by Nicola Marsh
A shower and a shave helped him sober up and a few minutes later he sauntered out of the bathroom to find his suite cleared of empty bottles and three pairs of accusing eyes.
Sheepish, he chose a seat opposite his brothers. If he had to face an inquisition, best to get it over with. "Before you say anything, I'm fine and while I appreciate the visit—"
"Shut the hell up," Kurt said, folding his arms. "We're here to help."
"I don't need your help—"
To Wyatt's surprise, Kurt seemed to deflate before his eyes, his big, broad shoulders slumping. "I know I've been a lousy brother. But seeing how close these two are" —he jerked a thumb in Zane and Steele's direction— "and how much they care about you in a short space of time, makes me feel like a real shit." He fidgeted with his shirt cuffs, oddly defenseless in a way Wyatt had never seen. "I'm sorry for being a self-absorbed prick all these years. I'll try to do better."
Wyatt blinked. Squeezed his eyes shut and opened them. "Who are you and what the hell have you done with my brother?"
Kurt's rueful smile made Wyatt want to hug him. "Blame these two bozos. They must breed them super soft down under."
"Fuck you," Steele said, no spite in his comeback.
"Is it too soon for a group hug?" Zane said and they all chuckled.
Wyatt wished the ache in his chest would ease. "Seriously, guys, I appreciate you checking in on me but I'm doing okay—"
"Bullshit," Steele said, taking over from Kurt. More surprising, Kurt let him, which convinced Wyatt his brother was serious about turning over a new leaf. "You're either holed up at Bombshells working or hiding out here, drinking yourself into a stupor if the number of bottles we cleared away were any indication."
Steele crossed his arms, his body language so much like Kurt that the pain in Wyatt's chest amplified. "What's going on? Is this about the redhead?"
Wyatt didn't want to talk about Ashlin. He didn't want to divulge to his three super stud brothers that he was a grade A loser with women. So he lied.
"Ashlin and I agreed on a short term fling, so that’s that. But a major freelance job fell through so I've potentially lost a shitload of money."
His brothers frowned collectively.
"Are you in financial strife?" Kurt sat forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Because I can help you out, just say the word."
Feeling a heel for lying, Wyatt shook his head. "Thanks, but I'm good. Just shook my confidence, you know?"
"Yeah, I know." Kurt winced and pointed at his right knee. "Been having a bit of trouble with this and the docs are talking surgery, so I'm not feeling as invincible as usual."
Wyatt gaped. Kurt admitting any weakness was like discovering an un-hackable computer: completely mind-blowing.
"Snap," Zane said. "When my knee blew and I had a reconstruction, took me ages to heal up here." He tapped his head. "But it was a blessing in disguise, considering it made me re-evaluate a lot of shit and I ended up here." He grinned, and Wyatt envied his half-sibling's eternal optimism. "Come on, guys, you know you want that group hug real bad."
"You're an idiot," Steele said, mock-wrestling Zane until he yelled 'truce’.
Kurt cleared his throat and glanced away. Wyatt knew the feeling. Seeing Zane and Steele's closeness made his throat tighten too, but considering Kurt cared enough to be here meant there was hope for them too.
After a quick swipe at his eyes, Kurt stood. "Come on, bozos, enough of the mushy shit. Let's hit that cocktail party."
"What cocktail party…" Realization dawned. Tonight was the monthly party Chantal threw for her employees at Burlesque Bombshells. Which meant it had been four weeks since Ashlin had bowled up to him at that party and turned his world upside down.
No way in hell did he need to stroll down that particular memory lane.
Zane stood. "We're not leaving here without you."
Steele nodded, standing between Zane and Kurt to form an intimidating line. "So you do this the easy way and come with us, or we drag you with us anyway."
"You're all frigging bullies," Wyatt muttered. "I'm not a party guy—"
"Stay an hour. For us?" Zane's pleading expression could've convinced a nun to dance burlesque.
"You're pathetic," Wyatt said, but he knew he was beaten. "One hour tops, okay?"
"Done." Kurt slapped him on the back. "Come on, bro. Let's go bond some more."
For once, Wyatt didn't have a smart-ass comeback for his brother.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"You all packed?" Miranda lounged on the sole chair in Ashlin's bedroom, totally rocking a strapless red satin sheath that ended above her knees.
"Yeah." Ashlin zipped her last suitcase and plopped on the bed beside it. "Thanks for the help, by the way. Not."
Miranda laughed and gestured at her outfit. "Couldn't risk a zip snagging this." She held her hands at length, studying her nails. "Or ruining this manicure."
Ashlin stared at Miranda's crimson nails. "Since when do you get your nails painted anything other than clear?"
"Since I need to make a point." Miranda stood and cocked a hip. "I have to make that supercilious idiot weep at the cocktail party tonight."
Ashlin snickered. "You've still got a thing for Steele?"
"I don't have anything but a distinct dislike for that jerk," Miranda said, making a mockery of her statement when she blushed. "He rubs me up the wrong way."
"Don't forget he's transient and it may not be worth starting up if you really like him," Ashlin said, wishing she'd had the wisdom to take her own advice.
Miranda nudged a suitcase aside and sat next to her. "Is that why you ended things with Wyatt? Because you're moving to London?"
Ashlin’s heart ached as it always did when she thought of Wyatt; too often. "It's more complicated than that."
"Life's complicated, honey.” Miranda studied her, tiny worry lines between her immaculately waxed brows. “If he's worth it, you work it out."
Wyatt was so worth it but Ashlin wasn't, that was the problem.
"Look, you've had me feed you Intel all week so you wouldn't run into him at Bombshells, so it must be pretty intense between you two if you wanted to avoid him that bad." Miranda patted her knee. "Whatever it is, I've never seen you back down from a challenge, so why don't you give it a go? Long distance can work."
"The distance isn't the problem." It's what she'd done the last time she'd been in London that ensured she could never be with Wyatt beyond short-term. "I've done some stuff in my past."
Miranda squeezed her knee and let go. "We all have."
"Yeah? What's the perfect Italian girl done in her past that's so bad?" Considering Miranda’s clean living, hippy lifestyle, Ashlin couldn't imagine her doing anything worse than littering. "Served up store-bought pasta rather than homemade? Missed Mass two Sundays in a row?" Ashlin covered her mouth in mock horror. "Maybe slept with a boy so you're not a virgin on your wedding night?"
She'd expected Miranda to laugh. She hadn't expected her eyes to fill with tears.
"Shit, sweetie, I'm sorry. I was joking." Ashlin hugged her friend. "You okay?"
Miranda sniffled then nodded. "Everyone's got a past. Trust me on that. So whatever you did, whatever you can't forget, get a grip on it and move on."
Ashlin wished she could. But not living up to Dougal's expectations had ruined her for years. Not living up to Wyatt's expectations would destroy her completely.
"Running from the past doesn't change anything." Miranda gripped her shoulders and gave her a little shake. "I made a stand and here I am today. When are you going to make your stand and confront whatever's putting that haunted look in your eyes?"
Haunted? Was it that obvious?
Miranda's grip tightened. "Honey, Chantal and I know something's been bugging you for as long as we've known you. But we've never pushed because we love you. And like I said, we've all got baggage. Hell, I've got a full airport's worth." Miranda pulled her in for a quick hug before releasing her. "Bu
t if it affects you to the point you look perpetually sad? You've got to do something about it." Miranda pressed a hand to her heart. "Trust me, I know. Boy, do I know."
Ashlin quelled her curiosity. She had no right to ask about Miranda's past when she had no intention of divulging her own.
Only one person deserved to hear about what she'd done and thanks to her friend's pep talk, she may just tell him.
She owed him that much after all he'd done for her.
Wyatt had made her feel alive for the first time in years. He'd broken through her barriers and made her feel. In a way she'd never thought she could again.
She loved him. And he'd been the one to open her up to the possibility of loving again.
Yeah, she owed him.
Telling him the truth would be the least she could do after the way she'd treated him. And then she could leave, knowing she'd done her best to make things right despite doing everything so wrong.
"Thanks, sweetie, you're the best." Ashlin hugged Miranda.
"And don't you forget it." Miranda dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her pinkies. "Now go sort things out with your hot man."
Ashlin didn't need to be told twice.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Wyatt stayed true to his word. He stuck around for an hour at the cocktail party, with Zane, Steele and Kurt hovering over him.
They'd plied him with sodas between the occasional beer, monitoring his alcohol intake like the frigging police. They'd made sure he ate his body weight in smoked chicken wings and curly fries. They'd told tall tales to make him laugh. They'd miraculously stayed clear of the beautiful women buzzing around. Even Zane, who couldn't resist the occasional glance in Chantal's direction, stuck to his side.
Wyatt should've felt smothered. He didn't. For a guy who didn't believe in emotional attachments he’d sure turned into a sentimental schmuck.
He appreciated the effort his brothers had gone to in getting him to man up. If they hadn’t, he'd still be moping around his hotel suite. At least this way, he could ditch them with a clear conscience and go finish up some work before he wrapped up this job tomorrow.
"Thanks guys, but I'm outta here." He tapped his watch. "I've hung around for sixty minutes on the dot and now I've got some work I want to finish."
Kurt slugged him on the arm. "You're a sad case."
"But we kinda like you anyway." Steele punched his other arm. "If anyone can understand the urge to finish off business before midnight, I do, so you're off the hook."
Zane nodded. "But if you need us, we're here for the next few hours, okay?"
"Thanks," Wyatt said, grateful for his brothers and the way they’d rallied around him when he’d needed them most. "For everything."
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Fuck, let him go before he drags us all down with the mushy shit."
They laughed and as Wyatt walked away he felt lighter than he had in years.
He'd closed himself off from any kind of in-depth human contact for a long time and letting his brothers in made him feel whole.
While he didn't need a mood spoiler right now, he couldn't help but wonder if there was hope for his father. If Kurt could change, maybe Christopher could too?
He couldn't see it happening but considering the lengths Zane had gone to, travelling to the US to meet the family he'd never known, maybe Wyatt could make an overture toward his father? Pave the way for Zane and Steele?
His father was a cocky, blustering bastard, but maybe he was all front? Kurt had a similar brash personality and maybe that's why they'd gotten on so well, while Wyatt had deliberately erected barriers because he felt inferior somehow?
Whatever made his father behave like a callous prick, now wasn't the time. He'd consider reaching out to Christopher when he felt less vulnerable. Being metaphorically kicked in the balls by the woman he loved wasn't conducive to building emotional bridges with his aloof father.
Thankfully, the guys hadn't brought up the subject of Ashlin again. Either Chantal had warned Zane not to mention it, and he'd told Steele and Kurt, or his brothers had bought his lie about the freelance job falling through and accepted his short-term fling excuse.
Regardless, he needed to get this work done and put Bombshells, and Ashlin, behind him.
However, that seemed impossible as he entered Chantal's office and came face to face with the woman he couldn’t forget no matter how hard he tried.
"What the hell are you doing here?" He inadvertently slammed the door, shock making his hand shake as he rubbed it over his face. Maybe he hadn't sobered up as much as he'd thought and he'd conjured her up out of thin air. "I thought you left for London last week?"
She shook her head, her glorious red hair tumbling over her shoulders and making his fingers itch to touch it. "I've been around, avoiding you."
Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed it. What had he done wrong for her to hate him this much? Love really was for suckers.
"So what's this? An aberration?" He sneered, anger making his gut clench. "Because I've got work to do and I'd appreciate you leaving me the hell alone so I can get on with it."
She blinked rapidly, as if trying to stave off the animosity that rolled off him in waves. "Not before I tell you the truth."
"Didn't you do that already?" He snapped his fingers. "About how you used me to get off, then lied about loving me, and accepted a job overseas without considering a long distance relationship?" He pretended to stagger a little. "The truth hurts, babe, but I'm over it. Over you." He spat the last two words, injecting enough venom to make her flinch.
She nodded, slowly, like her neck hurt. "I'm glad, because it'll make this easier."
She perched on the edge of his desk, oblivious when she nudged several USBs and they tumbled to the floor. "I lied to you. Pushed you away deliberately. Because you're too good for me and ultimately that would've ended things between us."
"What the fuck?" Incredulous, he gaped, before snapping his jaw shut. "I'm too good for you? Are you for real?"
"Let me explain." She took a deep breath and he silently cursed himself for staring at her boobs and remembering how they felt in his hands.
"I'm fickle. I ran away from my family in Ireland when I was eighteen and they basically disowned me. They wanted me to study teaching at university, I wanted to dance."
So far she hadn't told him anything he didn't already know and he was tempted to turn around and head out the door without looking back.
"So I went to London, met Dougal, fell in love," she huffed out a long breath, "and got pregnant."
That captured his attention. "You had a kid?"
Her mouth compressed with sorrow. "I had an abortion."
Shit. She'd gone through a lot as a teen.
"Not because I was too young, but because it would've interfered with my dreams of being a top dancer. Plus having an illegitimate child would've proved my family right, that I wasn't prepared to take on the world." She said it defiantly, like she expected him to judge her, but he remained silent. "According to Dougal, I was a selfish, heartless bitch and he left me."
She pressed her fingers into her eyes before lowering them. "The irony was, I had complications that mucked me up pretty bad internally and the time I had off ensured I missed out on my dream job as a dancer. So I danced small parts through Europe, ended up in Paris, fell in love with burlesque and became a choreographer instead."
Wyatt could understand why she had self-esteem issues, believing he was better than her, but it still didn't explain the rest. "Are you expecting me to judge you? Is that why you said all that bullshit about me being too good for you?"
Her eyebrows rose, as she absentmindedly wrung her hands. "You seriously don't think I'm selfish for what I did?"
He shrugged. "You were young. Naive. And you did what was right for you at the time. No one has the right to judge you on a decision you made back then."
That's when it hit him, the reason for her inability to achieve physical satisfaction. "Is that w
hy you couldn't come all these years? You've been beating yourself up over it, because you feel guilty and undeserving?"
She bit her bottom lip, nodded. "I figured that out after the last time we…when you said you loved me…guess I felt deserving in that moment and I let myself go…"
He wanted to go to her then. Wanted to bundle her into his arms and soothe her and make it all better. But he'd already hung himself out to dry once with her and he'd be damned if he did it again.
"Why didn't you tell me all this then?"
"Because I did what I do best, running away." Her hands finally stilled, clasped in front of her. "And I didn't want you trying to talk me out of leaving."
"I wouldn't do that," he said, disgusted that she thought so little of him despite her heartfelt confession. "For someone you think is better than you, you sure don't know me at all."
Her head cocked to the side. "I’m confused."
She wasn’t the only one.
"I'm a freelancer. I move around the world for work. It's what I do." He crossed the room to Chantal's desk and spun the small globe perched beside her PC. "I could've accepted more jobs in London. We could've tried long distance." He pinned her with an accusatory glare that he hoped encapsulated the antagonism reverberating through his body. "But you gave up on us."
Her mouth opened. Closed. Before she wrapped her arms around her middle. "You live in a small town. You love it there. It's your home. For me, being stuck in a small town is my biggest nightmare. I ran away from that life because it breeds resentment and boredom in a relationship."
She laughed, a bitter, hysterical sound devoid of amusement. "My parents were desperately unhappy, both having affairs while maintaining the facade of a perfect marriage. It was a joke. And who knows, if I was confined to that kind of life, I might end up a cheater too."
Okay, so there was more to Ashlin than the guilt over the abortion. Man, and he thought he had a lot of emotional fallout from his folks.
"Is there anything else?" He crossed the office and stood in front of her, using all his willpower to keep his arms by his sides and not reach for her. "Because so far you've lied to me about not loving me, used a job in London, an abortion that happened a lifetime ago, small town life, and your parents' bogus marriage as excuses to push me away."