The Crow Brothers: JET - TULSA - RIVERS - RIDGE

by Scott, S. L.

  “No, you’re not.” I grab the bottle and set it on the nightstand, and tug on his leg. “No sleeping here. Wake up, Laird.” He’s not the lanky surfer he once was. His build easily matches my dad’s—solid muscle and heavy. “Oh, no you don’t. Get up, Laird. Go to your room.”

  Without opening his eyes, he points at the other bed. “Is that a pink vibrator?”

  “Yes. You’re ruining my personal time.”

  And then silence. “No. No. No. Wake up, Laird. No sleeping here.” I tug him again, willing to pull him off this bed if that’s what it takes.

  And then the snoring begins . . . “Nooo. Shit.”

  Tulsa sits up on the far side of the room, his shoulders and head just above the horizon of the mattress, his hair a sexy mess. I watch his gaze track from my brother to me and then to the vibrator between us. There’s the Tulsa special I’ve come to appreciate. He pushes up off the floor and says, “I think he was already too out of it to fall for your plot, but good try on the scarring your brother for life angle.”

  “He won’t remember.”

  “I will.” He winks. I swoon. We’re a bad habit I don’t want to break. “Save that for next time, darlin’.”

  While Tulsa gets dressed, I flip the covers over my brother’s head, just in case he opens his eyes, and turn the light out. “I’m sorry.”

  Tulsa comes to me and cups my chin in his hand, tilting it up. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Using his head to signal to my asshole brother, he adds, “But he does.”

  “I’m sorry that—”

  “Don’t apologize. I’d have to sneak out anyway. Might as well be at two in the morning.”

  Taking my hand, he pulls me to the door with him. When he opens it, the light from the hall shines in, and we stand in the glow. My brother’s snoring is not the melody I want to hear at this hour, or ever, but it’s now the song that plays while Tulsa and I say our goodbye.

  He places the most tender kiss on my forehead, the tip of my nose, and then on my lips where he remains and whispers, “I like you. A lot.”

  I smile against him. “I like you too. A lot.” This time, I kiss him before hesitantly stepping away with the door against my back.

  Still holding my hand, he kisses my palm and then slides his tongue over his lower lip. We don’t have all the time in the world. We could get caught so easily, but he doesn’t rush. Instead, he seems to savor every second. “I’ve done nothing in this life worthy of this moment with you. You make me want to be better.”

  The unexpected confession makes my heart squeeze, and if I allow it, tears would come to my eyes. The beauty of his words is matched only by the look in his eyes. He’s a stunning sight to see. Wanting to hide the emotions welling in me, I lean my head against his chest. “You don’t have to be better for me. I like you just as you are.”

  His strong arms envelop me, and I close my eyes, wishing he could hold me all night. But a snort from my brother bursts our bubble. “I’m sor—”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He kisses my head and then steps into the hallway. “We have tomorrow.”

  “What should I wear?”

  “Workout clothes.”

  “You’re making me work out on my day off?”

  Walking backward, he briefly tugs that lower lip under his teeth, not even trying to hide that sexy smile. “Are you kidding? I get to look at your ass in yoga pants all day. Gold. Oh, and you’ll feel good. I promise.”

  That’s my guy right there. Mischievous. “See you later.” I close the door and lean against it for a few seconds before taking a deep breath and pushing off the wood.

  I could murder my brother, but I don’t think I’m in a position to adequately hide the body. So, I flip the covers off him and hit his ass instead.

  Nothing. Fucking nothing. He’s out cold.

  Jerk and other similar names cross my mind while I untie his shoes and slip them off one at a time. Moving to the side of the bed, I dip down and attempt to move him higher up on the bed. I work out, but I’m not strong enough for this job.

  When his snoring stops, I realize I’ve disturbed his sleep. Good. But not good enough because he’s happily snoring again within seconds. I grab a tank top and a pair of boxer shorts, putting them on before I climb back into my bed.

  Lying in the dark listening to Laird reminds me of the times he slept at the foot of my bed on nights I couldn’t sleep and woke up reliving events I wished I could change. The tips of my fingers slide under the band of my boxers and find the rough, scarred skin that Tulsa tenderly kissed.

  My breath is ragged, and I pull back, pressing my hands together, remembering the stars, remembering everything from that night.

  My breathing picks up when fear creeps in. I scream for help until I’m muffled. I struggle to get free until I’m held down. The pain as the blade cuts into me is unbearable.

  . . . Squeezing my eyes closed, I try to forget that night. I try to forget that I ever met Andrés. I try to forget the threats, the fights, and the final battle—the one where I lost a piece of my soul to a man who tried to keep it all for himself. He tried to keep me, but I proved stronger than he expected.

  I would never wear his ring. I most certainly would never wear his mark. I chose a scar over his name, and I will never regret removing him from my body. I would die before I allowed him to own me—and almost did. I couldn’t live in shame any longer. My pageant days ended, and having them taken from me so suddenly—so violently—stays with me. Standing on the edge of life and what felt like death changed me forever. For the better.

  I became focused. I gave up the things that felt shallow and put my heart into the music that filled my soul. Taking my favorite part from my pageant days—the talent portion—and bringing it into the band gave me something to put my mind on, to work at, to distract me. No, not just a distraction, but challenging myself as a way to stretch and heal.

  It’s been easy to get caught up in a career with the trajectory Faris Wheel is on. We’ve been lucky.

  I’m a part of this because of my sheer will. But there’s always been that empty space inside my chest. The one I hope would be filled with love. Tulsa said beautiful when he looked at the scar I thought made me ugly. He wasn’t turned off or grossed out. He let me say what I was comfortable sharing and then let me drop the topic simply because I wanted to.

  Maybe his kisses have the power to heal. Maybe he’s the one meant to fill the void.

  Respect. He respects my privacy. He respects me, and I trust him. Not only because he treats me well, but because he’s shown me who he really is on the inside. He makes me feel safe. I can breathe freely again because of him.

  Snoring invades my thoughts, and I grab a spare pillow, hugging it to me. Laird ruined my good time with Tulsa, but the sound of him reminds me of how comforting he was at one time.

  Thinking of him brings my thoughts to what he’d said before he passed out. Why tonight? Why was he so worried about me tonight?

  Laird loves me, and I understood just how much in those nights he slept on the end of my bed. Protecting me from the darkness. From the nightmares that had been reality. We’ll need to talk about this, though. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon.

  I close my eyes and pull the pillow over my head. The snoring starts to fade away as I fall asleep. I’m protected.

  * * *

  The sun is rising and the light filters into the room, burning my eyes, reminding me I left the drapes open. I turn over and squint to find Laird standing at the window looking out. When he hears me, he says, “I don’t want to lose you.”

  My eyes start to adjust, along with my mind. “You’re not going to.”

  “I almost did.”

  “Almost isn’t the same thing. I’m here.”

  “You disappeared from the club. I got worried.”

  I close my eyes again and rub them, trying to wake up. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Rivers told me you left for the hotel, so I figured I’d check on
you before I hit the bed.”

  “You hit the bed all right. Face first and not yours.”

  Making a move to sit on the end of my mattress, he spots my vibrator and detours back to the other one instead. I’m too tired to laugh. He says, “I don’t want to know about that shit or that my baby sister even owns one of those. Just like you don’t want to know about my sex life.”

  “You got that right. I tried to get you out of here last night by grossing you out. It didn’t work.”

  “It’s working now,” he replies, putting his shoes on. “Do you mind hiding that thing?”

  That does make me laugh. It’s light and genuine, a lot like my mood these days. Grabbing the pink, plastic toy, I pull it under the sheets next to me and out of his view before sitting up. “We can’t live in fear of what almost happened.”

  “I should have been there to protect you.”

  Fluffing the pillows behind me, I lean back. “You couldn’t have. There were too many lies in place to keep you from knowing the truth.”

  “We’re twins—”

  “We’re not telepathic. You trusted me, and I lied to you. But look where we are now. It’s amazing what we’ve done, what we’ve accomplished since then.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he says, “The gloves are off if I ever see him again.”

  I hate seeing the worry I’ve caused him. I hate that I disappointed him. I hate that he feels he can still lose me. Throwing the covers off, I tackle him into a tight hug from behind before he has a chance to leave. Leaning my cheek against his back, I whisper, “I love you.”

  Reaching behind him, his arms hold me there. I can see the smile in my mind though I can’t see him. “Love you, too, sis.”

  He never looks back when he walks to the door and leaves. I know why because I know Laird better than anyone. He will always hide the pain he feels inside, and the unwarranted guilt.

  Like him, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him. I despise the man who caused me pain because he caused my brother pain as well.

  If there’s one man I never want to hurt, it’s Laird. But, equally, he needs to know I’m stronger now. I’m in a better place, ready to keep moving forward with my life.

  18

  Nikki

  The text came at six. These guys are driving me nuts with their early hours. Thank God Laird had already left.

  Tulsa: Be ready to go at 6:30. Meet me out front.

  The first thing I notice are his legs. Sure, I’ve seen them already, but not in shorts. They are awfully nice and muscular. “Are those swim trunks?” I ask upon reaching the sidewalk where Tulsa’s holding a Jeep door open.

  “Yeah, it’s all I had left that was clean.” He laughs and looks down, almost like he’s bashful. “Your chariot awaits.”

  “You rented a car?”

  “I thought it would be fun to drive.”

  “It’s early.”

  “We can nap later.”

  “I like your style, Crow. Let’s go.”

  The top is down; the wind is blowing through our hair. The scenery is beautiful. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “No, it’s a surprise.”

  * * *

  Oh, wow! Tulsa knows how to surprise a girl. When I see the signs and we make our way to the parking lot, I’m in awe—of the stunning outdoor amphitheater and of him for pulling this surprise off.

  “We didn’t play Red Rocks, but it’s always been a dream of mine. What are we doing here?” I ask as he parks.

  Hopping out, he says, “Come on.”

  At the back of the Jeep, he pulls out two big bottles of Smart Water and two yoga mats. “You do yoga?” I don’t mean to sound so surprised, but . . . he does yoga?

  “No, but you do. Hurry, it’s starting in five minutes.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say, taking a bottle and a mat from him.

  “You will.”

  And I do. “This is incredible.” We stand at the top of the amphitheater and look down toward the stage. The entire place, every ledge, is full of colorful yoga mats and people stretching. “This is a yoga class?”

  “Yup. There’s a spot for us down there.”

  I spend the good part of the hour staring at Tulsa—upside down, between my legs, over my shoulder, facing him. Any chance a pose gives me a view of him, I take it. Tulsa Crow is doing yoga for me. He’s not mocking it. He is trying his best. Even when it’s not quite right, he does the moves and poses anyway. For me.

  As the sun rises, the like I feel for him is threatened by the love blooming inside.

  Sweaty and worn out, we make our way back to the Jeep. “You sure know how to charm a girl.”

  “Yeah? So it’s working?”

  “It’s working.”

  He doesn’t reply, but I see his smile. The heat of his hand warms me through my workout pants. I tie my pullover around my waist by the sleeves and climb into the Jeep. “What’s next? The hotel or breakfast?”

  “Breakfast. I’m taking you to a place that was recommended by the concierge.”

  “You really did plan this all out. I’m flattered.”

  He backs out of the parking spot and starts driving, but his right hand runs over the back of my neck before settling there. I like how natural it feels to spend time with him, how easy we are together.

  Sitting across from him at the Denver Biscuit Company, I peek at him over my menu. When he looks up at me, he says, “No one recognizes us in gym clothes.”

  “We should always wear them when we go out.” Chuckling, he stirs his coffee while I sip my juice. “Doing yoga at sunrise with the rocks as a backdrop—you took me one step closer to heaven.”

  He moves his hand across the table, and our fingertips press together. We sit quietly for a moment, our eyes on each other. “Spending time with you is heavenly.” Turning his wrist, he holds my hand between us, not moving when the server shows up to take our order and top off our glasses of water.

  “I love that we worked out so we can eat all the biscuits now.”

  “I can pound down some biscuits and gravy.” He eyes me and says, “You’re really good at yoga. Have you always done it?”

  “No. I started toward the end of my pageant days to help me stay flexible and to keep my muscles toned but lean. After . . . the breakup, I needed to direct my energy in a positive way. Yoga teaches great breathing exercises as well as every move having a purpose and focus. It became a place where the outside world disappeared, and I found peace. It still helps me stay strong—body and mind. What about you? You jog. You work out with weights. You’re very athletic. Did you play sports growing up?”

  “Anything I could. If my brothers did it, I did it. I played everything from football to basketball. How about you?”

  “Tennis and golf. I was on both teams, but I preferred surfing with the guys.” When he chuckles, I ask, “What’s so funny?”

  “Just shows how different our childhoods were. I wore hand-me-down cleats and used a basketball Rivers got for his birthday one year to practice. I don’t think I ever had anything of my own.”

  “You had love.”

  “I did.” Our food is served, but he takes a moment to think about what we’ve said. “I never knew any different, so I never knew I didn’t have the world at my feet. Between my mom making sure we were taken care of and Jet making sure we had the shit we needed to get our jobs done—sports and school—we never lacked anything.”

  “I admire how appreciative you are of the life you’ve led.”

  “We didn’t need money to be happy. What about you?”

  “I learned the hard way. Now, I appreciate charming men taking me to the edge of heaven to watch sunrises.”

  “We’re just getting started. I have all kinds of plans up my sleeve when it comes to you and me.”

  “I can’t wait to spend more time with you.”

  We finish our biscuit breakfast and need a nap after carbing out. My favorite part is that he takes the lon
g way back to the hotel. For the first time in forever, I feel wild and free. I feel like me, and I love it.

  When we arrive, he asks, “Do you want to sneak into my room and nap together? I’ll feed you room service when we wake up.”

  I rub his leg just because I want to feel him, touch him, spoon with him. “You’re spoiling me, Crow.”

  “It’s okay. It’s good to be spoiled every now and then.”

  * * *

  Our day flies away. After the wonderful morning we had, a nap, and room service, I couldn’t have asked for a better day off.

  After hiding away most of the day, we resurface to go to dinner with the group. The Resistance flew home right after the show last night, but Tommy stayed. Talking like we’ve known each other for years, the remaining eight of us sit in a private room of an Italian restaurant—loud and boisterous—having dinner.

  The other tours we’ve done were nothing like this one in scale or the level of exhaustion. When I give everything of myself on stage, some nights it feels as if I have nothing left. Today rejuvenated me, and I have the man down at the other end of the table to thank for that.

  When I see Tulsa laughing, telling stories with broad strokes of his hands, healthy and happy, my heartbeat quickens, and I bite my lip. He’s more than a pretty face; his heart is made of pure gold.

  It’s good to hear the stories that led all of us to this moment in time and the journey we’re taking together. It bonds us in such a unique and memorable way.

  I may not be sitting next to Tulsa like I want, but I have a damn great view of him. If eyes could talk, we’ve held full conversations without anyone else noticing. And when it’s time to leave, everyone else decides to go out, but we decide to stay in.

  No one the wiser, but us.

  Us.

  Without effort, we slip right into an us. Our days are spent circling each other backstage, onstage, offstage, at the hotel, dinners, and afterward. Most nights become ours, whether we’re in his room or mine. Making out with him has become my most favorite pastime.