Prove Me Right (6 page)

“I can manage.”

“Of course, you can. You’re Meara, the chick who never lets anything bother her and is always smiling and making jokes. If I didn’t know you so well, I would have no clue you’re upset and beat the hell down. Just like the customers have no freaking idea. And that’s great. But just because you’re hiding how worn out you are doesn’t mean shit. Ask for help. Talk to your parents.”

Just to appease him, I nod. He doesn’t understand my real turmoil isn’t about the bar but about Liam. “Okay.”

“Good.” He gives me a kiss on the top of my head and continues to work the bar.

Around eight at night, my brother, Pierce, shows up. He’s my buddy. We’re only a couple of years apart and have always been close. He looks out for me and has my back no matter what. He and Nik do that chin lift thing when they see each other, and Pierce walks behind the bar to grab a juice. He slams the entire bottle then tosses it in the trash.

I laugh at him and turn around to serve another customer. He calls my name, and I swivel back, but this time I become dizzy and grab onto the bar.

“Whoa, whoa.” Pierce reaches out and steadies me. “Are you okay?”

Nik is watching me, too, and my eyes plead with him to keep his mouth shut. Nobody in the family knows how little sleep I get and how many hours I actually work. I don’t want them to worry, and I want to prove to my parents that I can do it. I haven’t eaten today because of worry over Liam; it has nothing to do with the pub. I’m managing the pub just fine. Nik slowly shakes his head and turns his back to me, clearly disappointed that I’m not taking his advice to ask for help.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I didn’t eat a lot.”

“What have you eaten today?” Pierce is a fitness fanatic. He’s Mr. Eat Clean and Exercise. He makes my low carb diet look like I’m swimming in flour.

“Umm …” What have I eaten today?

“Meara!” he snaps.

“Nothing,” I whisper.

“Nik, we’ll be right back.” Pierce grabs my arm and drags me up to my apartment, plopping me into a seat at my small kitchen table. He digs through my fridge for the ingredients, makes me a sandwich, and then he pours a glass of orange juice. “Eat,” he instructs as he sets the plate and glass in front of me.

“I’m not really hungry.” The smell of the turkey makes my mouth dry.

“Do you know what happens to your body when you don’t eat? Food is fuel, Meara, and you can’t function without it. Eat.”

Pierce is the good brother. The kind one. The one who doesn’t swear unless he’s really, really mad ... or on the rare occasion, drunk. My oldest brother, Declan, is the hard-ass. The cusser. Pierce is calm and controlled. And when he snaps or raises his voice, you know to look out. Declan, on the other hand, has a temper like no other, so when he yells, I just ignore him.

“Fine.” I rip off a piece of bread and chew it slowly. I have to take a drink of juice in order to swallow it. After a couple of more bites like that, my stomach rumbles, welcoming the nutrition. I take a bite of the sandwich, followed by another, until it’s all gone. “Happy?” I will never tell him that he was right, that I needed to eat, so I stick my tongue out at him instead, but he doesn’t see because he’s messing with his phone.

He looks up and smiles. “Yes. Thank you.”

I toss my plate in the sink. Pierce tucks his phone in the front pocket of his hoodie and walks with me back to the bar. “I’ve gotta take off. I have an extra self-defense class tonight. You good?”

“Yes,
Dad
. Go. Teach some women how to kick ass.”

“It’s actually a group of twelve-year-old Girl Scouts.”

I lean on the end of the bar and smile at my brother. “You’re such a good man, Pierce.”

“I try.” He shrugs and pulls me in for a quick hug then waves at Nik. “Watch her.” He points at me, and Nik acknowledges him with another chin lift.

I roll my eyes and get back to work until the last customer leaves, forcing my mind to focus on work the entire time. I will not think about Liam. I won’t. Not here.

Once the drawer is counted, Nik does his usual routine of walking me out. I sit on my bed and tears roll out of my eyes as I scroll through every social media outlet I can, looking for clues as to why my boyfriend hasn’t gotten ahold of me today. They’re supposed to be traveling all day and doing a radio gig tomorrow morning then a show at night. There’s no reason why he couldn’t have called me.

Unless he’s with someone else. “God, no.” I push myself off the bed and run to the shower, stripping my clothes as I go. As soon as the cold water hits my face, I jump back. Isn’t a cold shower supposed to clear your mind?
Damn, that’s not like the movies.
I switch it to warm and shiver until it’s the right temperature, then do a half-ass job of shaving and washing my body. I go to bed without drying my hair; it will dry on its own pretty fast, a perk of having short hair.

My fingers hover over his name in my contacts, and I try to call him again. His phone goes straight to voicemail, and I silently hang up.

He loves me. I know he does. When we’re together, I can feel it. His face shows it, his words tell me, and his body makes me believe it. Always touching me when we’re together. Kissing me, holding me. His eyes tell a story only I can read, and it ends with happily ever after.

Before my cousin, Caroline, (Charlotte’s older sister and her baby’s namesake), passed away when she was sixteen, the three of us had played in the treehouse in my backyard. We’d pretend to be princesses. We’d wait for the prince to save us and have royal tea parties. God, we used to come up with some elaborate stories.

Liam was always my prince and I was his princess. He was the one who rescued me. In my little fantasy world and in real life. But right now, I’m so afraid I’m about to lose him. Deep down, in the depth of my soul, I always worried this could happen, but the reality of it only hit me today. Long distance relationships are hard. Doing it for seven years is difficult. But having one with a man thousands of women want is torture.

I bury my face in the pillow on my bed, refusing to look up at him on my ceiling. I deny myself the pleasure I usually feel when I look at that photo.

My mind drifts in and out of sleep; tears dry up then pour out again. When the click of my lock sounds, I don’t look up; I only take in a shuddering breath. Only one person would enter my place without knocking.

Liam’s long body curls up next to me, and he presses his face into my neck, pulling me closer to him and wrapping his legs around me, practically molding me to his body. My breath hitches, and I try not to cry again. But it’s useless. His grip tightens on me and he rolls me over so I’m on my back.

His thighs press on the outside of my hips, and he pushes the few bangs I have off my face before cradling it and pressing a kiss to my forehead.

My watery eyes open while his stare back at me. “Hi, princess.”

I toss out my fear of losing him and the worry I felt when he didn’t call, push it far away, because right now, I just need him. I wrap my fingers around the back of his neck and pull him down until his lips meet mine. A frenzy takes over, and with zero finesse, I reach down and undo his jeans, pushing them off with my toes.

He pulls my sleep shorts off and I widen my legs so he can fit between them. I cross my ankles behind his back, needing to touch every part of him I can. His chest, clad in a shirt, presses against mine. The cotton of my tank top causes extra friction against my aching nipples. He thrusts into me, and my hips shoot off the bed but gain little momentum as he pushes me back down and begins fucking me, his harsh breaths tickling my ear.

It’s always like this with us the first time. We usually don’t get all of our clothes off, and a quick, dirty fuck is enough to hold us over until we can say hello properly. It’s what we both need, and neither of us is shy about taking it. If he didn’t do this, if he didn’t want me this bad, I’d be worried.

He takes charge and I have no choice but to lie here and feel. His length sliding in and out; briefly pausing at my opening, he slams back in, over and over and over.

“Love you so much,” he pants. “Missed you.”

I grunt in agreement as his pace picks up, faster, harder. My arms wrap around his back, and my nails bite into his skin even through the cotton.

“Lee.” I chase my orgasm right along with him, and he buries his head in my shoulder while we both let the release that’s been building for the past couple of months finally go. “Oh, God!”

“Fuck, Meara.”

He growls against my mouth and slows down, then eventually stops. I squeeze my legs around his waist tighter and hold him there. Close. Inseparable. Where nobody and nothing can take him away from me. It’s one of those moments I need right now. A reassurance he’s with me and not going anywhere. A moment of pleasure that makes the pain worth it.

He rolls us over, still inside me, so I’m on top. Our breaths even out, our heartbeats steady, and exhaustion wins out when I drift off to sleep.

Chapter 6

Liam

MEARA LIES ON TOP
of me. Asleep. Beautiful. Sad. It breaks my fucking heart seeing her like this and knowing that I’m the one to put the pain on her face. I can’t even describe it. It makes me feel like less than dirt. Like a rat bastard who drags the person he loves the most, the one who understands him and has always been there for him, through the mud. Then leaves her hanging to fend for herself.

My career choice is not fair to her. I’m basically stringing her along until I finish my ‘dream’ of being a professional musician. When I’m done, then we’ll start a family and get married. Until then, it’s long distance and a lot of fucking trust.

The thought to let her go has never crossed my mind because I’m too selfish to give her up. Although, I don’t think she’d let me go that easily, either. Growing up with someone has serious advantages. And part of being inseparable as kids and teenagers is that I
know
her. Just as well as she knows me. She loves me almost as much as I love her.

This morning I woke up and had to see her. I just had to. It's been months, and after our band meeting yesterday on the bus, I need the reassurance that my plan to quit the band is for the right reasons. Meara always makes everything better. I don’t need to drink when she’s around. The outside world fades away and just being in the same room as her suddenly has the world shifted in a whole new light.

So as soon as I got dressed this morning, I went to the airport. The guys are doing the radio interview without me. I don’t give a shit. I’m catching a flight in the afternoon to make the show tomorrow evening. Less than twenty-four hours with my girl. I hold her tighter at the thought of how little time I have with her.

When I was at the airport, I realized I didn’t grab my phone. It fell to the ground and landed under the bunks last night, and I was in such a rush this morning that I forgot to grab it. I know I should have called her last night. Or at least sent her a text this morning. Once my mind gets set on something, it’s all I see. And I wanted to see her, so I didn't call or text her like a fucking idiot. Then when the flight was delayed for a few hours, I was kicking myself in the ass because I knew she’d be worried.

One of the thousands of things I love about her is she’s not clingy. Meara doesn’t demand my attention. She gets it because I want to give it to her, whether she’s waiting patiently for me backstage or at home. If I can’t call her because I’m busy or if my schedule is so fucked up all I can manage is a text once a day, she never complains.

So when I heard her cries from outside her door, I knew. Meara is a tough chick; she hardly ever cries. And to hear that … it made me want to cry. I fucking knew for a hundred percent certain that I was doing the right thing by quitting the band in six months.

I glance at the alarm clock next to her bed and groan. It’s almost three in the morning and I’ve hardly slept at all in the past twenty-four hours. But any second with her is not one to be wasted asleep. I desperately need a shower, so I very carefully roll her to her side and cover her half-naked body before I head to the bathroom.

It’s so nice to take a shower in a stall where I have a little bit of room. My bodywash still sits on her shelf, so I grab the black bottle and squirt some on a washcloth. After rinsing the suds off, I can’t force my feet to move. The hot water cascades down my body, slightly loosening my tight muscles. Steam rushes out when the door opens, and Meara steps in.

Her face is distraught, and I pull her into my arms.

“What’s wrong?”

“I …” She hiccups and grabs me tighter. “I woke up and you were gone. I got scared you left without saying good-bye.”

“God, Meara. I’d never.” How could she think that?
Probably ‘cause you didn’t call her, you fuckin’ jackass.
“I’m so sorry I didn't call you yesterday. I was stuck at the airport without a phone.”

“That was the first time you’ve never not called me. I was scared. Jamie told me—”

“When did you talk to Jamie?”

“I called yesterday morning just to make sure you were okay. And—”

I pull her away from me to look in to her tear-filled eyes. “Why didn’t you call me?”

She moistens her lips with her tongue and my cock twitches. “I texted you the night before, and you didn’t reply. I didn’t want to bug you if you were busy. And your phone went straight to voicemail.”

“Fuck, Meara. You could never bug me. I’ve always told you to call me whenever the hell you want to.” I shake my head and try to calm down. “How many times?”

“What?”

“How many times have you called Jamie about me?”

Her eyes plead with me before she answers. “A few?”

“A few?” I repeat sarcastically.

“Yes.”

“When?”

I strip off her wet shirt then turn us around so her head is under the water and run my fingers through her hair.

“After that time in Florida. When you got into a fight and locked everyone out of the bus.”

“Ahh, yes.” All I was doing was minding my own business and some prick started shit with me at a bar. Legitimately, out of nowhere, I was brawling with some random asshole and was almost arrested. Of course, since I was doing what I normally do if I go out after the shows, which is sit by myself and drink—a lot—I don’t remember much. “I did text you, though, when I got back on the bus. I remember that.”