they come. “I need an ambulance. It’s an emergency.”

  “Okay, sir,” a woman’s voice comes through the phone. “Who is the ambulance for?”

  “Sam Belmont,” I answer swiftly. “Please. She’s unconscious. I think she got hurt riding the bull. I think it’s her head.” My voice shakes.

  “Okay. Try to remain calm, sir. Is she breathing?”

  “I think so. I’m not beside her right now. Her father is. She was muttering a little.”

  “Okay, an ambulance has been dispatched to the Belmont Ranch. We have the address.”

  “She’s in the bull barn,” I explain so they don’t waste time when they arrive.

  “I will notify the driver,” she assures me. My hands are shaking and sweaty. “Hang on, they are on their way,” she says, and I pray that Sam is okay.

  Izzy stands on the other side of the kitchen counter with a worried look. She just heard my call. I don’t have time to explain.

  “MACK,” I scream at the top of my lungs. “AUTUMN.” I take the steps two at a time and make it to their bedroom door. I flick on the lights and scream, “Please, it’s Sam! Come down fast. I called an ambulance. I’m going to the bull barn. Make sure they come to the bull barn.” They begin to scramble, and I run out of the house and back out to the barn. Joe Belmont is on the floor, softly caressing his daughter’s hair. He’s crying.

  “I called for an ambulance. They’re on their way,” I say.

  “Stupid fool. I think she rode him. He must have hurt her, and she crawled out of the pen. At least she got out,” he repeats, and my stomach turns. She drank the alcohol last night. She had no right getting on the bul
l. She needed me, and I thought I was doing the right thing when I walked away from her, but I should have never left her alone in the state she was in. Fuck. I keep fucking up.

  It isn’t long before we hear sirens. Mack stands beside her dad. Autumn is out front to guide the paramedics over to us. My heart breaks as the paramedics enter the barn and strap her onto a gurney. She looks helpless and fragile, very unlike herself.

  Mack gets into the back of the ambulance with her. Mr. Belmont runs to his truck. I rush to the house and grab the keys to Sam’s truck. No one bats an eye that I’ve taken her keys. I’m driving her truck as Izzy bites her nails nervously beside me. Autumn stays behind with Ethan. As I drive, my only fear is that Sam will die. The blood oozing out of her ear has to be a bad sign. She must have a head trauma. Fuck, every movie I’ve seen about bull riders scrolls through my mind. It’s a fucking dangerous sport. People die, people end up with spine and head injuries they don’t walk away from. I smack the steering wheel and curse. The twenty-minute drive to the hospital feels like an eternity. Izzy doesn’t say a word, and I’m grateful.

  When we arrive at the hospital, I slam the truck into park and run inside. I need to know she’s okay. I spot Joe Belmont and Mack immediately and listen in while they give the doctors a medical history. The nurse rolls Sam away, and I feel like my life is slipping through my fingers.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Al

  It’s been hours. We know she’s alive. We don’t have answers, and I’m losing my mind. Joe Belmont sits on a chair off in the corner of the waiting room, staring at the floor, not saying a word. Mack is pacing in front of me, and Autumn is busy playing card games with Ethan to keep him occupied. And then there’s me. I don’t know what I’m doing. I pace, I sit, I want to punch the fucking walls. I want to punch myself, but mostly I pray that I get a chance to make things right with Sam. Izzy took a cab back to the family cabin, and I worry about her too, even though she texted that Tristan was gone this morning. She said she’d be back at the hospital later.