Could Have Been Us

by Corinne Michaels

  I would know. The girl I was who thought money and fairy tales were possible died the day I gave up my child. I learned that nothing I had was worth anything in the end. My father made me believe I had no choice, forced my hand, and in doing so, he changed me.

  “I just want to be numb,” Samuel admits.

  “This isn’t you. This isn’t the man Misty talked about. You’re the man who worked for everything and was always there for her. Now, your daughter needs you.”

  He shakes his head. “Your daughter.”

  I blink, unsure of what he means because Kinsley is his. “I’m . . . I’m not . . .”

  “No, you are. She needs a mother. She needs someone who will take care of her. Do you know who cleaned the kitchen? The bathroom? Do you know who made sure there was breakfast last week? That’s not what a father allows. That’s . . . I can’t.”

  I shift in my seat. This conversation isn’t going where I thought it would. “You are the only father she has ever known. I came here to help, but I gave her to you, and you are her parent.”

  His gaze is far away when he answers. “I know.”

  Relief fills me because, as much as I want the girl I gave away in my life, it’s not what’s best for her. She needs the man who has been the constant in her life to continue to do that.

  “Then you’ll get some help? You’ll talk to someone to get through this?” I ask.

  Samuel reaches his hand to mine, squeezing. “I’ll try.”

  And I pray that will be enough.

  Chapter 8

  Stella

  This date is a disaster.

  Winnie is a damn maniac for making me come along on this crap. I’m pretty sure this guy is over fifty, and he keeps talking about his kid, who is about my age.

  On top of that, I’m exhausted and ready to sleep for a week. I got home from Georgia a few days ago, and I haven’t been able to sleep because I’ve been waiting for Mickey to call me. So far, it’s been quiet, which makes me hopeful.

  “And I told my kid I wasn’t paying for his college. I’ve noticed that most of your generation all think life should be easy. Well, it’s not.”

  I nod and take a sip of my drink. “Nope. It’s not.”

  “So, did your parents pay for your college?”

  I grin, knowing this is going to chap his ass. “They did. They paid for all five of their kids to go to school.”

  It was the one thing my father was adamant about. He thought that if he paid for school, we’d be indebted to him to work, regardless of whatever other aspirations we had. The rule was that, if he paid for our education, we were to work for Parkerson Enterprises for at least seven years after college or we pay every penny back.

  The sad part is, we are all well past that obligation and all still work for him. With the salaries we make, it’s hard to walk away.

  But, oh, I wish we would.

  His face falls. “You’re one of those?”

  “I’m not sure what that means, Tripp.”

  “You know, you don’t work. You probably live at home like my leech of a child.”

  “Well, considering I’m the general manager of an inn, I think I work hard. Also, I bought my own house.”

  That seems to mollify him slightly. “Oh, good for you.”

  I don’t mention that my parents own the inn I work for because it doesn’t matter. I still bust my ass and make sure I earn every penny I make. I scrimped and saved for my own down payment on the house. I didn’t take any help from them, and the very nice nest egg I have now is from putting aside money and not being wasteful. I refused to accept anything that would land me indebted to my father ever again.

  “Yes, I guess it is.”

  Winnie and her date, who I’m starting to suspect is Tripp’s son, come back, her hand on his chest as she laughs. “Oh, Stella, Easton here was just telling me about this concert he went to.”

  Easton’s grin is mischievous. “We snuck in the back to meet the band.”

  “And then they were mistaken for the crew,” Winnie finishes.

  “Oh?” I say, feigning curiosity. Although, maybe I’m not faking it because anything out of Easton’s mouth is going to be better than whatever good ole Tripp here has to say.

  “Yeah, so we had to help, but then we drank their beer and hung out the whole night without anyone figuring it out. Free beer and the band without actually buying a ticket. It was a good night.”

  Okay, I know my best friend, and she does not find this story amusing. Winnie works harder than I do, and she absolutely hates when people steal.

  “So you saw a concert—free and then drank their beer and lied?”

  Easton’s face falls slightly. “It wasn’t like that.”

  Winnie gives me a look that screams shut up, asshole. She must really be lonely. So, I smile at her as she rolls her eyes.

  “I’m going to grab a beer,” I explain as I get up.

  Tripp looks at me, lifting his. Is he kidding? “You don’t mind, do ya?”

  “Nope. I love leeches,” I say as I walk away.

  Asshole.

  Here he is going on and on about his kids taking his money and he expects me to pay for his shit. Some freaking date.

  I get up to the bar and order a drink.

  “You look happy,” Jack says from beside me.

  His voice causes me to jump a little. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.”

  He laughs as he takes a drink from his beer. “I figured you saw me.”

  “I’ve been stuck talking to someone all night, I didn’t know you were even in town.”

  “I haven’t been the one missing. Grayson said you were gone again?”

  This time, I hadn’t told Jack about my trip. There was no need because no matter what kind of crap he would have said, I was going.

  “I was.”

  “Where were you?”

  I shift, facing him more head-on. “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t.”

  At that, I grin. “Sure you don’t.” His hand rests on the bar in front of me, close enough that, if he extended his fingers, he could touch me. Oh, how I wish he would. I lean forward, unable to resist. “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be asking.”

  “How is your date?”

  Horrible. I should say it. I should be honest and let him know that I’m fucking miserable and would like to punch this dude in the face, but I lie.

  “I don’t know, we’ll see if he passes the test.”

  Jack’s eyes move to where Tripp is. “What test?”

  My voice is low. “The one where I see if he comes home with me.”

  I grab my drink and walk back to the table, forcing my face forward. Jack may not want me. He may think I’m still a little girl who is untouchable, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to piss him off.

  I settle back onto my seat, and Tripp tosses his arm around the back of my chair. I end up giving him my beer since I forgot to get him one and there isn’t a chance in hell I am going back over to where Jack is.

  But I can feel him. In this tiny bar, he is looming and large. His presence, the way he pulls the air, commanding it to form around him, makes me feel as if the oxygen is missing. Each breath leaves me dizzy, and I hate him.

  Why? Why do I feel like this?

  I want to scream at the injustice of it all. I know better. I’m not an idiot. I know how this works.

  Tripp and Easton get up, leaving for the bar to get another round or talk how they think they’re going to get laid, who knows, and Winnie flops down beside me. “I owe you.”

  “That’s an understatement, my friend.”

  “I really like him.”

  “Easton? Really?”

  “I know, he’s kind of a dork, but he’s sweet, and it’s been a really long time since I’ve gotten laid.”

  I laugh because no matter how long she’s gone, I’ve got her beat. It’s not that I don’t have offers or that I haven’t hooked up with guys here and there, but
it never goes further than that. It’s not that I don’t lie and pretend that I’m getting it constantly. It’s that I can’t seem to get myself there. I’m terrified of getting pregnant again. I’m more afraid that I won’t feel like I did that first time.

  Safe. Loved. Needed by a man who cared for me.

  Jack.

  As though we’re planets, being pulled by a force greater than us, our eyes meet.

  A million things go through my mind. Things I wish I could tell him.

  I love you.

  I need you.

  I’m sorry for everything. Please, let’s try . . . just try. Love me, I’m right here.

  But those things will never be spoken because Jack doesn’t love me. He doesn’t want me or need me.

  Winnie looks up at me. “Hey, Stell?”

  “Yeah?”

  She looks over at Easton, her bottom lip between her teeth. “I think I’m going to be leaving in a few, but are you okay to drive?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I think . . . I won’t need a ride.”

  “Be safe,” I tell her.

  “I will.”

  “Call me tomorrow so I know he didn’t kill you with an ax and bury you in the woods somewhere.”

  Winnie laughs. “Well, hopefully he’ll kill me in another way.”

  I roll my eyes. “Please, if he had those skills, you wouldn’t have a chance with him. The girl before you would be dying in his bed tonight.”

  Winnie grins as she stands. “I’ll be sure to let you know.”

  Yeah, I’m sure she won’t.

  She heads over toward Easton, and I take this moment to head into the bathroom and splash water on my face, grateful I can tell Tripp to get lost and head home. There’s a pint of ice cream and a book waiting for me on my ereader. My favorite author released this week, and I’ve been dying to see if the heroine forgives the hero from the last book.

  I nearly groan as I look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are puffy, the shade of blue under my eyes does nothing to help, and I look like shit. Seriously, I should’ve stayed the hell home tonight.

  Well, no time like the present to do just that.

  I exit the bathroom and slam into someone. “I’m sorry!” I say quickly as I stagger back, but a pair of arms wrap around me.

  Arms I know.

  Arms that I will never forget.

  And then there’s the scent. Warm, clean, with a hint of spice . . . Jack.

  I look up into the hazel eyes that always make me feel safe.

  There is something in his gaze that keeps me from moving even a muscle.

  “Fuck it,” he says, and then my back is against the wall. His body, hot and pressed against me, keeps me there. Before I can gasp or think, Jack’s lips are on mine.

  His kiss is hard and full of want—I’m floating toward heaven. My hands are trapped against his chest, giving me nothing to hold on to but him. I moan into his mouth, savoring the taste of whiskey, oak, and vanilla on his tongue.

  His heart is pounding against my palm, the steady thrum my talisman that he is real. I’m not dreaming because dream Jack doesn’t feel this good.

  And it feels good. It’s too damn much.

  I want this kiss to never end. I don’t care that we’re in the hallway of the bar and anyone can see. I want him. Every muscle in my body is screaming that this is right and perfect.

  Jack’s tongue swipes against mine again, pushing deeper into my mouth. His hand moves down my side, leaving a trail of heat as it passes. Then he hooks his hand under my thigh, pulling the jean-clad leg up around his hip, letting me feel his erection.

  Yes. The word screams in my head.

  He wants me, and God how I want him.

  His lips move down my neck, and I force myself not to speak. If this is all I’ll ever get again, then I’m not going to do anything to break the moment. However, he’s freed my hands, and I move them up his chest, over the scruff on his cheeks, and then tangle them in his hair.

  “Stella.” Jack’s voice is gruff. “God, what you do to me.”

  I arch my back, giving him better access to my neck as he continues to kiss down it. “Tell me,” I speak, knowing it’s a risk but not caring.

  “I’m not supposed to like you.”

  Supposed. The word hangs there, and I cling to it.

  “I shouldn’t be touching you, but . . .”

  “But what?” I say so quietly, I’m not sure he heard.

  He keeps kissing me, now moving back up. “You taste like sin, and touching you makes me the devil, but I can’t stop.”

  “Don’t,” I beg.

  His mouth is back on me, hands clutching at my back, pushing his hardness against my core.

  “I don’t even want to like you,” he says again, his warm breath against my ear this time. “I want to forget you. I . . . fuck . . . I—” Jack steps back, as though he were just suddenly awoken from a dream.

  The loss of his heat causes me to suck in a breath. My thoughts are jumbled as we stare at each other. I want to say so much, beg him to come back, to love me, just for tonight. But, as though he can read my mind, he shakes his head.

  “This. You and me.” His lips are a thin line before he turns his back to me, slamming his hand on the wall. “Fuck!”

  I step to him, my hand on his back. He flinches. “So, this is how it is?” I ask, suddenly no longer confused. Now I’m just angry.

  “What?”

  “You and I keep doing this dance. We pretend, we fake it, we act as though we don’t even like each other, and yet . . .”

  He shakes his head. “Yet what?”

  “Coward,” I spit the word at him.

  “No, I’m not afraid, I’m the opposite. I know better than anyone what it’s like to take a chance on more.”

  I laugh once. “Sure you do. Tell me, do you want me right now?”

  Jack’s eyes roam my body, the heat telling me that no matter what he says, the truth is there. “Any man would.”

  As Winnie always says, a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts. The alcohol just allows the words to finally be free.

  “I’m not asking any man. I’m asking you. Do you want me?”

  “Like the fucking air I breathe.”

  Well, I’m going to take full advantage of this then. “For how long?”

  His eyes widen, and then he leans against the wall. The movement seems to change something in him. He’s no longer out of control. Instead, he’s steady, confident, as he presses the sole of one shoe to the wall behind him. “Go home, Stella. We’re done making mistakes for tonight.”

  “That’s what I am? A mistake?”

  One shoulder lifts and then falls. “Not you, but this? Us? It’s all we ever make.”

  Chapter 9

  Jack

  Fucking hell the sunlight is loud.

  I know that thought isn’t coherent, but there it is. Everything is loud from the way my body is moving against the sheets to the dull noise of a television in the background. Wait. Where the hell am I?

  Slowly opening my eyes, I see the familiar view from Grayson’s guest room.

  Great.

  All I remember is watching Stella walk away last night, her back straight, the arrow I shot landing exactly as I needed it to. She was so hurt by the words I threw at her that I hated myself for them.

  Then I went back to the bar and drank until I couldn’t remember the look she gave me after what I said.

  I lie here, arm slung over my eyes, and try to think about how I got here. It’s clear someone called me a cab or gave me a ride. Was it Delia?

  No. I don’t think I called her. At least, I hope I didn’t because that’s one more person I might have said some stupid shit to.

  God only knows what I said to Gray.

  The door flies open, and Amelia flies into the room, a huge smile on her face.

  “Uncle Jack, are you awake yet?” she asks softly, but it still feels like she’s screaming.

&n
bsp; “Nope.”

  She laughs. “You just answered me.”

  “I’m sleep talking.”

  Amelia climbs onto the bed. “You stink!”

  If the taste in my mouth is any indication, she would be correct.

  “How about you give your uncle a second to clean himself up?” Grayson says from the doorway. “We can get all the answers we need after he doesn’t stink.”

  The one thing that Grayson has always been good at is hiding what he’s thinking. It doesn’t matter that when we were seven, I saved him from getting his ass kicked. Or at ten, when I warned him that he was being set up by two football guys to walk into an ambush. It doesn’t matter that I have saved his ass a million times, probably more, he never shows me what he’s thinking.

  He’s a master at it.

  It’s a trick I’ve tried to emulate when it comes to wanting to sleep with his sister.

  Or I should say, when I did sleep with his sister.

  Not that there was much sleeping.

  So, here I am, not sure what the hell I said last night. Not sure if I told him that I pushed his sister against the wall in the bar, rubbing my dick against her and shoving my tongue into her mouth. How I thought of something else I’d like to stick there. Nope. He just waits for Amelia to exit and then shuts the door, leaving me to wonder.

  Dickhead.

  As much as I’d like to hate him, the medication on the nightstand and bottle of Gatorade is a nice gesture. If I did say any of those things, Grayson would’ve killed me. He didn’t, so there’s some hope.

  I take the pills, chugging the electrolytes I desperately need, and climb out of bed.

  The pounding in my head doesn’t relent as I shower, get dressed, or walk to the kitchen.

  “Tough night,” Gray notes as he grabs the bag of bread.

  “You could say that.”

  “You all right?”

  Three words that let me know I did not, in fact, talk about Stella.

  No one in this world is more protective of their sister than the Parkerson brothers. They have spent their entire lives making sure no one could hurt her. Little do they know that I did that and more.

  I broke her.