Return of the Bad Boy (26 page)

She sighs. “I know. I just…I tried so hard to be independent, and I can’t seem to make it happen.” I hear the disappointment, the failure in her voice, and I want to sooth her.

“You are independent. It’s not your fault your ex is a psycho.” I add, “Besides, I won’t bust your balls if you buy food here. Hell, I’m just glad to have any food at all. I live on beer and pizza. Order duplicates of anything you want.”

That makes her chuckle. “Beer and pizza are two essential staples.”

“Stay with me.” I try not to make the words sound like an order, but I’m a little too nervous to let them sound like I’m begging her. Because I still have my pride.

The thought of sleeping beside her for a few nights is tempting as fuck though.

Aubrey’s quiet for a stretch, and I start to wonder if she fell asleep. Then she says, “Okay.”

M
y phone vibrates
in my pocket. I’m just finishing up my afternoon shift, so I ignore it for now. I’ll check it later when I’m in the car or whatever.

“Bye!” I tell my coworkers.

They wave at me from their spot at the table in the nurse’s station.

“Have a good day!” Mary Ann, one of the older STNAs, tells me.

I step into the glass-and-chrome front lobby and wait for Smith to come pick me up. When I got that note from Roger a little over a week ago, we came up with a plan of action. I insisted on still going to work, but I conceded to let Smith pick me up and take me home sometimes when it isn’t inconvenient for him.

Late that afternoon, we both went to the apartment together and got enough of my belongings to last for a little bit.

I have to admit, I think as I’m waiting for Smith, it’s been incredible getting to sleep beside him. We sometimes work different shifts, but on the nights when our schedules match up, it’s so…satisfying to slide into bed beside him. He often wakes up when I’m coming back from my morning shift and we have sex, then fall asleep.

A girl could get far too easily used to this. Being able to roll over and touch him in the middle of the night, curl against his back, watch him wake up and look at me with a sleepy smile…it’s addictive.

But I rushed things with Roger, and look where it got me. Hiding from my ex in this town while trying to see what his next move will be. Surely he’s going to pop up somewhere. I just have to be ready.

When Smith pulls up, I find the tightness in my chest release a bit. I’ve been walking around with a small knot of anxiety in me since all of this started. Just waiting for something to happen. Hoping it does to get it over with, yet also fearing it. I hate this limbo so much.

I jump into Smith’s car and give him the bravest smile I can muster. “Thanks for getting me.”

His eyes are sparkling in the afternoon light, and it glints off the light red in his beard. The anxiety I experienced is replaced by a much warmer feeling that moves down to my lower belly and makes me breathy.

“It’s no problem at all,” he says.

We weave our way through the roads and make it back to his place. Once inside, I plop down on the couch and sigh, toeing off my shoes and stretching out. My bones are tired. The soles of my feet are throbbing. My back is in pain. I worked an extra four hours this morning because another nurse had to leave early for her sick son, so I’m ready for a good nap.

Smith comes over and drops to his haunches in front of me. He strokes my hair, and my chest unfurls at the tender gesture. I’m filled with warmth that tingles down to my fingers and toes. Something I’ve noticed about him is that he likes to touch me a lot, even just casual brushes of our skin. It keeps me constantly aware of him.

Don’t get caught up in this,
I warn myself. It would be so, so easy to let myself start fantasizing about what we are, where we’re going. After all, Smith isn’t like Roger. He wants me to feel free, not restrained.

Well, not in the bad way, anyway.

Every day I spend with this man makes me sink deeper and deeper into this thing I’m feeling for him. I refuse to put a name to it right now. It’s too early for that…isn’t it?

Smith says, “Hey, I gotta go run some errands before I open the bar with my brothers. Will you be okay here?”

I yawn and smile. “I’m going to take a nap. I’ll be fine. Go, get your stuff done.” My eyes are growing heavy.

Smith leans over and presses a soft kiss right above my right brow, and my heart catches. “Come down tonight and have a beer when you’re up and around. I’ll save your regular seat for you.” He gives me that crooked smile I’ve grown to be fond of, to say the least, and then leaves, the door clicking softly behind him.

I lie there and let my mind wander as I think about what it’s been like staying here the past few days. Smith isn’t uptight about things at all. He has three full bottles of ketchup in the fridge, because he says he keeps forgetting and then buys another. Clearly not someone who’d get mad and shame me for a duplicate now and then.

And in the quiet of the morning or night, when we’re lying together, we talk. He tells me what his childhood with his dad was like—how his father was a hothead just like them, quick to bellow, but he always had a big smile and a big heart, and he made time for his boys. He even was careful to spend one-on-one time with each of them. Smith’s love of the man is evident in how he speaks of him.

He’s even talked about his mom, a couple of memories he has. Mostly of the way she smelled like flowers, and how she liked to sing as she washed dishes. He doesn’t know why she left, and I think the open-endedness is what hurts him most of all. No closure.

I told him about my parents, how they’re kind but distant, not very affectionate. I grew up an only child. Listening to stories Smith tells about the trouble he and his brothers got into as kids—setting the middle school Dumpster on fire, trying to skateboard down the smooth rail of the library’s steep steps, making a potato gun and accidentally searing off Asher’s eyebrows…

I find myself smiling and wiggle my aching toes. I want to know his brothers better, though I think maybe we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. They’ve only come by once since I’ve been here, and they spent all of five minutes in the apartment, barely giving me a hello. Does my presence bother them? Are they upset about Smith putting himself in danger to help me out with the Roger situation?

I yawn again and sink deeper into the couch cushions. I should make an effort to talk to his brothers. After all, I’m living here now. I need all the friends I can get. The tiny voice in the back of my head says that I also want to know them simply because they’re related to Smith.

I want to know more about him.

I find myself drifting to sleep. I’m not sure how long I’m conked out, but my phone vibrating in my pocket jerks me awake. I rub the sleep from my eyes and glance around the room. The late afternoon sun has dimmed the living room quite a bit.

Crud, someone texted me earlier too, and I forgot to check it. I dig into my pocket and procure the phone, then look at the messages.

They’re both from a number I don’t recognize.

Do you miss me? I haven’t seen you at your place. Where are you?

A
nd then the next
, sent only a moment ago.

What the fuck. I just saw you with a man. Is he the one you left me for, you fucking bitch? I knew it. You’re a lying whore.

My heart jumps to my throat. How in the hell has Roger found me? How does he know where I live
and
my new cell phone number? Only a few people have that information right now. I know Michaela would never have told on pain of death. Hell, she’s the one who encouraged me to get the hell out of the relationship.

A sinking feeling hits my gut as a suspicion blooms in my mind. They wouldn’t, would they?

My hands are shaking as I pull up my mom’s number and call her. It rings twice, then she picks up.

“I was wondering when I was going to hear from you again,” Mom says lightly. “You’ve been so busy working. Don’t they give you days off?”

I swallow and struggle to keep my emotions level. My mom responds poorly to me being emotional, a fact I learned a long time ago. “Mom, I need to ask you something.”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Have you talked to Roger since I left?”

Her end of the line goes silent. And now I have my answer. Betrayal hits me square in the chest. How could she? I told her our relationship was bad, though I didn’t give her the details so as not to upset her. And still, she talked to him.

Maybe I should have given her all the gory details though. Maybe then she’d finally get it and stop viewing him as someone who should be given another chance.

Mom clears her throat. “Well, Roger came by a week or so ago and he just seemed so contrite. I felt bad. He was even crying. What was I supposed to do, be cruel and tell him I couldn’t help him? He just wants to be with you—he loves you so much and he doesn’t understand what happened.” Her tone turns sharp. “And by the way, you didn’t tell me you just left him while he was at work. I didn’t teach you to run away from your responsibilities like that.”

I’m so mad right now I’m shaking. Is she really chastising me over protecting myself? It’s tempting to hang up, but I’m not letting it go like this. Not this time. I suck in a breath and then I tell my mom everything.

How the abuse started, what happened when I did try to break up with him, how I felt this was my only option, how scared I am right now and how he’s found me and is bothering me.

Mom is silent the whole time. When I finally stop speaking, I hear only her heavy breaths.

I feel my cheeks grow cold in streaks and realize I’m crying, even though I feel numb inside after telling all of that to her.

“It’s…” Mom pauses. Starts again. “It’s so hard to believe, Aubrey. We’ve never seen anything of the kind in him, not once.”

“That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?” I charge back. “To make sure no one else knows what’s really happening? You do believe me, don’t you?”

Mom’s sigh cuts me right to the bone. I know that sigh. It’s the one where she’s struggling with what to say. And in this situation, she’s struggling to believe me and is trying to find the right words to neutralize this situation. Because to believe me means she made a grievous error in judgment. And my parents hate to be wrong, no matter what it costs.

“You know what? I don’t care,” I finally tell her, my voice trembling with pent-up emotions. “Believe or don’t believe. I know what’s true and I don’t need to waste my breath trying to convince you of it. But thanks a lot.” I hang up before she can reply.

My phone buzzes again, but I don’t feel like talking to her or anyone else right now, so I shut it off. No, wait, I do feel like talking to someone. I want to find Smith.

When I came to him, scared and vulnerable, he believed me without a second thought. Didn’t ask me to even show him the note Roger left. No, he held me in his arms and let me cry and then he told me he was going to protect me.

My legs are little unsteady as I rise from the couch. I comb my fingers through my sleep-mussed hair then make my way down the stairs to the bar’s entrance. I see Jax, who is startled to find me standing in the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” I say, fighting with everything I have to sound even and not like I’m about to lose it. I can’t stop shaking. The stress of the text messages, of my mom, are weighing on me, and I just want to cry. “I need to speak to Smith if he’s available.”

Jax’s brow furrows as he eyes me. He steps closer. “You okay?”

My throat gets so tight I can’t even speak. I just look down at the ground and shake my head.

“Fuck. Did that asshole ex of yours do something?” Jax says, his voice changing now.

I hand him my phone and let him see the text messages.

“Oh, hell no.” Jax’s voice raises. “Fuck that. No. We’ll find Smith and take care of this. That guy is gonna regret ever coming here to find you.”

I look at Jax, who doesn’t know me, yet he too is standing by my side, and I burst into tears.

He looks startled. “Shit. Did I say the wrong thing?” He scrubs a hand over his hair. “I’m trying to help. Sorry.”

“No, I’m just…” I sniffle and blink. “I’m sorry. I’m stressed. This is difficult. Thank you for your help—I appreciate it. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“The only burden is this motherfucker who’s going to quickly realize you don’t screw with us,” he says vehemently.

And just like that, I’m enveloped into the lives of the Beckett boys. Jax waves Asher over as he walks by and pulls his brother aside, whispering to him. He shows him the texts.

Asher’s face pinches in anger and he looks over at me. “Don’t you fucking worry about a thing,” he says to me hotly. “This shit don’t slide, not at all. We’ll take care of it.”

“Take care of what?” Smith says, appearing behind the brothers. He takes one look at my face and storms over in front of me, gripping my arms. “What happened? Are you hurt?” He pulls back to eye me from head to toe. “Tell me.”

Jax hands Smith my cell phone. Smith looks at it, his face unreadable but for the jaw line ticking as if he’s grinding his teeth. Smith doesn’t say anything at first.

He gives me my phone back, then wraps me in his arms and strokes my hair. “Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry. I promise you we’ll make it all okay.”

Enveloped in his warmth, surrounded by his brothers, in this moment I believe Smith. I feel overwhelmed by their protectiveness, these wild boys who have such a bad reputation yet such deep hearts. How is it no one sees this in them? It’s clear as day to me that they care strongly.

After a few moments, I withdraw from Smith’s arms. “We should go to the police,” I say. “I didn’t want to before, but he texted me. They can trace that stuff, right? Find where it came from? I have evidence now of him trying to harass me.”

Smith stiffens. “Um. Yeah, I guess we can.”

“Is it not a good idea? I don’t know what else to do. You don’t think they’ll take me seriously?” Panic hits me. Where the hell can I turn if even the police can’t help me against Roger? How much can the Beckett brothers really do?

The other two brothers stand there, staring at Smith. An unspoken message passes between the three of them.

“What is it I don’t know? Are the cops corrupt or something?” I ask.

Smith gives a dark laugh. “Aren’t all cops?”

I blink. “Wow, that’s bitter.”

“You gotta forgive him,” Jax says smoothly. “We’ve had some shitty run-ins with the local fuzz. They don’t exactly…like us.”

“And since you’re associated with our family,” Asher continues, “they’ll probably give you shit for it.”

Smith gives them both a heated stare, then turns to me. “Aubrey, we can go to the cops if you want. It’s your choice.”

I stand there, emotions roiling in me. Part of me wants to go to the police and try, because I feel like that’s the responsible thing I should do as a citizen. And Smith will go with me even though he’s clearly uncomfortable with it. “Are they mad at you because of things you’ve done as kids?” I ask. It seems like this is something important to know, given the way they’re reacting.