She’s silent again, and I imagine the irresistible purse of her lips when she’s pondering something. “You really like her, don’t you?”
Oh boy. “I do. A lot.”
“She likes you too.”
“I know. Hol?”
“Yeah?”
“I will die before I hurt your sister.”
“I know.”
My breath escapes with relief. “Good. She’s special.”
“I know that too.”
“I guess,” I say through a laugh. “She’s your sister.”
“No, it’s not that.”
My humor wanes as I wait for her to continue.
“You and I have been close for most of our lives. Inseparable for a lot of it, but I feel like I was a crutch for you. It wasn’t me; it was Hannah who pushed you into the man I knew you could be. No matter what happens, remember that.”
It’s true. And it’s Hannah I’m dying to have in my arms right now.
∞∞∞
I don’t have to wait long. I’m not sure why she didn’t tell me she was coming, but I figured she wanted to debrief over the events in person. When the door clicks, I’m glued to the opening like the little dog Mila says I am.
I take her in my arms and plant a kiss on her forehead, then… I step back in surprise. Her face. A frown. Concern. Why is there concern?
“Geoff called.”
Fuck no!
“He misses me and feels bad about what happened between us. He wants to make it up to me.”
Brute Two’s fist struck me with less force than that blow.
“Really.”
She lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah. He’s booked us a cruise and everything. Can you believe it?”
I’d take you anywhere. I thought you knew that. “Wow. You going?”
Her pause cuts deep. “I don’t know.”
Nothing moves from my head to my mouth while she waits so she continues.
“Things haven’t been good with Geoff lately, but we’ve devoted three years of our lives together. Hell, I thought I was going to marry him at one point. How can I not hear him out? Then again, we have that Viper Rising audition. And you… God!” She locks her fingers on her head, pain flooding her eyes. It’s too much, and I have to look away.
Ahh!
I can’t breathe. I should be screaming a defense, it’s right there, but that was Old Wes. New Wes wants Hannah to be happy, hates the distress on her face. He wants her to go on a fucking cruise with a douchebag if that’s where her heart will shine. The fact that we’re even having this conversation tells me what I thought we had was a warped fantasy in Selfish Wes’s head.
Even as the words come out they sound foreign to me. “We can always push the audition. They’re not going to be in a hurry to move on things while I’m injured and we’re still sorting out the Tracing Holland drama.”
“True.”
I can’t tell if it’s the answer she wanted since she won’t look at me.
My heart is pounding. Impressive considering I’m pretty sure it’s in a dozen pieces right now. “If you really want to go with this guy, we can make it work.”
If he’s the one you want, I will let you go.
She watches me, eyes round, waiting for… I still don’t know what, but I’d do anything to give it to her. My blessing? Fuck!
She searches my face. “It’s just… You said we’re fooling ourselves with this—whatever it is. You said we’re wasting our time, that it could never work between us, and I can’t afford to pretend anymore. I’m twenty-six. If I’m going to start over with a new future I have to get serious.”
I did say that. I’ve said a lot of stupid things in my life.
“I love our friendship and I don’t want to hurt you, but I was thinking about it last night. What are we doing? Am I just going to keep playing around like a teenager. And then Geoff calls. First the Viper Rising opportunity, then Geoff comes back out of the blue? It has to be a sign that it’s time to move forward, right?”
Has to be the universe fucking with me again. “I did believe that then, Han. But…”
But what, Wesley? But I love you so much that if you leave with this guy I’ll implode? “I was wrong. I see things differently now. I think we can make it work.”
Her smirk slices into me. “Yeah? With the groupies and strippers on the side? Right.”
I feel sick. Even worse when her eyes fill with pity.
“Crap. I’m sorry. You’re serious, aren’t you?” She sighs and covers her face. “I… I don’t know.” Her beautiful features come into view again, and I swallow the urge to beg. “I’m afraid of you, Wes. Of us. What I feel for you is so… It’s not safe. Not stable.”
Blood rushes to every part of my body.
“It’s so much. It’s like, I do things without thinking. Every time we’re within a few feet of each other, my brain shuts off.”
I close the gap and tip her chin. Fine. I’m a dick. I’m not losing this woman to fucking Geoffrey. “No it doesn’t. You just open yourself up to the part of you that’s been cut off for most of your life.”
“I become a rebel.”
“You become a viper.”
I kiss her then. I have to if this is the last chance I’ll have to show her that she’s better than who she thinks she should be. I part her lips with my tongue and find hers. She groans as her body responds to my demands.
“This is real,” I breathe against her mouth. I reach for her top and pull it off. Even with the splints on my fingers there’s no fumbling with clasps and straps. She’s mine. Mine, and Geoffrey better be ready to fight his ass off.
We’re on the couch now. I have Hannah pressed into the cool leather. Every muscle is tensed and ready for battle. I move against her, enjoying the way the reservation slips from her guard at each push of my hips. Her fingers spread over me, sinking into my flesh.
“I want this every day,” I say. My lips trace down her neck to find her breasts. She’s delicious, especially when she arches in unison with the pressure of my mouth. I don’t stop until her hands are threaded in my hair, guiding me with an urgency that would make any man hard. Me? I’m granite.
“Wait, ahh!” She cuts off with a moan.
“You want me to wait?” I work my way down her smooth stomach and caress the skin along the edge of her jeans.
“No, don’t wait. Just…” Another jerk of her body when I run my hand up the inside of her thighs.
“Just, what?” I free the button, slide down the zipper to expose the most mouthwatering black satin I’ve ever seen. This is viper fabric not country-club fabric.
I tug the elastic with my teeth and let it snap back with a playful grin. Her gasp is everything a guy lives for.
“Still want me to stop?” My lips come down hard on the soft material.
“No,” she breathes.
I nibble harder with each shift down.
“No, because this is…” She’s panting now. I can barely understand her through the short breaths. Until, “This is my point.”
I pull back, eyes locking on hers. Her expression softens into a brutal plea. “You make me crazy, Wes. I lose control. Do you have any idea how scary that is?”
I live my entire life on that precipice. “That’s living, Han,” I manage, even as I watch her slip away. Her gaze drops to the floor.
“For you, maybe. For me…” She shimmies back and straightens on the couch.
Panic sets in. Fear that’s not remotely eased by the sympathy on her face.
“For me, I need control. I need to let my brain make decisions. There are rules, Wes. An order. There’s a way things are supposed to be.”
“Yeah? Like locking yourself in a career you hate? Or dating some dude for his trust fund? That doesn’t sound safe to me. That sounds like a recipe for lifelong depression.”
What the fuck is wrong with you, Wes?
She bolts up from the couch.
“Han, I’m sorry. Hannah!”
> I reach for her, but she backs away, throwing on clothing and shoes with careless fury.
“Will you just…”
She spins around, gaze searing into me. “Thanks for making this easier. Tell the Label we can do the audition in a few weeks when I get back.”
And I’ve lost.
26: BLOODY HEARTS
To say I’m a mess over the next few weeks is inaccurate. I’m too numb to be anything. I’m an answer to interview questions. A signature on contracts. I’m a physical therapy patient and Holland’s guide through our rehearsal, but I’m not Wes. Thanks to the pre-release hype, “Swan Song” kills it on the charts, and their tour gets off to a hot start. Critics rave it’s our best yet. The Label freaks, the band celebrates, and I… crack a smile.
“Have you heard from her?” I ask Holland when we take five after several run-throughs of “Viper Rising” in my condo. She has a three-day break from the road and is devoting one of them to this song.
I get the sister-look I’ve come to dread and focus an intense stare on my water bottle.
“She planned to unplug while she was away. Take a break, you know?”
“Yeah, of course,” I force out. “I get it.”
She’s not buying it. I see it in the way her gaze locks on me. “She just needs to figure things out. She cares about you.”
“Cares, yeah. Great,” I mutter. My fucking dentist cares. “When do you want to rehearse with the other guys?” No way I’m getting a pity talk from Holland about her sister.
“I’ll check with them. We’ll have to wait until Hannah is back.”
Right. Our lead vocalist who I shoved away. “You should be prepared to sing her part.”
Holland crosses her arms and shoots me another look. “Hannah won’t back out. She has a problem with too much commitment to things, not the other way around.”
“Yeah? Well, you didn’t see her face when she stormed off.”
“What did you say to her?”
“Something stupid I didn’t mean. She won’t respond to my messages now.”
“Like I said, she—”
“Yeah, she unplugged. Have you heard from her in the last three weeks?”
She’s suddenly very interested in her own water bottle.
“Holland, come on.”
“I don’t want to get involved. I can’t, okay?”
I clench my jaw and struggle not to send a foot into the guitar stand. Then my heart collapses in my chest. “Wait, you know something,” I say. “What has she said?”
“Wes, I can’t. Don’t put me in this position.”
“Please!” God, I hate begging, but for all I’ve lost throughout my life, I’ve never suffered the black hole I’m in now. “What is it?”
She runs a hand over her flushed face, and I’m finding the air in this room less breathable by the second. “The cruise,” she says finally.
“With the ex?”
She nods and huffs a breath that ruffles her bangs. “Geoffrey, yes.”
“He wanted to work things out with her,” I say. I don’t like the way her lips thin into pale strips.
Her eyes suddenly search for everything in the vicinity except me. “Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?” Is she trying to torture me?
After a long pause, she levels the most empathetic sister look I’ve ever seen. She hasn’t said a word and already I’m spiraling.
“Holland, please. What’s going on?”
She groans and rests her hands on her head. “Okay, fine, but please remember I didn’t want to tell you this.” I wait when she pauses. I wouldn’t have been able to speak at this point anyway.
“Before Geoffrey talked to Hannah about the cruise, he had a long conversation with my parents.”
I feel the blood draining from my face, probably pooling in my feet since suddenly I can’t move.
Holland reaches for my arm, squeezing lightly as she says, “He asked for permission to propose to Hannah. That’s what this cruise is about. That’s probably why you haven’t heard from her. I’m sure she wants to tell you in person.”
The room is spinning. I drop to the couch as the walls crash down around me. “You think that’s why she hasn’t responded or you know?” I say finally. Tears. Yeah, that didn’t sound like me because Wes Alton doesn’t cry. But fuck if learning you’ve lost a woman like Hannah Drake doesn’t make your eyes malfunction.
Holland wraps her arms around me, and it’s everything I can do not to break down. I won’t. I’ve lived almost thirty years without Hannah. So what if I have to live the next thirty? We’ll still have our new band. We’ll be friends. We’ll be fucking coworkers. My shoulders shake from some foreign emotion as Holland holds tighter.
“I think,” she says. “I don’t know.”
“God, I love her, Hol. I love her so much.”
She nods against my chest, and I bury my face in her hair. I don’t want to see right now. I just know I’ll be staring into a rainbow of gray.
“I fucked up.”
“You didn’t.”
“You don’t understand.”
She pulls back and forces me to look at her. “No, you don’t. I’m not sure what you said to her, but that’s not what changed her mind. I love my sister more than anything, but she doesn’t choose with her heart. She chooses with her head and Geoffrey makes sense. They’ve been talking about marriage for a while.”
“But she won’t be happy!”
“You don’t know that,” she says, eyes full with my pain. “And even if she’s not, it’s her choice. She does what she’s supposed to do. The easy, safe road. It’s who she is.”
I jump up, fingers tangled in my hair. “What can I do? Tell me, Hol. I’ll do it. Just help me. Please!”
“Stop.” She reaches out, but I duck away to keep pacing. My world is moving so fast and yet completely dark at the same time. Nothing makes sense. No, everything makes sense except for me. I’m the one who doesn’t fit anymore.
“When’s she coming back?” I ask, voice raspy.
“Two days.”
I nod.
Her eyes… “It’s too late, hon,” she warns. I shake my head, and she sighs. “What are you going to do?”
I press my fists into my eyes.
“Wes, talk to me.”
I draw in a deep breath and meet her gaze. “I’m going to find a way to give her my heart and force her to give it back.”
∞∞∞
Day One of my mission starts the second Holland leaves my condo. I pick up my guitar and stare at my stiff fingers. The physical therapist said I’m not ready. He’s probably right, but time isn’t the only parameter that matters. Most of the damage to my left hand was to my ring and pinky finger, so tuning the strings doesn’t present much of a challenge. With a little extra effort, I’m able to tighten and release the pegs enough to bring the pitch into an acceptable range.
My right index finger got pretty jacked up, however, so holding a pick is a problem. I drop it on the first two attempts, and the third results in one successful strum before the pick ends up in the body of my acoustic. I curse and jiggle the guitar with a gentle shake upside down until the pick clears the opening. I decide just to strum with my fingers for now. Even that is no easy task since I can’t get my right thumb and index finger to meet. So no fingernail strum either. Oh, wait, the only chord I can form with my left hand is an awkward Em anyway. Shit. I lay the worthless instrument on the couch and set up my keyboard instead.
After a few passes of the keys, I’m more confident. I don’t have the dexterity I’d need to perform, but for writing, this will do. I open a new file on my laptop and set to work.
For three hours, I’m glued to my couch. Eventually, my back and ribs ache to the point of watery eyes. My fingers barely move. Just as Physical Therapist Jeff warned, I wasn’t ready for this, but I push through until the pain and stiffness is so bad I can’t press a key or type a letter no matter how hard I struggle.
My phone buzzes, and I yank it into view. I force a smile to mask the disappointment in my voice when I answer. Holland wants to know if I’ll meet up with her and the guys for dinner. I ask her to tell the rest of the band I’m looking forward to playing with them again, but now’s not a great time because… I’m busy? She pauses long enough to tell me that she gets it. Twenty years with someone make their silences as expressive as their words.
My gaze journeys to the mini-bar when we hang up. I study the beautiful tapestry of glass and color arranged on the marble top. I haven’t touched it in weeks. I knew if I was going to get her back I’d have to put my life together, and I couldn’t waste time on oblivion. But I had hope then. It was an argument I had to overcome, not a fucking marriage.
What’s left of my hope now? A song. A string of notes and words that has to convince a viper that the life she chose is not the life she wants.
I curse and drape my arm over my face.
∞∞∞
Day Two doesn’t go any better. This time I have to start off stiff, sore, and discouraged, and there’s no improvement from there. No lyrics are striking enough. No melody haunts with the passion and desperation I need to convey. Nothing is good enough for my Hannah.
I spend hours deleting what I type, rearranging chords until they start to blend together in a squall of sound. I’ve said “my ears are bleeding” many times in my life. This is the first time I’m actually concerned it’s true. Then again, maybe it’s just my brain exploding after two days straight of this torture. Hours of non-stop effort and what do I have? Six words I hate.
Bloodshot eyes scratch through the veil
I lost track of which revision this is. I must have attempted a hundred opening lines. This is the latest, probably because I’ve reached the point where words are blurring and the physical becomes lyrical.
Viper (NSB Book 3) Page 21