Sweet Chaos (Love & Chaos Book 2)

by Emery Rose

  “He’ll be here. He probably got caught in traffic.” Always making excuses, not willing to acknowledge the real reason he wasn’t here. After twenty-eight years of marriage, she still had to put up with his bullshit. It killed me that she cared so much when he cared so little. I wanted to spend time with my mom. I wanted to give her some of my strength to stand up to him. But she was unwilling or unable to change her situation and it made me angry and sad.

  “Why do you stay? He treats you like crap.”

  She pursed her lips. “You know nothing about marriage or my relationship with your father. Marriage is about compromise.”

  Compromise, my ass. More like roll over and die. “I know it’s killing you. I know that neither one of you is happy.” I know he’s cheating on you. Kick his ass to the curb. “What I don’t understand is why you stay together.”

  No sooner were the words out of my mouth when I heard the door from the garage open and the sound of his footsteps crossing the kitchen tiles. My cue to leave.

  “I need to go.” I jumped up from my seat and grabbed my bag, slinging it over my shoulder. There was nowhere I needed to be tonight, but I wanted to get out of here before I ran into my father. We were like oil and water and it never ended well.

  “Happy Birthday, Mom. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Her words were punctuated with a long-suffering sigh.

  I kissed the cheek she proffered and hightailed it out of the living room, catching my reflection in a gilt-framed mirror as I scurried away like a fugitive. If I didn’t cause drama, my father barely acknowledged my existence. Better to be the invisible daughter than draw attention to myself.

  As I crossed the Italian marble floor of the cavernous foyer, I heard him making a bullshit excuse for his tardiness.

  My hand reached for the brass knob of the heavy oak door when his voice halted me in my tracks.

  “Scarlett,” he boomed without raising his voice. Quite a talent.

  Without turning to look at him, I waved over my shoulder. “Hey Dad. Great seeing you. Gotta dash.”

  Freedom beckoned. I slipped out the door and followed the circular drive to my silver Audi, when he called my name again. Resigned to my fate, I turned to face the man himself. He wore a charcoal gray Brioni suit and the scent of another woman’s perfume. It was so pungent I nearly choked on the betrayal. The bastard.

  “I hope you haven’t been upsetting your mother. You know how delicate her health is.”

  He was the reason she popped Xanax like it was candy and drank chardonnay to drown her sorrows. “I just stopped by to keep her company on her birthday.” I didn’t mention that I found her in the midst of a panic attack, on the floor of her walk-in closet, unable to function. “It’s nice of you to show up. Was your mistress upset you deserted her for your wife?”

  I just couldn’t help myself, could I?

  His eyes narrowed to slits. “Watch what you say in my house, young lady.”

  “I was just leaving your house.” I climbed into the driver’s seat and reached for the door handle, tugging on it. But he wrapped his hand around the door frame, preventing me from closing it.

  “I expected more from you. You’re a disappointment, Scarlett.” He looked down his aquiline nose at me, his winter tan telling me that his recent ‘business trip’ had nothing to do with mergers and acquisitions.

  You’re a disappointment, Scarlett.

  Why? Because I wasn’t like him? Because I didn’t want to chase the almighty dollar? Because I didn’t aspire to live an empty life in a SoCal McMansion, trapped in a loveless marriage?

  “Life is too short not to do something I’m passionate about.”

  He laughed hollowly. “Feel free to pursue your passion, as you call it, but you won’t be doing it on my dime. If you insist on making poor life choices, you’ll be forced to deal with the consequences of your actions.”

  What a joke. I hadn’t been living on his dime since I graduated high school.

  “Give me your keys, Scarlett.”

  I blinked, not sure I heard him right. “My keys?”

  Of course. He wanted my car. It had been a high school graduation present. Therefore, it belonged to him, not me. I slid the Audi key fob off the ring and placed it in the open palm of his hand then tossed the keychain into my bag on the passenger seat. The final string tying me to my father had been cut.

  Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away, leaving me sitting in the driver’s seat of a car I couldn’t drive. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths.

  Inhale. Exhale.

  Why did I have to take everything a step too far?

  Perhaps I would have been a dutiful daughter, I would have tried harder to please him, if he had been a better father. A better human being. But I hated how he treated us, like we were his possessions and not people. All he truly cared about was money and power and he abused them both. Used them as a bartering chip to keep us in line.

  After staring vacantly at the stone fountain on the front lawn for a few minutes, I cleaned out the car, tossing hair ties, zinc oxide, tubes of cherry Chapstick, and a pack of gum into my bag. I found a hoodie in the backseat and tied it around my waist. My dad could keep the empty Starbucks cups and the sand in the carpets from my surfing.

  Slamming the door shut, I fished my cell phone out of my bag. The battery was at one percent. I mentally face-palmed myself as I called Nicola and chewed on my thumbnail, waiting for her to answer.

  “Scarlett? I’m about to get my ass kicked by the head chef,” she whisper-shouted over the noise of the restaurant kitchen. “I’ll call you back.”

  “Nic. Hang on. I need you to—”

  The line went dead, and I wasted precious seconds of my life staring at the dark screen, willing it to come back to life.

  Perfect. Just perfect. Adulting at its finest. I groaned as I set off on my trek across town. It could be worse, I reasoned.

  So what if I was living paycheck to paycheck and struggling to make ends meet? I was doing something I loved. Surrounded by cool people. Working on my designs that someday I’d be able to make a living at. Hopefully.

  I dug around in my bag and came out with a maroon knitted beanie. It was Ollie’s. Ollie could rock a beanie like nobody’s business. I missed him and the way we used to laugh until our stomachs hurt. Why did we have to ruin everything?

  I jammed the hat on my head and threaded my arms through the hoodie that was far too big for me, zipping it up to ward off the January chill. Tonight, the temperature had dipped down to fifty degrees. Too cold for my West Coast blood. The streets were dark and there were no sidewalks on this stretch of road that ran alongside the golf course, so I stayed close to the Bougainvillea. I’d listen to music, but my phone was dead, so I got lost in my own thoughts instead.

  Tires screeched, and I threw myself back, my hand over my racing heart. Branches snagged my hoodie as I fought to untangle myself from the Bougainvillea bushes.

  “The fuck are you doing?” he growled.

  I knew that voice. Honey and gravel.

  3

  Scarlett

  Cast in shadows, his face peered from the driver’s seat through the open passenger side window of his black G-Wagen.

  “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m walking. What are you doing?” His car was parked at an angle, blocking the road. But I very much doubted that he cared.

  “You were two seconds away from being roadkill. Were you even looking where you were going?”

  I planted my hands on my hips. “Well, thanks to your lightning-quick reflexes, I’m alive and in one piece.” I threw my hands up in the air. “I can’t help it you drive like a maniac.”

  I couldn’t see his face very well, but I was certain it wore a scowl. Mr. Dark and Broody was always scowling or glaring. No, that wasn’t true. I’d seen his smile. It was rare. Fleeting. But it was glorious. Back when I was just a stupid kid, I used to try to coax it out of him, like it was a p
rize to be won.

  Dylan leaned across the passenger seat and pushed the door open. “Get in the car.” He tossed his gym bag into the back seat to make room for me.

  “I’m okay to walk.” I watched as a car was forced to go around him.

  “You live miles from here.”

  “You don’t even know where I live.”

  He exhaled loudly, losing patience with this conversation. “Stop being a pain in the ass. Get in the car, Starlet.”

  He still called me Starlet, and it was that stupid nickname that had me climbing into the passenger seat and fastening the seatbelt. Or maybe it was the thought of walking after another draining session with my parents that wore me down.

  “Why were you walking?” he asked after he entered my address in his GPS and we were on our merry way.

  I almost planted my Doc Martens on the dash like I used to in his truck but thought better of it. Unlike the rusty old pickup truck he used to drive, this car was spotlessly clean, scented with leather and new car. “I needed the exercise.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “I returned it in exchange for my soul.”

  He side-eyed me but didn’t comment. Then he turned up the volume on his stereo, probably to save himself from having to engage in conversation. Fine by me. I had nothing to say. I’d rather listen to Post Malone anyway. But I snuck a few glances in my peripheral. The years had been good to Dylan. He was all lean muscle and man now. His cheekbones were more prominent, his firm, square jaw more chiseled and he still had those ridiculously long lashes girls would envy.

  I’d gotten over my schoolgirl crush on him years ago, but I could still appreciate his sheer male beauty. And his scent. God, he smelled good. Something warm and spicy and masculine. If pure sex could be bottled, it would be called Eau de Dylan St. Clair.

  He wore sweatpants and a black hoodie, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Heavily inked tattoos trailed down both arms. I used to see him surfing, so I knew that his back and torso were inked. He had stars tattooed above his waistband, and I always wondered how low they went. Were there stars shooting from his dick? It cracked me up every time. Tonight was no exception.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “You.” I laughed again.

  Dylan shook his head and pushed his tattooed fingers through his unruly raven hair. A lock fell over his forehead and I tucked my hands under my thighs to resist the urge to reach across the console and brush it away.

  “You never told me why your dad cut you off.”

  He said this as if we hung out all the time and spoke daily. We didn’t talk anymore. In fact, since I’d come back to Costa del Rey two months ago, we’d only seen each other a few times in passing.

  “You never asked.”

  “I’m asking now. What happened?”

  “Nothing too dramatic. It was my choice. His money comes with too many strings attached so I decided to do my own thing.” My tone was breezy as if that had been an easy decision.

  “And what exactly does that mean?”

  “My dad expected me to follow in Sienna’s footsteps. Go to one of the colleges he deemed acceptable. Study something useful like Finance or Marketing. Do my summer internships at his financial holdings company. I couldn’t imagine anything worse. So I bailed on college and went up to San Francisco with my friend, Nicola. I took some art classes and worked odd jobs. Then we went up to Seattle for a while. Our friends are in a band. I worked in a coffee shop and had a market stall. Now here I am, back in Costa del Rey sans trust fund.”

  “So that’s it? He cut you off because you didn’t go to college?”

  I cleared my throat. “Well, that and I donated my college fund to charity.”

  “Holy shit,” Dylan said with a laugh. “I’m surprised you didn’t give your old man a heart attack.”

  “Let’s just say he wasn’t too happy.”

  “Which charity?”

  “A homeless shelter for women and children.” My dad’s view on the homeless: They’re lazy. They’re drug addicts. They would rather beg for money than get a job.

  “What made you do that?”

  “I just… it’s stupid, I guess. But when I was a kid, I used to collect all those brochures that come in the mail, asking for donations, you know?” He nodded. “The pictures of those kids used to make me cry and I was always begging my dad to donate money because we had so much, and these kids had nothing. But he never would. He told me it was all a hoax to get money out of bleeding hearts like me and I needed to toughen up. He said it was survival of the fittest and if you wanted to stay at the top of the food chain, you couldn’t let your heart rule your head.”

  Dylan glanced at me, and I thought he would comment on that, but he focused on the road again and said nothing.

  “So that’s the sorry tale of how Scarlett Woods became a poor little rich girl. It was liberating though. It freed me from his expectations. He can’t hold the money over my head anymore. For better or worse, I can make my own choices in life. But in my father’s eyes, I’m a failure and a disappointment.”

  “Fuck him. You’re living your own life. Calling the shots. He doesn’t get to play puppeteer pulling all the strings.” I heard something that sounded like respect in his voice.

  “You hungry?” he asked a few seconds later as we were cruising down El Camino Avenue, past the designer outlet mall, the hills and towering palm trees behind it.

  “What?” I asked, not sure I’d heard him right.

  “I’m hungry.” Without waiting for my reply, he whipped the car around and did an illegal U-turn. I checked my side mirror, expecting to see a cop car with flashing red and blue lights chasing after us. Five minutes later, he got off the next exit and a few minutes after that, he pulled into the In-N-Out and got in line for the drive-thru.

  “I love In-N-Out burgers.”

  “I know.”

  I wondered if that’s why he brought me here. But then I dismissed the notion.

  “Wouldn’t it be easier and quicker to go inside?” I asked, noticing that the line inside was shorter even though I didn’t really want to leave the comfort and intimacy of his car.

  “Then I’d have to deal with all those people. This way I only have to deal with you and the person who takes my order.”

  “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought. Guess it’s not easy being a misanthrope.”

  “Takes work,” he deadpanned.

  I couldn’t help but laugh as I settled back in my heated leather seat and focused on the red brake lights ahead of me. The line moved at sloth speed and I was practically salivating, thinking about the food Dylan had just ordered.

  We ate in the back of his G-Wagen, sitting on the tailgate with a view of the hills and the canyon, dotted with lights from the houses. We were sitting close enough that I could feel the heat of his body and inhale his heady scent as I stuffed my face with a cheeseburger and fries that he’d refused to accept money for.

  “Donate it to charity, Mother Teresa.”

  Dylan checked that I was done eating before he lit a cigarette. “You go to the gym and you obviously work hard for that body…” That was a fact, no use pretending I hadn’t noticed. You didn’t get a body like Dylan’s by sitting around on your ass. “But you still smoke?”

  “It’s all about balance.”

  I laughed.

  He took a drag of his cigarette, his eyes narrowed, the little lines around his eyes crinkling. He could even make smoking look sexy. But then, Dylan could make anything look sexy. Feeling bold, I plucked the cigarette out of his mouth and claimed it as my own.

  He scowled. “You’re not a smoker.”

  I took a drag and tipped back my head, blowing the smoke into the cold night air. “I know. But I know how to do it now without coughing up a lung.”

  “That’s a shame,” he said, extracting a cigarette for himself. Cupping his tattooed hand over the tip, he flicked his Zippo and took a drag. The cherry glow burn
ed brighter as he inhaled and we sat side by side smoking our cigarettes.

  The undercurrent of electricity I’d always felt was still there. I knew it was just a chemical reaction, a trick my body played on me whenever he was near, but I wished my brain would send a signal to make it stop.

  “You don’t talk as much as you used to,” he observed after moments of silence ticked by.

  “I thought you’d appreciate the peace and quiet.”

  “I never minded it when you talked.”

  I laughed. “Could have fooled me. You told me you didn’t have time for my teen drama and shit.”

  He took another drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out of the side of his mouth and huffed out a laugh before he spoke. “You remember that.”

  “Why do you think I stopped texting and calling? You injured my pride.” It had been more than my pride. Those words had hurt my foolish teenage heart far more than they should have. But he didn’t need to know that I’d cried over him.

  I opened the plastic lid of my shake and tossed the cigarette into the cup, the dregs of the milkshake dousing the fire and making it sizzle. I replaced the lid and tossed the cup in one of the takeout bags.

  He gave me a sidelong glance. “Funny. I used to have a hoodie just like that.” He smirked.

  I stifled a groan. What were the chances I’d be wearing his UC San Diego hoodie tonight? The same hoodie he’d given me the night I snuck in to watch his underground fight. I took it off and handed it to him.

  He waved it off. “Keep it. You ruined your sweater for me.”

  “You were bleeding. What else was I supposed to do?”

  “Not ruin your sweater.”

  “You got in that fight because of me.”

  “I wanted to kill those assholes for messing with you.”

  He’d gotten into a fight over me, after beating his opponent in the underground fight. I remembered thinking that nobody had ever fought for me before. That was the night I’d fallen in love with Dylan, two months shy of my sixteenth birthday. It was also the night I realized that he would never be mine and I needed to forget him.