Damaged: The Dillon Sisters

by Layla Frost

  One could end a life.

  The other was a symbol of the beginning of it.

  “Say something,” she tried to order, but there was no venom in her wobbly voice.

  “I wanted to save you.” My own voice sounded off. I cleared my throat. “To see you happy. I wanted to give you a reason to live.”

  “You did.”

  “But I never realized how much I needed saving, too. And just when I think our life can’t get any more perfect, you prove me wrong.” I held up the pregnancy test. “You give me something else.”

  Happy tears rimmed her pretty eyes as she face planted into my hold. “It’s why I’m your favorite.”

  “Forever.” Fisting her hair, I tipped her head back. “Thank you for trusting your heart to a stalker tech nerd. I’ll live the rest of my life making sure you never regret it.”

  “I won’t.” She swiped at her tears. “Thank you for making my cheeks hurt.”

  Assuming she meant right then, I was about to release the tight hold I had on her hair.

  Her hands shot up to grip my wrists and keep them in place. “From smiling so much. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how easy it is now.”

  I dropped my forehead to my wife’s.

  My pregnant wife.

  “I need to call Aria,” she said.

  “Later.” I moved my head lower, trailing my lips along her neck.

  “No, I want to tell her before they leave for dinner.”

  “Later,” I repeated.

  “Now.” Although she didn’t sound as sure.

  “I need to show you how else I can make you smile.” I pushed in close so she could feel my hard cock. “Take off your pants and climb onto the counter.”

  “You know how I feel about sexual manipulation.” Her words would’ve held more weight if she weren’t stripping down as she spoke them.

  “You love it.” I lifted her onto the counter before positioning myself between her spread legs.

  “I really do.”

  Then, like the first time she’d sat in that spot, she grinned at me.

  And it was just as blindingly beautiful.

  Briar

  One and a half years later

  SITTING ON THE kitchen counter, I flipped through the notebook Dr. Linda had given me a couple years before. Every day, I was supposed to write something good. One reason I smiled.

  One thing I had to live for.

  At first, it’d been hard to find happiness. I’d had to settle for listing the least bad parts of my life.

  But then it got better. Easier. I didn’t settle nor did I have to search for joy.

  Thanks to Alexander, my life was joy in abundance.

  It wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t perfect. I still saw Dr. Linda. I still took meds. I still had an anxiety elephant that liked to sit on my chest. I still had intrusive thoughts that twisted inside me like thorny vines. I still had the occasional bad day that required a depression nap.

  Alexander and his magic dick hadn’t cured me. I wasn’t normal—whatever the hell that was. And I’d never be picture-perfect.

  But I was able to love and be loved. Worthy of it. Unconditionally. Reassuringly.

  Obsessively.

  Soft snores and squeaks grew louder before Alexander entered the kitchen. Once he was within reach, I swiped his precious cargo.

  Baby Rose.

  All blond hair, honey eyes, and chubby cheeks.

  She was perfection.

  I kissed her soft skin and inhaled her baby scent, marveling for the billionth time that day that we’d created something so incredible.

  I’d thought I’d fallen for Alexander quickly, but it was nothing compared to Rose. I’d loved her from the second those two pink lines had appeared. I continued to love her more and more with each passing day.

  And she’d always know it, too. There’d be no cruelty. No cold indifference. Only a lot of love and acceptance and smiles so wide, they hurt our cheeks.

  Alexander positioned himself between my thighs—his favorite place to be. “They’re almost here.”

  I glanced around. “Did you pick up—”

  “The Fudge Stripe cookies and marshmallows, yes.”

  “What about—”

  “Salsa and chips, too.”

  “How about…”

  “What’d I forget?” he asked when I didn’t finish my sentence.

  “Nothing, I just like keeping you on your toes.”

  Careful of the baby, he pushed in closer, his voice low and rough. “And I like keeping you on your knees.”

  “Maybe if we’re quiet, we can sneak upstairs and pretend we’re not home.”

  As if on cue, someone knocked at the door and Mister, genius guard dog he was, began barking.

  “Think that ship has sailed, flower.” He took Rose so I could hop down.

  Walking to the front of the house, I opened the door to kisses, hugs, and chaos. There was also a lot more barking and snarfling as Mister and Muppet greeted each other before running all over the house and out the backdoor—much to the chagrin of the ornery cats and spoiled chickens.

  Alexander barely had Rose back before Aria stole her away. “Give me my niece. I bought a little black dress for her, and I’m dying to see her in it.” Her nose wrinkled. “I’ll even change this diaper while I’m at it. You’re welcome.”

  I wasn’t sure if it was possible to have baby fever while already pregnant, but if it was, Aria had it.

  Everyone settled around the bonfire, talking and laughing and eating our weight in Fudge Stripe s’mores. After a bit, I stood.

  “What do you need?” Alexander asked, always ready to give me the world.

  I shook my water glass. “Refill.”

  “I’ll grab it.”

  Waving him away before he could stand, I added, “Bathroom, too.”

  His lips tipped up.

  His smile was good.

  His grin was better.

  But that slight curve of his mouth, like it was a secret just for me?

  That was the best.

  After I took care of what I needed, I didn’t head outside. Not right away. Instead, I grabbed my notebook and a pen out of a drawer. I flipped through it again, skimming random entries.

  Finding a blank page toward the back, I quickly jotted down my daily entry.

  For being flawed and fucked up and damaged.

  And that’s okay.

  I closed the book and grabbed my stuff, carrying it all outside. When I was next to the fire, I inhaled deep, holding my breath until my lungs burned. As I exhaled, I tossed the book in.

  “What was that?” Aria asked.

  “Just something I don’t need anymore.”

  Alexander grabbed my hand and hauled me as close as I could get with company around and a baby on his chest. “I love you.”

  He’d never asked what the notebook was, I’d never told him, and I was positive he’d never read it. But I figured he knew anyway.

  He always knew everything when it came to me.

  “I love you, too.”

  I looked to the side to see my sister laughing with her family. I looked to my other side to see my husband with our daughter asleep on his chest.

  Everywhere I looked.

  Joy in abundance.

  Which was why I was excited to show my sister the black and white picture that looked like an alien.

  My family was growing.

  Our family.

  Our perfectly imperfect family that would know love like it was ingrained in our DNA.

  It was the new Dillon sister way.

  The End

  Keep reading for a teaser chapters of Deathly by Brynne Asher

  Chapter 1

  The Beholder

  Aria

  BRAVERY IS IN the eye of the beholder.

  I know the idiom is beauty, but beauty won’t get you anywhere in life. I don’t care how you spin it, how poetic you drone on about it, or how deeply you reach inside your soul to
find it.

  I’m sick of beauty and the weight our society puts on it.

  I’ll take bravery over beauty any day.

  Some might think bravery is the important piece of that puzzle.

  They would be wrong.

  Bravery is only the act. The beholder … that’s the key.

  They shoulder the power, the fight, and, when they come out on the other side of the battle, the consequences.

  In any plain-Jane, sappy fairy tale, courage, and heroism are romanticized, polished, and dusted in glitter to shine through the darkness. They scream, “Look at me! I’m perfect. Normal. Winning at life!”

  But for those of us who are not normal—let alone perfect—who are struggling to catch our breaths, bravery looks very different.

  Bold, daring, and, yes, even audacious. This is the type of bravery required to walk in my designer-dupe heels and off-the-rack cocktail dress, since the real deals aren’t in my budget.

  Yet.

  I’m working on it.

  Most wouldn’t think bravery would be required for a night out with your only friend, who isn’t really that close of a friend. But for me, it is.

  Psychoanalyzing every detail of every moment until I’m bleeding from my nails is a curse. It’s how I’m wired and impossible to turn off. But when I manage to, things don’t turn out well.

  At all.

  “Hot and cute have collided, creating a burst of beauty. I’m telling you, my heart and lady bits can hardly take it. I thought for sure I was here just for the eye candy, but I might have to dip into my 401k to make a bid.”

  I look over at Kate, who has become one of my only friends in the Pacific Northwest aside from my sister. “No way. We’re here to check off a major task on my list to become a well-rounded human. Don’t ruin it for me. We’re here to be social—but just you and me, not with anyone else. We need to sit back and appreciate everything going on around us. My plan is airtight if we stick to it.”

  She hikes her perfectly manicured brow. “Don’t lie, Doctor Shrinko. You’re drooling over these beautiful specimens that God sculpted just for us—I’ve had my eye on you and you’ve had your eye on a certain tall, tan, broody man. Either that or the chocolate something-or-other with curly hair he’s got on a leash.”

  Dammit. I’m not usually transparent. I excel at drowning every emotion that claws its way to the surface. My father made sure I hid my feelings. “Emotions showcase your weaknesses,” he said.

  My insides tense just thinking about it.

  I turn back to Kate. “Of course, I’m looking. I’m like every other woman in the room. There are plenty of men and muscles here to appreciate, Kate. We’re here for the experience, but that’s it.”

  I’ve lost her attention. She takes a sip of her green apple martini, zeroing in on a man across the room who’s being attacked by a Dachshund trying to lick his face off.

  From the looks of it, I bet Kate wouldn’t mind tasting him too. Lust is dripping off her like the perpetual Washington rain.

  I grab her forearm to stop any crazy ideas running through her head. If I’m cautious by nature, she’s the exact opposite. “We made a pact. Tonight is about getting out and doing something new, but only observing from afar.”

  When she levels her gaze on me, I know I’ve lost all control because she starts talking to me like I speak to my patients. “That doesn’t mean we can’t introduce ourselves. Aria, it’s time to cross something else off your list besides going to an event only to hide in the shadows. You can do this. It’s your day. I feel it!”

  My face turns to stone. “Don’t you dare—”

  “It’s going to be okay.” Her words bleed with sarcasm as she twists out of my grip. “Drink your wine, hang back, enjoy the scenery if you insist on living your boring, horrid life. But you could also talk yourself out of your hole and speak to someone who isn’t a colleague or a wacko. Like a hot guy with a dog.”

  “Don’t talk about my patients like that.”

  She waves me off. “I’m on my second martini and I’m not letting our scheduled Uber or this buzz go to waste. I’m going to fuss over stray dogs and drool over firefighters.”

  “You’re the worst friend ever,” I hiss under my breath, but it’s pointless. Her long, blond waves swish to the rhythm of her hips. And that swish is strong as she moves across the ballroom, disappearing into a sea of shirtless firefighters wrangling homeless canines, all in the name of philanthropic cuteness.

  I pull in a big breath and take a bigger sip of my merlot. Then I take a step closer to the wall and into the shadows. As I survey the room, it’s not hard to forget why I’m here or why tonight was a biggie in all the things I need to cross off my list.

  A slew of firefighters roam, each with their own homeless pup.

  Dogs and Dates.

  The annual fundraiser for the Redmond Rescue, a no-kill animal shelter. I doubt there’s anything that melts panties quicker than bare-chested heroes and puppies. Along with their annual calendar, these half-naked men and their canines will be auctioned off after the cocktail hour designed to loosen the pockets of single women. The highest bidders will be the proud owners of a puppy and a date.

  Kate is right. I do have a list. It’s long and carefully curated. It’s made of things I was never allowed to do because they were beneath me. Or, rather, beneath our family name.

  Rescuing an animal was always a big, fat no. Owning anything less than a pure-breed from a distinguished bloodline would definitely be beneath my family, if we would’ve been allowed to have a pet. I won’t even go into paying for a date—especially with a man who fights fires for a living. My father would have a fit and my mother would slur on about how impossible it is to live on a salary less than the top one percent of pretentious Americans.

  Tonight is definitely at the top of my list, even if I’m only here to observe and experience it from afar.

  Now that I have a moment to myself, I look for that curly-haired chocolate doodle who was rescued from a puppy mill. They’re nowhere to be seen.

  The firefighter and the popular hybrid pup are likely being eaten alive by women with healthy bank accounts who aren’t working to pay off student loans that rival a jumbo loan.

  My wine sloshes when something hits my bare-skinned legs before a deep voice I’ve never heard before rumbles beside me, “Been waiting for you.”

  I’m forced to catch my breath as I blot the wine off my chest. His eyes—as dark and oppressive as the black nights I’ve become familiar with since I moved to this part of the country—might as well claw through my skin.

  They’re that intense.

  I feel that transparent.

  I look away and push the jumping dog down. “Waiting for me?”

  “Woof!”

  I keep my attention on the puppy who looks like it belongs on Instagram more than in its homeless reality. Because it’s easier to focus on the fur ball than the man, I run my fingers through its thick, floppy hair. “Hey, you.”

  The man’s bulky fire pants ride low on his hips, only hanging on by the suspenders strapped over his wide, bare shoulders. The only other thing he’s wearing north of his waist, is a simple gold cross hanging around his neck. He gives the leash a tug and the puppy wiggles at my feet trying to get to me. “Been waiting for you. It was easy to see from across the room you liked what you saw.”

  I look from the dog to the man who’s wearing a five o’clock shadow from yesterday. His hair is long on top and tight on the sides and back—all but a few strands are trained to sit obediently in place. I’m jealous of the rebellious hairs that kiss his olive skin and strong, thick brows. “Excuse me?”

  I work hard to focus on anything other than the faint scar that mars his right brow. I try so hard, my gawk falls to his pecs, and then farther to his rippled abs, but I force myself to stop there. This is awkward enough and not a part of my plan for the evening, so I focus on his square jaw that couldn’t be more tense at the moment.

&nbs
p; His irritated stare matches his tone. “The dog. You couldn’t take your eyes off it from across the room. Look, I got roped into this. I don’t want to be here, but I do want him to find a home. I had to drag my ass through all these women, so if you’re not serious about him, just say the word, and I’ll move on.”

  I squat as best I can in my cocktail dress that was designed solely for foreplay. It might be off the rack, but off the rack in black is easy to perfect, and this dress fits like a glove in all the right places.

  The man gives the pooch enough slack to attack me and I instantly understand my childhood friends’ obsession with pets. My mom never wanted dog hair marring her pristine house, so Briar and I never experienced the unconditional love of a canine, or anyone else for that matter. Briar rectified this childhood injustice and surrounds herself with animals by working for Redmond Rescue. Despite her frequent attempts to get me to adopt, I’ve resisted.

  “I’ve never had a dog.”

  “So you’re a chick who likes cats. Got it. I’ll move on.”

  He starts to pull the puppy away, but both the dog and I resist. “I’m not a cat chick. I’ve never had a pet and I work long hours.”

  The beast of a man stops and I set my wine next to me to properly give this pooch the attention it deserves when he asks, “Your parents hate you or something?”

  I pull in a breath but don’t look away from the sweet, furry face. “Or something. Is it a boy or girl?”

  “Boy.”

  As much as I don’t want to, I look up to keep the precious doodle from licking off my makeup. Crouched at the firefighter’s feet, my view does not suck as he lifts a bare shoulder. I try not to think about what other things might be like from this view. “Does he have a name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I press my lips to the dog’s head and stand straight on my heels. “Why would you volunteer your time if you’re unhappy about being here?”

  I’m too fascinated for my own good by his irritation and the way every movement and tick creates a ripple through the rest of his muscles, like a never-ending wave lapping at the shore. He pulls a big hand through his dark hair before spearing me with his intense scrutiny, gritting his words in a way I have a feeling he’d rather spit them at me. “Only so many single firefighters. I was guilted into it.”