Phoenix (The Colton Cousins Book 1)

by Rebecca Rennick

  “Do you think this is why she was so open and accepting of us? Of what we do? Because she’s been around it before?” A chill runs through me, thinking of Clover being involved with dealers and drug addicts. Living in a crack house, selling herself for a fix. How else could she accumulate so much? She was too good for all that. How did she get mixed up in drugs like these?

  “Maybe. I always felt like she belonged with the family, but not in that way.”

  “What do you mean, belonged with the family?” He’d never mentioned anything about this before.

  “I just had this feeling that she was supposed to come home with me. Like the universe brought us together so I could bring her here. She’s meant to be here. Maybe this is the reason. So, we can help her.”

  As bizarre as it sounds, I believe him. Clover is meant to be here. Whether it’s for us to help her with her problem or for her to help me feel again. One way or another, he’s right; she is supposed to be here with us, with me. He just doesn’t know how right he is.

  “Do you want me to talk to her about this?” Beau asks.

  “No, I need to be the one to talk to her. Since I was the one who caused this in the first place.”

  “I don’t think you’re the whole reason for the pills, Nix.”

  “I know that. But I feel responsible for what happened, and I need to apologize, anyway. Maybe then she’ll explain it to me.”

  Beau just stands there staring at me. Brow furrowed, trying to understand the Nix that stands in front of him. I’m trying to understand it myself, as well. Clover is changing so many things in me, and I can’t stop it. All I do know is that I need to let her. I’ve felt so many things since she came into my life, and I don’t want them to stop. No matter how freaked out they made me. If the reward at the end is getting to be with her, I will do anything she wants. Finally, Beau speaks again.

  “She really is having an effect on you, isn’t she?”

  “Maybe,” I mutter.

  “It’s good, Nix. I can tell. You need her, and she needs you. Even if she doesn’t know it. I told you I knew she was supposed to be with the family.”

  Sometimes, Beau and his feelings about people really weird me out. He is always so empathetic and talking about shit that I just don’t understand. I don’t know how he can feel so comfortable just saying what he feels. Honestly, though, I’m a little jealous of his ability to speak his mind and his heart. It’s also kind of why I love him.

  Beau is the only person I would ever let live with me. Well, except maybe Magnus or Raven, but Beau is different. He always has been. Not just because he’s gay, but because he’s always lived by his feelings. Following his gut instinct. That’s why he is always running off for months to random places for no reason. When he had left to go to Mississippi, I asked him why he was leaving. His answer was, “Because it’s where I’m supposed to be.” And that was it—no other reason. He felt like he needed to be there, and so he went. No questions, no concerns. That’s just how he is. Somehow, he is always in the right place at the right time — except with Robin. No one was in the right place that night. Now isn’t the time to think about Robin. Now I need to focus on the woman I can save, sleeping upstairs in my home. The woman who is slowly filling that hole in my heart that I thought was a permanent fixture.

  Chapter 22

  Clover

  I feel like shit. My eyes are crusty, and my mouth feels like I’ve been eating sand. My room is almost completely dark. Only a little light from the setting sun creeps in through the blinds. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to think. But I do think, and I remember. The pool—my subsequent freakout and breakdown, in front of Nix, just in case it wasn’t mortifying enough. Remembering how he held me as I cried, he didn’t seem upset with me or disgusted by the ridiculous sobbing that I couldn’t control. Once it started, there was no stopping it.

  Being thrown in that pool and almost drowning had done something to me. I don’t blame Nix. He didn’t know I couldn’t swim. He also couldn’t have foreseen what would happen. I didn’t even know it would happen. The panic and fear just hit me like a bag of bricks to the face. As soon as he pulled me out of the water. Flashbacks flooded my mind of my mom in the hospital, in pain and wanting death, asking for it. My heart shattered all over again. The pressure was too much to handle. The memories wouldn’t stop, and I needed them to stop. Living through it once was more than I ever needed to do. Living through it twice was too much.

  Something just took over my body. I don’t even remember pulling out the bag of pill bottles. There hadn’t been a craving for them in the past six months. I’ve been clean for eight, but the cravings hadn’t started to subside until a few months after quitting. The desire to calm my mind and slip into nothing was so overpowering. It wasn’t until the bottles were in my hands and I was on the floor that I realized what I was doing.

  If Nix hadn’t had come in and taken them from me, I don’t know that I would have been strong enough to stop. Now, all I want to do is bury myself in this bed and hide for the rest of my life. I don’t know if I can face him after that. He probably thinks I’m some pathetic addict now. And I am. I am pathetic. And only a true addict would rush to her hidden stash as a first response to a traumatic event. Granted, being thrown in a pool shouldn’t be traumatic, but it was. Hence the pathetic part.

  Not wanting to run into anyone, I stay in bed until all the light is gone from my room. No one should be home now, I hope. Because I’m starving and I need to eat something before I die and rot in this bed. And contrary to prior statements, I don’t actually want to die.

  When I get out of bed, I slip on a pair of leggings and a loose grey sweater. Pulling the sleeves down to cover my hands. It was my mother’s, and it comforts me. Forcing myself to move, I tip-toe through the house, just in case someone is home. But I don’t hear anything, and there are only a few lights on in the hall. I make it all the way down the stairs without spotting either of the boys. But when I pass by the entrance to the den, I spot Nix sitting at his drafting table. His back is to me, and he’s focused on whatever he’s writing or drawing at his desk. He doesn’t seem to have heard me.

  For a moment, I consider running back upstairs and hiding again. Then I reconsider. Thinking about how he comforted me and held me so tenderly before. He probably deserves an explanation, or at least a thank you, then a dick punch for throwing me in the pool in the first place. I suppose I did deserve it for bleaching his clothes, but he also deserved that, and he can’t disagree with that.

  It seems my choice is made for me when Nix spins in his chair to find me standing there fiddling with my sleeves.

  “Hi,” I whisper.

  “Hi.” Is all he says. His hair is a wild mess. It doesn’t look like he ever combed it after getting out of the pool. It’s kind of sexy, sweet even. It makes me want to run my fingers through it and smooth it out. The wild of his hair matches the stormy, concerned look in his golden hazel eyes. He’s concerned about me? He doesn’t despise me.

  You can do this, Clover. Just tell him you’re sorry and that it won’t happen again.

  Tentatively, I take a few steps into the room, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floors. Nix doesn’t move—just watches me as I approach. Stopping a few feet away from him.

  “I just wanted to—How are you?” We both speak at once. He grins and sighs.

  “You go first,” I tell him. It will be a lot easier for me if he were to talk first, anyway.

  “I just wanted to know how you were feeling?”

  He wants to know how I’m feeling. I don’t even know how I’m feeling.

  “Hungry, exhausted.” There’s a lot more to it than that, but those seem like the safest answer.

  “Understandable. What did you want to say?”

  I wanted to say so much and say nothing at all. To compose myself before digging the hole that will be my grave in the middle of this den—I twist the stray ends of my hair mindlessly.

  “I just wante
d to apologize for what happened before. I freaked out—overreacted—and I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry, Clover. It’s my fault for throwing you in. I shouldn’t have done that without knowing if you could swim.” He’s so sincere. I’ve never seen him like this before. No sarcasm or criticism. Just honest sincerity. I don’t really know how to act with this version of Nix. But I like it.

  Nix looks down at the pencil in his hand, breaking the eye contact he had made since I first entered the room.

  “I do need to ask you something, though, Clover.” His eyes wander everywhere before settling back on mine again. The depths I see there are something I never thought he possessed.

  “Why did you have so many painkillers?”

  The question looks like it actually pains him to ask. It pains me to hear it, and the answer isn’t going to be any less painful.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I have all the time you need.”

  Wow, this Nix is different. What happened in the few hours I was asleep? Moreover, should I actually tell him about the pills or lie? Looking below the surface of his pinched lips and slightly furrowed brow, I can see his fear. He’s afraid of what I’m going to tell him. He doesn’t deserve a lie. After what he did, he deserves the truth. Putting on my big girl panties, I suck in a breath then tell him the whole horrible truth about his ex-addict roommate.

  “It started when my mom was sick. The cancer was eating away at her, and in the end, she couldn’t handle it. She was in the hospital—in constant pain. The doctors tried to help her as much as possible, but there was nothing more they could do at that point. She wanted it to end. She wanted to die, just to be free of the pain.” Tears begin to form in my eyes as I remember how thin and frail she was in that hospital bed. Surprising me, Nix reaches out and grabs ahold of my hand, gently pulling me closer to him, squeezing it gently, encouraging me to continue. His hand is large and warm, with calluses on his palm. Working man’s hands.

  “It was also killing me to watch her deteriorate. One day, I took a few of her painkillers. She was on an IV in the hospital, but we still had the pills they had prescribed to her before. When I took them, all the pain faded away; I went numb, didn’t feel anything. It quieted my mind and my fears. It wasn’t until after mom passed that I started taking them daily. To combat the emptiness in my life that was left without her in it. I could just drift away and not feel anything. No pain, no fear, no loneliness.”

  Nix still says nothing. He isn’t even looking at me anymore. I can tell he is deep inside himself while he stares at our joined hands. The pad of his thumb rubbing over the backside of my knuckles. Weirdly enough, it’s calming me, making it a little easier to go on with my sad, pathetic story.

  “I ended up dating this loser who had connections to a dealer. I was living with him, and all I did was take pills and sleep.” I decided to leave out where I let my ex do whatever he wanted sexually to get me the pills. Omitting the truth of the levels I had sunk to, allowing others to take what they wanted from me, do what they wanted to me, to get what I craved. What I thought I needed. Reality is not pretty, and Nix may see the corrupt and immoral world, but he has not seen my revolting truth. A truth that if known, he would never look at me with the lust and desire he has. Instead, he would be disgusted with me and pity me. The two things that before did not matter to me, but now mean everything. I don’t want him to pity me. I want him to…

  “He was the one that I had to learn to stitch wounds because of,” I add before I continue.

  “I don’t really know specifically when I realized my life had turned into a dumpster fire. It could have been when I was so high, I couldn’t walk to the bathroom and had to pee in a bucket I found in the hall. Or it could have been when I woke up to find my boyfriend fucking some chick in the bed right next to me. Either way, I decided it wasn’t worth it anymore—I walked to the nearest hospital and checked myself into rehab. After thirty days, I found an NA group, a sponsor, and straightened my shit out.” I take in a deep breath. It feels good to get it off my chest. Ronnie, my sponsor, always says it is better to let it all out than keep it all bottled up inside. She’s right. I should call her tomorrow, tell her about my almost relapse. She’ll want to know.

  “That was eight months ago. I’ve been clean for eight months, and I almost threw it all away because I freaked out over being thrown in a pool.” A nervous and self-deprecating chuckle escapes my lips. Feeling mad at myself for how stupid I was.

  “I’m so sorry, Clover.” Nix’s words are mere whispers. Looking lost and confused as he continues to stare at my hand for a minute before turning his eyes upward to look at me. There’s real pain and sadness in them. I can’t stand seeing that look in his eyes for me. This is exactly what I don’t want. I hate pity. It only makes everyone feel more insufficient and incapable. Before he can say anything else to make me feel more dejected, I pull my hand out of his grasp.

  Stepping around him, I approach his desk and try unsuccessfully to change the subject.

  “So, what were you working on?”

  There, on the table, I see what he is working on. On the sketch paper surrounded by pencils, pens, and markers is a half-completed drawing. Part of it is still in pencil, while the rest is inked with shading and highlights. Staring back up at me from the paper is me. I’m not looking directly out. Instead, my eyes are looking down at something, and I look peaceful. Calm and happy, even.

  “When did you draw this?” I don’t take my eyes off it. Running my fingers around the edges of the paper.

  “That day, I gave you the sketchbook. I wasn’t drawing the broken angel. I was drawing you.” His voice is deep and close. Right behind me, in fact, I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. It sends goosebumps down my spine.

  “It’s beautiful.” I try to compose myself, but it’s not really working. From telling him my story to seeing this detailed drawing of myself on his paper, all the emotions are causing me to shiver.

  Warm, large hands caress up and down my arms when he speaks again. This time almost directly into my ear, and I almost melt at his touch.

  “You’re beautiful.” He whispers throatily. I can’t stop the tear that rolls down my cheek. I never expected Nix to be so tender and comforting. The weight that was tied around my heart for the past two years begins to lighten and lift. I can literally feel it leaving me with every second I stand here with his hands rubbing and squeezing my arms reassuringly.

  Gently, Nix forces me to turn to face him. He is so close to me I can smell his soap on him. The fresh scent is intoxicating, making my heart race a little faster at his closeness. One strong hand leaves my arm, and his fingers tip my chin up to look at him. When I do, he is right there pressing his lips into mine, and I just melt. The contact is surprising but warm and soft. His lips move over mine eagerly, but not demanding. The kiss is intense in its nature, but tender in its delivery.

  Then the kiss ends way too soon. I’m left dizzy and a little more than confused.

  “What was that for?” My words brush against his lips because he hasn’t pulled away from me. His hand is still tangled in my hair. When did it get there?

  “I wanted to make you feel better. Seemed like you needed it.” Without giving me time to respond, he leans in again, taking my mouth in his. His hand in my hair tilting my head to the side for better access. His large size requiring him to bend down to meet my lips. This time the kiss is heated, needy, and seeking something more. His free hand, not tangled in my hair, wraps around my waist, pulling me into him. My small, soft body crashes into his rock-hard one. I can’t stop the moan that slips through my lips. When it does, he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth. Holy shit, does Nix Colton taste like pure sin. Sweet and minty. I meet his tongue with my own, and he growls into my mouth. I’m affecting him as much as he is me.

  My hands have made their way up his chiseled chest to wrap around the nape of his neck, holding him in place. This kiss is too
good to let go of. I want all of him, and from the hardness pressing into my stomach, I can tell he wants me, too. By the time the kiss breaks, we’re both panting. That had to have been the most erotic kiss I have ever experienced. All I want is to do it again.

  When I look at Nix, his eyes are half-hooded, and the desire is written all over his face. Painfully slowly, he pulls away from me. My body already missing the heat and strength of his. I try not to whimper at the loss.

  “Feeling better?” He asks through swollen lips as he takes two more steps backward, letting me slip free from his hold.

  “Yeah,” I manage to squeak out. My brain is too foggy to think of anything else. I have to grab onto the table behind me to keep my knees from buckling.

  “Good,” He says. Then there’s silence. Neither of us knows what to do next. Until my stomach growls. I try to hide my blush.

  “Sorry. Guess I’m still hungry.”

  “Well, then we should get you something to eat.”

  After that, he leads me to the kitchen and makes me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before saying goodnight, and then leaves me alone.

  What the fuck just happened? I eat the sandwich in total shock and disbelief until I manage to move my legs and return to my room, where I lay awake most of the night recalling that kiss. Why he did that. And if he would be willing to do it again.

  Chapter 23

  Clover

  T wo days later, I’m still reeling over the kiss that Nix sprung on me. He hasn’t said much to me in the two days since. Not necessarily avoiding me, but not really talking to me either. It’s very confusing considering how intense and heated the kiss was. Not to mention the obvious steel rod he was sporting in his pants. Maybe he’s just embarrassed by his actions. Nah, Nix does not get embarrassed by his actions. Maybe he regrets them? I really hope that’s not the case. I don’t regret it. Even if this can cause me all kinds of problems. If he does regret it and doesn’t really want me, having only kissed me in a moment of weakness and pity because of my story—but then, why would he have drawn that picture of me? Nix Colton is the most confusing man I have ever met. He runs from horny frat boy to brooding introvert in seconds.