by Nina Levine
I shower and get ready for the day. I’ve got a full day ahead of me, editing more photos from the Crave concert shoot. As I sit down to get started, there’s a knock at my front door. A minute later, my happy bubble bursts when I find my husband standing on the other side of the door.
“Presley,” he says while taking a step inside.
I put my arm up to block him, and he comes to a halt, clearly stunned I would deny him access.
“No, Lennon, you don’t get to come inside. What do you want?”
“I told you I was coming home,” he says as if that answers my question.
“This isn’t your home. Not anymore.”
“My name is still on the deed.”
“Oh my god! That means jack shit, asshole. You walked out, so it’s not your home.”
“I made a mistake, Presley.”
“Yeah, you did, but it corrected the mistake I made when I married you, so let’s call it even.”
“I want to come home, baby.” His voice has that soft tone he uses when he wants something from me, but it won’t work anymore. A year ago, I would have given him anything he wanted when he spoke to me this way. I’ve since learnt my lesson.
“No. And don’t call me that anymore.”
His face tells me he wasn’t expecting this. He must have expected me to roll over and give him whatever he wanted, just like everyone else in his life does. “I’ll give you the baby you always wanted.” He promises me the one thing that came between us the most when we were together.
Anger mixes with pain, and I’m done. “Fuck you, Lennon. You can’t worm your way back into my life with shit like that. Yeah, I wanted a baby with you, but you never wanted that, so don’t come here now and make bullshit promises to get what you want in return. I don’t want a baby with you anymore.” I spit my words at him and then move to close the door in his face.
He puts a foot inside to stop the door from closing. “I’m not giving up on us, Presley,” he promises, and I see the determination on his face. Shit, he means this, and when Lennon wants something, he does everything to get it. I do not need this in my life. Not when I’ve finally decided to start something with Jett.
“Goodbye,” I say and shove his foot out of the way so I can slam the door shut. Once I have the door closed, I sag against it.
Shit.
I hope he gives up, but I know he won’t. Not until he’s exhausted all avenues.
Fuck.
***
I look at the room I’ve just stepped into. It’s a fundraising event for breast cancer research, and it’s decorated in pink and white. They’ve pulled out all the stops with balloons, flowers, candles, and pretty party lights everywhere. It’s like a magical wonderland, and I stare in awe. I wish I had my camera with me; I could get some amazing photos of all this.
Jett pulls me close and murmurs against my ear, “Thank you for coming tonight.”
He called me four hours ago and asked me to come. I didn’t hesitate to say yes. Smiling at him, I say, “Any excuse to wear a party dress.”
“I’ll remember that,” he promises while scanning the room. His gaze settles on the bar. “I’m gonna go get some drinks. What would you like?”
“Surprise me with a cocktail.”
He nods. “Will do. You’ll be right at the table with the boys?”
“Absolutely. I’m looking forward to hanging out with them tonight.”
“Good. They’re looking forward to it, too.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. They like you. Told me not to fuck it up.”
I turn to face him and loop my hands around his neck. He bends to give me a quick kiss, and when we pull apart, I say, “I’m so happy I decided to go on a date with you, Jett Vaughn.”
“Me too, sweetheart. You’ve no idea just how happy.”
I like his honesty, and the fact he doesn’t hesitate to make himself vulnerable to me.
“Okay, go. If you get enough cocktails in me tonight, you might get your way with me later.”
“Really? I think your sex addiction would guarantee me that without cocktails.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. He’s totally right. I shove him gently. “Go.”
He gives me one last sexy grin and then leaves. I admire him as he walks away. Jett’s wearing a suit tonight and looks so hot I’m sure we’ll have to leave early so I can satisfy my addiction.
“Presley!”
I turn to find West motioning for me to join the rest of the band at the table. I’m surprised none of them brought a date tonight. I’m the only woman in the group. I make my way over to them and take a seat.
“Looking good, babe,” West says, his eyes gazing appreciatively at my body for a moment. I’m wearing a fitted, floor-length black evening dress, that has gorgeous beading over the thin straps and a long slit that ends mid thigh. Jett’s eyes almost bulged out of his head when he picked me up.
“Fuck, West, don’t. The last thing we need is Jett losing his shit tonight,” Hunter warns him.
I eye West. “Thank you for the compliment but I think Hunter’s right. Let’s not rile Jett up tonight.”
“I know I’ve said it before, but I fucking like you, Presley. You say it like it is,” West says.
Van’s been lounging in his chair, an angry glare fixed on his face. But he looks at me now and asks, “Has Jett convinced you to photograph our next tour yet?”
“We haven’t really discussed it.”
“You should consider it. Your photography is fucking amazing. We’d be lucky to have you.” It’s the nicest he’s been to me so far, and I’m floored by his kind words.
“Thank you,” I say to him, and he nods and then goes back to his angry glaring. I’m thinking Van’s a man of little words.
I chat with West and Hunter for another couple of minutes before excusing myself to go to the ladies’ room. When I arrive there, the line is five deep, and I kill time by texting Erin.
Me: At charity event with Jett. You should see him in a suit...
Erin: Shut it. Don’t tell me any more bitch.
Me: LOL
Erin: You heard from your asshole husband again?
Me: Not since he showed at my door two days ago.
Erin: Good. Sorry, gotta go chick. Talk to you later xx
Me: Night xx
I finally reach the end of the line, and five minutes later, I’m heading back out to the table. The sight I’m greeted with when I get there takes me aback. Lennon’s here and he and Van are going head to head over something. Both men are furious about whatever it is.
“You wouldn’t know the meaning of fucking loyalty,” Van spits at Lennon.
“She told me you two were over. How the fuck was I to know she was lying?”
“It’s called friendship, motherfucker. We were friends, and you don’t do that to a friend. You don’t fuck his fiancée behind his fucking back.”
“Do you fucking listen, Van? I didn’t know you were still together.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not good enough. You should have asked me, not her. She wasn’t your fucking friend, I was.”
Jett steps in to try and break them apart because they look like they’re at the point where fists could start flying any minute. “Van, leave it. He’s not fucking worth it.”
Van’s eyes are wild when he looks at Jett. “I told you coming tonight was a bad fucking idea.”
Jett directs his attention to Lennon. “You need to leave. Now.”
Lennon shifts his gaze and stops when he sees me. “Presley? What the hell are you doing here?”
Jett swings around to look between Lennon and me. “You know this asshole?” he demands.
“Yes.”
Before I can explain myself further, Lennon says, “She’s my wife, asshole. Get your fucking eyes off her.”
Jett looks like he’s about to explode with anger. “What the fuck?” he roars at no one in particular, and I’m not sure if he’s directing that at Lennon
or me.
Shit, this is a clusterfuck.
“I was your wife,” I correct Lennon.
“You still are,” Lennon says.
“On paper only. Give me six months, and I’ll rectify that.”
Jett interrupts us. Looking at Lennon, he says, “Like I said, you need to fucking leave.”
I nod in agreement and Lennon assesses the situation for a moment before finally doing what Jett suggested.
Van glares at him until he can’t see him anymore and then he says, “Fuck it, Jett, I’m out. Sorry man, but I can’t be in the same room as him or I will fucking punch him, and that’s the last thing we need.” His face is a mask of anger and apology.
Jett nods. “Yeah, you’re right. You should go.”
Van doesn’t wait around and a moment later he’s gone, and I’m left with Jett staring at me. He’s still angry but there’s a calmness to it now. “You’re married to Lennon?” He’s incredulous and I don’t blame him. I haven’t mentioned my marriage at all.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We split up six months ago, and I’m done with him. I’m just waiting for the year to be up so I can file for divorce. I don’t consider myself married anymore.”
His chest heaves and he seems relieved with that answer. “Thank fuck.”
I move to where he is and lay a hand on his chest. “I promise there’s nothing left there,” I say softly.
He grabs my waist and pulls me into his space. “I believe you, sweetheart. I’m more surprised by the fact I’ve known Lennon for years but I’ve not once met you. I knew he was married but never knew who to. How the fuck did you guys work it that way? If you were my wife, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”
“He didn’t want me on tour with him and because I was busy with my work, he had no trouble selling that to me. It hurt, though.” My voice cracks on my last few words, and Jett wraps me in his arms.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “He’s an asshole, baby. You’re better off without him.”
“I know,” I mumble into his body. “But he’s told me he’ll do anything to get me back, and when Lennon wants something, he’ll do anything to get it.”
Jett lets me go enough to look down into my eyes. There’s a fierce determination in his. “So will I, Presley, and I want you. If Lennon thinks he can come back and pick up where he left off, he can fucking think again. You’re mine now, not his.”
I suck in a breath.
This could get messy.
Really fucking messy.
Be The One (Crave #2) Coming Soon
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About The Author
Nina Levine is an Aussie writer who writes stories about hot, alpha men and the tough, independent women they love.
When she isn’t creating with words, she loves to create with paint and paper. Often though, she can be found curled up with a good book and some chocolate.
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Sneak Peek
Relent (Sydney Storm MC #1)
By Nina Levine
Chapter One
Evie
I’d hit it.
That moment in life when you grow weary of trying.
When you’ve taken so many steps forward and twice as many back and you throw your hands in the air and say to fuck with it.
I was done.
Done caring.
Done wanting to care.
Done with it all.
Life could try and drag me back into the game all it liked, but I was out.
As I sat in the afternoon traffic with tears streaming down my face, I kept my hands firmly on the steering wheel and let them fall. Jeremy was always telling me to let it all hang out, to not hide myself from the world, so I was only honouring him by not giving a shit how bad I looked. And yet, as we sat bumper to bumper, not moving, I was sure the driver in the next car must have been looking at me, judging me. I glanced in his direction to find him engrossed with his phone. I stared for a couple of minutes but he never gave me the time of day.
Nobody cares, Evie.
Not me, not him, and not the driver that killed Jeremy.
I sagged against the steering wheel as the pain sliced through me.
Again.
It had been nearly a week and the pain was as intense as it had been the day he died. But I knew from experience the pain would never go away. Eventually, I’d numb myself to it, but still, I’d carry it with me to my grave. Jeremy and I were entwined so deeply that some days I hadn’t known where he ended and I began. We’d been a part of each other’s lives since we were ten.
Since Kick brought him home from school and declared him a part of us now.
Shit.
And that was the kicker.
Now I’d lost both of them.
***
It took me twice as long to get home from work than usual due to the horrendous traffic. As I pulled into my driveway, I saw my best friend, Maree, sitting on my front step. She hadn’t left me alone since Jeremy’s death, and I was at the point where I needed some space. I loved her dearly but she never knew when to back off.
Sighing, I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and gave myself a quick onceover in the mirror. Shit, I looked awful. My mascara wasn’t waterproof after all, and I had black streaks running down my face. Add to that, my foundation had worn off in the heat of the day and my long, brunette hair had frizzed in the humidity, and I looked like a woman you would possibly cross the road to avoid.
Maree came towards me as I stepped out of the car. “You look like you need a girl’s night in,” she said, assessing me.
Maree was the kind of woman who never stepped foot outside her house unless she was immaculately presented. Even after a long day at her teaching job, with teenagers harassing her, she still looked good. Makeup still perfect, blonde hair swept up into a ponytail, black dress almost wrinkle free and heels not even affecting her feet. “I hate you, Maree,” I muttered, taking it all in.
She raised a perfect eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because you always look good and it’s not fair,” I answered as I walked past her to the front door of my house.
She followed close behind me. “Evie, have you taken a look in the mirror lately? You could wear a goddamn sack and look hot. Without even doing your hair or makeup. I have to spend hours in front of the mirror to achieve what you wake up with.”
I turned to look at her and frowned. “What I wake up with? Bed head and a puffy face?”
Shaking her head, she said, “No, sex appeal. You can’t fake that shit, and you were lucky to be born with it. Even standing here with your messy hair, non-existent makeup, and fucking mascara all over your face, you still look sexy. Any guy would pick you over me any day.”
She was wrong, but I didn’t have the energy to argue. Besides, I hadn’t been laid in six months so I didn’t know where all these men were who she thought would be interested in me. “I still hate you,” I said, and resumed my journey to the front door. My thoughts had shifted now to how I was going to break it to her that I needed a night off rather than a girl’s night in. Maree wasn’t one to give up easily when she was on a mission. And her mission at the moment was to get me through my grief. What she didn’t seem to understand was that time spent with her wasn’t going to take away my sadness.
As I unlocked the door and entered my house, I could hear her rambling on about her day. Her words drifted in and out as I trudged down my long hall to the kitchen at the back of the house. I caught snippets of ‘those kids will be the death of me’ and ‘it’s only February and I already need a holiday’. But mostly, I was lost in a fog where her words floated in my mind alongside images of Jeremy. Laughing, being a dickhead, dancing...all the fun we’d had over the years had replayed over and over in my mind this week. Like a movie. A movie I
couldn’t switch off.
“Evie! Are you listening to me?”
Her shrill tone snapped me back to the moment. “What?”
She dumped her bag on my cluttered kitchen counter, and my attention drifted to the mess. I never let my house go like this, but this week I just couldn’t have given a shit about it, and it showed. Dishes were piled next to the sink, unopened mail lay scattered on the counter, and other junk had accumulated that I didn’t have the energy to sort out.
“Evie!”
I blinked and gave my attention back to her. Pulling out a seat at the kitchen table, I sighed and collapsed onto it. Looking up at her, I said, “Sorry, I’m not with it this afternoon.”
I’m with Jeremy.
I wish I was with Jeremy.
She sat with me, her face full of sympathy and concern. “I know, but you need to get yourself together because the funeral is tomorrow.”
All of the grief and anger I had churning in me spewed out and I was helpless to stop it. “I don’t have to get myself together, Maree. Fuck that. I’ll go to the damn funeral but I’m only doing that for Jeremy, and he wouldn’t have given a shit if I was the crazy lady at the funeral who howled her way through it and let her fucking mascara drip all over the seat. In fact, he’d want me to be the crazy lady. He was always telling me to let myself go and just feel. Well, fuck it, after all this time, I’m not going to give a fuck about appearances. I’m going to feel it all, and if anyone doesn’t like the way I deal, they can go screw themselves.”
Her eyes widened, clearly surprised at my outburst, but she gave me a big smile. “Well, okay then! I’m liking this new Evie.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a packet of facial cleansing wipes. Maree kept a full kit of makeup on her at all times. Passing a wipe to me, she said, “Here, clean off your mascara, babe.”
My face was the least of my worries, but I took it from her and did as she said. “I’ll be okay on my own tonight.”
She frowned. “I don’t want to leave you on your own.”
“Maree, I’m going to get through this. It’ll take some time, but just because I’m a mess doesn’t mean I can’t be on my own.” I paused and then added softly, “I need to be on my own tonight.”