by Ashley Jade
My dad is one of the smartest men I know, but personal injury attorney he is not. “If the Covingtons were gonna go after me, they would have done it by now.”
When he starts to protest, I say, “We live in California, Dad. You only have six-months to sue for damages after a car accident.” Inhaling a breath, I add, “Or one year from the date the injury was first discovered.”
Both of which have passed.
I’d be lying if I said a small part of me wasn’t hoping they’d sue my sorry ass…but they never did.
He looks impressed. “Okay, fair enough…but still.”
Annoyance flares in my gut. “But still what?”
“She’s getting married to a guy who isn’t you. Therefore, she has no business coming around you and screwing with your head.”
Christ almighty. Here we fucking go.
“She’s not.”
He pins me with a look that makes it clear he doesn’t believe that for one second.
“She’s lost.” Annoyed, I grip the back of my neck. “Confused. She doesn’t know which end is up and her family has her stuck in a box because they think it’s the best way to protect her.” I cut my gaze to his. “But you can’t stick a girl like Bianca in a box for too long because sooner or later she’ll crawl her way out and make the world her bitch again.”
Because that’s what my girl does.
She fights just as hard as she loves.
And that side of her is still in there…she just has to tap into it.
He scrubs a hand down his face and exhales. “I know you care about her. And yes, she’s very beautiful, I’ll give her that. But that’s exactly what makes her the kind of woman who will leave you with nothing once she’s decided she’s bored with you and kicks your ass to the curb.”
I know he’s speaking from personal experience, but he’s got it all wrong.
Even at her worst, Bianca still gave a fuck about the people she loved. She wouldn’t intentionally hurt them, let alone throw them away like garbage.
She’s not a potential trophy wife with her eye on her future husband’s bank account like my dad’s making her seem.
“She’s not Crystal.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“She’s not Mom either,” I hiss.
He grimaces. “What makes you so sure about that?”
“Because I fucking know her,” I roar. “And I’m getting real fucking tired of you acting like I’m some goddamn little boy instead of a grown man who can handle his shit.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I just don’t want you walking down the same path I did.”
I know he’s scared and wants to spare me from that potential pain because he loves me.
But this is my life. Therefore, seeing her is my fucking decision.
Not his.
“Uh-oh,” C.J. calls out.
The moment I look her way she takes the bowl of Cheerios and dumps it over her head.
Then she grins.
I can’t help but laugh. “Guess you didn’t want any more of those, huh?”
My dad scoops her up and puts her in his lap. “We have to get going anyway.” He covers her ears. “Crystal will lose her shit if I’m late dropping her off.”
I wince. “How’s the custody battle going?”
“Let’s just say if there was a town called petty-ville Crystal would be the mayor of it.” He groans. “She’s requesting twenty grand a month in alimony and child support…along with sole custody.”
Jesus fucking Christ. The money is one thing, but not letting him have any rights to his own kid?
“That’s fuck—” Catching myself, I mutter, “Fudged up.”
“Tell me about it.” He uncovers C.J.’s ears and rubs his nose against hers. “Mommy doesn’t realize who’s she’s messing with and that nothing’s gonna keep me from my favorite little munchkin.”
C.J. starts giggling right before she blows raspberries on his forehead. “Dada.”
Taking a wipe out of her diaper bag, he cleans his face. “You still going to meetings every day?”
Haven’t missed one yet and I don’t plan to.
“Yup. I catch one before work.”
He stands. “Good.” He looks at C.J. “Say bye to your brother.”
“Bye-bye.” She makes grabby hands for me so I lean down. “Love, Uh-oh.”
Jesus. This freaking kid. “Love you, too.”
Before I can stop her, she finds an abandoned Cheerio in her dress and sticks it in my mouth.
I try not to laugh but fail. I wouldn’t put it past her to start a restaurant when she grows up. This way she can feed people whenever she wants.
“Thanks for the snack, C.J.,” I mumble as I walk them out.
My dad stops short when we reach the front door. “Oak?”
“Dad?”
His gaze snaps to mine. “I know I’m giving you a lot of shit about talking to her, but I just want the best for you…and I really don’t think she’s it.”
With that, he walks out.
A tight knot forms in my chest. He’s wrong.
Reaching inside my t-shirt, I pull out the St. Christopher pendant and feather that belong to her.
Bianca Covington was the best thing that ever happened to me...
And I fucked it all up.
Chapter 34
Bianca
Stone lied to me.
He told me he wrote that poem, but he didn’t.
Oakley did.
God, I’m so angry I could scream.
I glance at the clock. Stone will be here any minute to pick me up for the party we’re supposed to go to for Ruth’s birthday and I can’t wait to see him so I can give him a piece of my goddamn mind.
I continue digging through some old purses in my closet, searching for the poem so I can confront him with the evidence before he can attempt to skirt around it.
He lied.
And yes, I’m lying to him about my secret friendship with Oakley and two wrongs don’t make a right, but…
I hiss when my finger slices across a piece of paper.
“Dammit.”
I’m about to get a Band-Aid for my papercut, when a note scrawled in my handwriting catches my eye.
I’m not good with words like you are, but I figured I’d try anyway.
I know you hate your birthday because it reminds you of your mom, but despite how much she disgusts me…I’m also grateful to her.
Because she brought you into the world.
This beautifully broken yet incredible person who’s fundamentally changed me for the better.
Because you’re the only one who’s ever been able to break through my walls and truly see me.
Happy birthday, Oakley.
Thank you for being born.
Thank you for saving me…even when it’s from myself.
Always yours,
Bianca
Past…
My hands turn clammy as I fold the letter and place it on Oakley’s kitchen table.
Get a grip.
I’m not the kind of girl who gets clammy hands and butterflies in her stomach.
I’m also not the kind of girl who writes love letters…but here we fucking are.
I’ve been searching my brain for weeks, trying to come up with the perfect present to get Oakley for his birthday—well, aside from my mouth on that gigantic dick of his—but I couldn’t come up with anything.
Until this morning.
Given he writes poems, I figured he might enjoy something written by me.
Or maybe not, because I’m not nearly as good as he is with his words.
I did, however, write him something straight from the heart.
Something genuine.
I glance at the clock above the oven.
Oakley told me he’d be back around two a.m., but it’s now well past three.
Not that I should be worried, because he’s out with my brothers having his boys’ night so I know he’s safe.
I’m about to slip into his bed and wait for him there, but the latch on his front door clicks open.
A moment later a very drunk Oakley stumbles inside…but he’s not alone.
He—along with my equally drunk brothers—are standing on either side of him, slurring the words to some rap song.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I mutter a curse.
I glare at Jace who up until now has always been the responsible one. “I thought you were the designated driver.”
He glances at his friend. “Oak told me I was being a buzzkill and fired me.”
Oakley and Cole snort.
I open my mouth to start screaming about the dangers of driving drunk, but Jace reaches over and pats my head. “Relax. We took an Uber home.” His face twists in confusion. “Why are you here?”
Dammit. Even plastered, Jace is too perceptive for his own good.
Ignoring him, I start herding the drunk trio over to the couch, however it’s the equivalent of wrangling puppies because Cole starts raiding the cabinets looking for food, Jace trips over the coffee table, and Oakley announces he has to take a leak before venturing to the bathroom.
“Does he ever go food shopping?” Cole whines as he joins a nearly passed out Jace on the couch. “I’m hungry.” He looks up at me. “Make me food.”
Hands on my hips, I turn my furious glare on him. “I’m your sister, dipshit, not your servant.”
He pouts. “Come on.”
“Fine.” Walking over to the kitchen table, I pick up my cell. “I’ll order you a pizza.”
At that, Jace perks up. “Make sure you ask for pineapple.”
“Dude, no,” Cole argues as I bring the phone to my ear. “Pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza, you fucking freak of nature.”
“Fuck you, pretty boy,” Jace snaps before shoving him. “We’re getting pineapple.”
Cole shoves him back. “No, we’re not.”
Jace stands—or rather, he tries to—but he’s so drunk he wobbles. “Pine-fucking-apple.”
Cole staggers to his feet. “Meat-fucking-ball.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Hello,” a groggy sounding Sawyer answers after the third ring. “Bianca, are you okay?”
“Oh, I’m fine.” I clear my throat. “However, I need you to come to Oakley’s and get your boyfriend who is so drunk he’s seconds away from fist fighting his brother—who is also drunk, by the way—over pineapple pizza.”
“Shit.” I can practically hear her jumping out of bed. “I’ll be right there.”
I promptly end the call.
Mouth agape, Cole places his hand over his heart. “Traitor.” He looks at Jace. “Can you believe she called Sawyer and tattled on me?”
Shrugging, Jace plops down on the couch. “Not my problem.” Folding his arms behind his head, he places his feet on the coffee table and peers up at me. “Pineapple. Now.”
Flashing him some teeth, I bring the phone to my ear again. “Sure thing.”
Dylan picks up after the second ring. “Hi—”
“I need you to come to Oakley’s and pick up your drunk boyfriend. Now.”
With that, I hang up.
Cole snorts. “Well played, little sis.”
Reaching over, Jace smacks the back of his head. “Shut up.”
They start arguing again, but it dawns on me that Oakley’s been in the bathroom for a while now.
Leaving them to their bickering, I walk inside the bedroom and head for the adjoining bathroom.
The door swings open right before I reach it.
Oakley’s expression is almost painful. “You.”
“Me.”
Next thing I know he’s shoving me up against the wall in a kiss so sizzling my skin breaks out in goose bumps.
“Do you have any idea what you fucking do to me?” His hot mouth skates down my jaw. “How much you fuck me up?”
I’m about to remind him that my brothers are in the next room and they can walk in on us at any moment, but I lose all sense of logic when his mouth dips to my neck and he starts untying the drawstring to my pants.
“I was supposed to have fun tonight,” he rasps against my flesh as his hand disappears inside my panties. “But all I could think about was coming home to you.” I’m trying to process his words, but he grinds the heel of his hand against my clit. “How much I crave this tight pussy.”
A hiss escapes me when he slips a finger inside my slickness.
He groans low and deep. “I love how you’re always so goddamn wet for me.”
It takes every ounce of willpower not to moan when he picks up his pace, teasing me into oblivion.
“Fuck. I could take you right here, baby girl.” My entire body trembles when his teeth sink into my neck, hard enough to leave a mark as he adds another finger. “Bury my dick inside you and make you mine forever.” Something obscure passes in his gaze. “That way you’d never forget me.”
I open my mouth to tell him to do it, but he freezes…right before he starts shaking and falls to the floor.
Shit.
“Oakley’s having a seizure,” I shout.
My heart’s in my throat as I rush to grab a pillow off the bed and place it under his head.
A moment later Jace and Cole are at my side.
“Is he okay?” Cole asks.
“How long has he been seizing?” Jace questions.
“About twenty seconds…so far.”
My mind is spinning trying to figure out how one moment we were fooling around and the next…he’s having a seizure.
Oakley has epilepsy, so seizures aren’t exactly foreign—but I also know his seizures are almost always triggered by severe emotional distress…or drugs.
My stomach drops. “Were you guys with him the whole time tonight?”
Jace and Cole exchange a confused glance.
“Yeah,” Cole answers. “Why?”
“Go,” I tell them. “You two are drunk. I’ve got this.”
They start to protest, but the look I shoot them tells them I mean business. “I mean it, assholes. Get out.”
I wait for Oakley’s seizure to end before I shove my hand inside his pocket.
A ball of dread lodges in my throat when I pull out a tiny plastic bag. It’s empty, but I notice a faint white powdery residue.
Oakley blinks up at me when he comes to. He looks so disoriented I almost forget how livid I am with him.
“You had a seizure,” I whisper, running my hand along his forehead.
I have every intention of confronting him about what I found, but right now I know he needs to rest.
“Is he okay?” Dylan asks rushing into the room.
Sawyer quickly follows suit. “Is there anything—”
“He’ll be fine,” I tell them. “But if you two really want to help, take Jace and Cole home because the calmer it is around here, the better.”
Sawyer nods. “No problem.” Looking down, she blows Oakley a kiss. “Feel better, Oak.”
Standing, I head over to his dresser and pull out a pair of sweatpants for him.
Dylan tries to pry them away from me. “You don’t have to do that, Bianca. I can—”
“No,” I snap, tightening my hold. “I’ve got this.”
I narrow my eyes, daring her to challenge me.
I can’t decipher the expression on her face, but fortunately for her sake, she’s smart enough to back down.
“Fine. If you need anything, let me know.”
“I won’t.”
I can practically taste the retort on her lips, but she bends down and smacks a kiss on Oakley’s cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
He gives her a groggy half-smile before closing his eyes.
“You made me grilled cheese and soup,” Oakley whispers as he rolls over in bed.
Snuggling closer to him, I push his dark blond hair out of his eyes. “I did.”
The silence stretches between us until the only sound in the room is
our breathing.
“Oakley.”
I wait for him to look at me before I utter, “I found the cocaine in your pocket.”
I wait for him to say something—anything—but he doesn’t.
He averts his gaze, almost like it hurts to look at me.
“Thanks for the food.”
The dismissive tone of his voice makes it clear this conversation is over and he wants me gone.
Tough shit.
“You could have died,” I inform him, even though I know he’s already well aware of that.
Oakley is many things, but stupid isn’t one of them.
Sighing, he reaches for the blunt on his nightstand and lights it. “Spare me the pep talk. It’s not like I do drugs every day.” Inhaling, he smirks. “Except weed.”
That may be true, but it doesn’t make it right.
Because even when he’s not doing cocaine, ecstasy—and God only knows what else—he’s still drinking nearly every day.
Nerves bunch in my stomach as I struggle to find the right words.
Then again sometimes the right words are the exact ones staring you in the face.
The ones that hurt too much to acknowledge.
“You have a problem, Oakley.”
His jaw tics, the tendons along his neck bunching as he brings the blunt to his lips and inhales. “I have lots of fucking problems.”
I refuse to let him skirt around this. “You know what I mean.”
He takes a deep drag, filling the room with the smoke from his marijuana. “Like I said, it’s not like I do hard drugs every day.”
I’m more concerned about why he feels the need to do them at all.
Pushing the covers off, I get out of bed because our bodies touching is too much of a distraction from how important this conversation is. “Why did you do drugs last night?” I hold his gaze. “And don’t you dare lie to me because we don’t do that with each other.”
His voice is a rough, painful scrape as he rakes a hand through his hair. “I wanted to escape.”