Liar.
“That’s great. Very noble. You know how you do that? You write a fucking check.”
A camera crew passes by, setting up a few feet from where we stand. A crowd is starting to gather, so I need to make this quick. The last thing I want is to be on the five o’clock news hashing out family drama with the guy who just won the All-Star Race.
“Look, Blaze, I know you hate me.”
There is no love lost between my brother and me. Ever since I stopped shitting my pants, we’ve been competitive. He was jealous of me for being Dad’s favorite, and I resented him for being the first to find a life outside of Chase-Abbott Banking.
“I sure as fuck don’t like you.”
“So, you hate me?”
At the end of the day, he’s still my brother. Even if he is a world-class bag of dicks.
“No, Levi. I don’t hate you. But I can’t forgive you.”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen. She loved you. What we had was a mistake. The whole thing. It was nothing compared to what you had.”
We’re not doing this. I didn’t come here to talk about Rebecca. I’m here to tell him to stay away from Adrienne. All the voices in the background swirl around me, buzzing loud like a swarm of bees. My heart is beating too fast. My breath is coming too hard. I’m going to hurt him. If he doesn’t shut the hell up right fucking now, I’m going to hurt him.
I clench my fists at my sides then turn my back to him. We’re done here.
“I was going to throw the race. I was going to let you win,” he calls after me. His words slice me to the soul.
Okay, we’re doing this.
I spin around. “So, Rebecca died—my unborn child died—trying to stop a race that never should have happened to begin with? A race you didn’t even bother to take seriously? Un-fucking-believable.” I need to calm the fuck down. I’m on the verge of shouting, and we have an audience. “I’m not going to stand here and listen to this. But I mean it. If you’re sorry… If you give two shits about being my brother again, you’ll stay away from Adrienne.”
He squeezes his eyes shut. When he opens them again, he’s breathing so hard he’s shaking. “I can’t do that.”
I narrow my eyes. Silent. Waiting. Giving him one last chance to say the right thing, to do the right thing.
He doesn’t.
“Then I guess there’s nothing left to say.” Then I turn around and walk away.
Three years ago, Rebecca died, and part of me died with her. The brewery has kept me going. It’s given me something to distract myself from the truth. It gives me something to do other than sit on the couch night after night and realize that I am alone. Then by some twisted act of fate or divine intervention or karma—whatever you want to call it—that distraction was taken away from me. I had nothing left to do but lie in bed at night and drown in the memories. Until Adrienne held out her hand and saved me. She’s the only thing keeping my head above water. She showed me that you don’t overcome heartache by being busy. You overcome it by being happy.
All this time, I’ve been holding onto the past so tightly I was suffocating myself. Emotional suicide. I ruined three lives. I didn’t deserve one of my own. Then Adrienne came and showed me how to breathe.
She made me forget.
I don’t believe in bullshit, but everything I’ve ever told her was exactly that—bullshit. I said I was protecting her. The truth is I’ve been protecting myself.
That day on the boat was the first time I’ve talked about Rebecca since she died. I sat there, open and exposed. Adrienne looked up at me with those eyes, those big, pretty eyes that do unexplainable shit to my body, and she saw me. That’s when I realized I couldn’t welcome her into my heart with open arms as long as I was holding onto the past with both hands. So, I let Rebecca go.
I let her go in order to take Adrienne’s hand.
Now I’m standing outside her door with a shit ton of Chinese takeout, praying that she’ll have me. If she won’t, no one will. I’ll just be alone again because I don’t want this with anyone but her.
I knock twice then wait in anticipation.
She opens and I don’t move, don’t even breathe. I stand here and take her in. This woman is so fucking beautiful. She’s gorgeous in yoga pants or jeans, in tiny shorts or pajamas, but this… this is her. This isn’t Saturday-night-out Adrienne or after-work-proper Adrienne. This is relaxed-Tuesday Adrienne. Her face is covered in purple—what the fuck is that—purple something. Everything is purple but her eyes and lips. Those lips. Christ, what I want her to do with those lips. She’s wearing baggy plaid pajama bottoms and a tiny tank top. Unruly strands of hair fall out of a messy pile on her head. She’s perfect, absolutely fucking perfect.
She covers her face with both hands. “Oh my God.”
I smile. “Nope. Just me.”
Her hands fall just below her eyes but still cover the rest of her face. She studies me for a second. “Are you okay? Why are you here?”
Because I couldn’t last another minute without seeing you.
“What? A guy can’t surprise his—” I stop. His what? Fuck buddy? FWB? Girlfriend? I almost said girlfriend. “A guy can’t bring a girl takeout without getting the third degree?”
A girl. Not his girl. She’s not mine yet, not officially anyway. But she will be.
“You didn’t call first.” She lets her hands fall to her sides.
That’s it, babygirl. Let me see your face.
I quirk a brow. “You have other plans?”
“As a matter of fact…”
I push the door open with my free hand. “How are we supposed to have spontaneous Tuesday night sex if you won’t even let me in?”
“I wasn’t ready. I didn’t shave.”
I let out a loud growl. “Fucking savage. I love it.”
She laughs and shoves at my chest but lets me inside. Adrienne clears the coffee table to make room for the bajillion containers of Chinese takeout. Seriously. The guy at Panda Express was probably wondering if I had a tapeworm. We have Kung Pao Chicken, Beef and Broccoli, Sweetfire Chicken, Grilled Teriyaki Chicken, Pepper Steak, chow mein, fried rice, and egg rolls. Her eyes are wide as she watches me unload box after box and set them on the tabletop. The apartment fills with the scent of sautéed vegetables, teriyaki sauce, and MSG.
I sit next to her on the floor. We’re doing this picnic style. “I didn’t know what you liked.”
She grabs a set of chopsticks and digs some noodles out of a red cardboard container. “You could’ve just asked. But then you’d have to call so…”
That sass. God help me.
“Keep up the attitude, and you will not leave this room unfucked.”
“Isn’t that the plan?” she asks then shoves a bite into her mouth.
No. Well, yes. That used to be the only plan. Now it’s only part of the plan—a big part, growing by the minute, but still just a part.
Good God, even the way she chews is sexy. She takes some Pepper Steak from one of the black plastic bowls and piles it on her plate. Between the mud mask, the pajamas, the sass, and the fact that she’s not embarrassed to actually eat in front of me, I’m damn near ready to get down on one knee. Near. Not there yet. Unless I’m on one knee because she’s got her leg draped over my shoulder.