No, that can’t be right. He’s hated me long before then. Since we were kids, since I was in diapers. He’d walk by me and push me down. Take my toys away or break them if he could. It wasn’t long before it turned physical: pinching, scratching, twisting, hitting.
The older he got, the worse it became.
Until I was big enough to hit him back.
Until I was big enough to knock him out.
“God, you really are dense, aren’t you?”
Yep, when he couldn’t beat me up physically any longer, the mental abuse started. I was dumb, stupid, retarded. Any name he could think of, he’d call me that, whisper it behind my back to my friends, to any girl I liked.
His same old repertoire is tiring and gets on my last nerves. He’s why I don’t come home. Why I rarely did. My parents were blind to his abuse. Avoidance was easier than breaking their hearts by showing them how spiteful he really was.
“Why don’t you spell it out for me, Drake? Help a brother out?” Calmer, I lift Reese off her feet and lay her on the couch, sitting next to her, smoothing out her hair and drying her tears. Remarkably, she’s asleep in seconds.
“That’s just it…” He points a shaking hand in my direction. “You’re not my brother.”
“You’re drunk,” I dismiss him, pissing him off more.
He advances, and I stand, a wall between him and Reese.
“I may be drunk, but I’m still Mom and Dad’s kid.” He points, poking me in the chest. “You, you big bastard, are not.”
What. The. Fuck?
“Drake!” my father bellows from the doorway.
We both swing in his direction. Drake stumbles, righting himself once again. I wish he’d just pass out and shut up already.
Steam rises from my father’s head as he directs his angry glare at his oldest son. “Drake, go to your room.”
“Dad! I’m not a kid.” His whine negates his words.
“You’re acting like a selfish, spoiled rotten brat.” Dad rubs a hand over his brow. “And you’re drunk.”
Before my asshole brother can comply, I lock on to his arm, swinging him around, and lay him out with a single blow to his cheek. Not as hard as I want, but hard enough to make my point.
He spits some blood. “You mad I called you bastard, bastard?”
“This is about her.” I lean in. “If you ever lay a hand on my girl again. I will end you. If you even look at her wrong, speak an ill word to her or about her, I will rip off your dick and feed it to you.” I push him hard, relishing the fear on his face as he slams into the wall. “You hear me, brother?” I consider spitting on him for good measure, but Mom would be disappointed.
A chin nod is all I get before he crumbles to the floor and passes out, finally giving me some peace.
Hitching Reese in my arms, I make for the door.
Dad’s sorrowful voice stops me. “Put her to bed, Son. Then meet me in my study. We need to talk.”
“I’m not leaving her. If you want to talk, come with me.”
Without question, he follows.
I’M JOSTLED FROM UNCONSCIOUSNESS. MY HEAD pounds. I grip at the firm body holding me, taking in his familiar scent. No one smells safe and good like my Shadow, clean with a masculine edge, and yummy-smelling conditioner making me want to delve into his hair and never come out.
Warm lips skim my cheek. “Shh, I got you.”
Luxuriating in his hold, I give myself a few more peaceful moments before I have to open my eyes and act like the adult I claim to be.
His brother touched me, and I freaked out in his family home, during his mother’s funeral reception.
I’m such a catch. It’s no wonder I’ve never had a boyfriend. My damage flag was flying high.
I squint into the brightness, one eye, then the other.
Clouds.
Clouds?! I jolt forward, blinking till I can focus on the oval window before me. We’re on a fucking plane. “Ugh, Rowdy? How the hell did you get me on a plane?”
Sequestered on his lap, in his arms, he tips my chin, presses a kiss to my needy mouth and smiles with sad eyes. “You were lights out, Kitten.” The gravel in his voice makes me want to crawl inside him, find every dark, abandoned corner and kiss it better.
“Why are we on a plane?” Instead of spending time with your family. Oh! I bury my head in his chest. “You left because of me, didn’t you? Because of Drake—”
“No.” He tenderly eases me out of my hiding place, wanting my eyes. “No.” He tips a brow. “Though… I would have left for that reason. He had no right to touch you. I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“I promised no one would ever hurt you again. I promised to keep you at my side.”
Damn, this man. He knows how to edge inside and stay. But… “I’m not your problem, Cam.”
I edge off his lap. Straightening my t-shirt, I notice two things instantly:
ONE: I’m in yoga pants and a t-shirt. The last I looked, I was wearing my dress from the funeral. “Um…” I motion to my body. “How?”
TWO: We’re on a private plane. Tan leather seats, two to a side, wide aisle, a couch, flat screen TV, wet bar, and a lady dressed like a flight attendant finger waves at me from the back of the plane. I reticently smile and wave back. Locking on Rowdy, I motion around me. “What the ever-loving fuck happened?”
Panic rises along with whatever is left in my stomach. I swallow hard to keep both down.
He captures my hand and pulls me between his parted legs. “Breathe, Kitten.” He squeezes my hips.
Near tears, I fall into the seat across from his—facing him—and close my eyes. I passed out—not merely sleeping. “You undressed me.” I’m not upset that he did. I’m upset that it could have been anyone undressing me.
What if it hadn’t been him? It could have been Drake or… Nope. Not going there.
“I assume you packed our bags, carried me out of the house, into a car, and into this plane.” I stutter air into my aching lungs. “All while I was completely knocked out and oblivious.”
In seconds he’s leaning over me, hands on the armrest, eyes burning into mine. “I’d never hurt you. Never, Reese.”
I bite my lip, shaking my head. “It’s not about that.”
He sighs and sits next to me, holding my hands in his so-much-larger ones. “Then what’s it about?”
I fight back tears with an ugly grimace, I’ve no doubt. “My brain wakes up and sees different clothes and freaks, thinking… what if it wasn’t you? It could have been—”
“No. Fuck, no. It couldn’t and wouldn’t have been anyone other than me. I should have realized why that would freak you out, waking up in different clothes. I’m sorry.” He picks me up like my 5’8” frame weighs nothing, stalks a few paces and plants us on the couch, then asks the attendant for a few waters and food.
“Whose plane is this?”
“My family’s.”
Right. TV show. I nearly forgot. “And why are we flying home—that’s where we’re going, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Why are we flying home instead of being with your family?” Please don’t say it’s because of me and my crazy.