by Shandi Boyes
My quick strides out the screen door falter when Patrick blocks my exit. “He won’t do anything stupid; he just needs some time.”
He can say that because he wasn’t there when I threw Noah into the shower every morning to sober him up after his brother killed himself.
When I attempt to skirt past Patrick, he steps back into my path, causing my jaw to tick. "You need to stop babying him. He fuckin’ hates it. Give him a day or two to sort his head out, then you can deal with him.”
I nearly tell him to go row up a creek, but a set of wise eyes stops me. My dad is standing at the side of the porch, his expression revealing he agrees with Patrick.
Chapter Eleven
Lola
“There’s no fuckin’ chance I’m taking you out looking like that. Go get changed!”
Callum, my boyfriend of nine months, forcefully walks me into our bedroom. When his older brother’s abrupt chuckle vibrates through my chest, his grip on my arm tightens so much I grimace. I’ve noticed the past few months that anytime Curtis is over, Callum is more aggressive than usual.
“Ouch, you’re hurting me.” I search my arm for a bruise when he shoves me into our room. I don’t have one—yet.
As Callum’s hands rake his spiky blond hair, his nostrils flare. “Are you trying to embarrass me in front of my brother?”
When I shake my head, his squinted gaze drops to my outfit. I’m wearing a pair of denim shorts and a black fitted shirt—a favorite outfit of mine he’s seen me in many times the past year. These shorts aren’t even my raunchiest pair, so I have no clue why he’s so agitated.
“Get changed!”
When I fail to jump at the command in his voice, he rids my closet and drawers of every article of clothing I own. They fly across the room like cannonballs shot from a cannon. Half land on the bed, but the other half don’t even make it more than a foot from my drawers.
Once he finds a Callum-approved outfit, he shoves it into my chest. "Now, Lola. I won't ask you again."
“No.” I dump the clothes onto my bed before folding my arms under my chest. “I'm not changing so you can impress your moronic asshole of a brother—"
My words fall short when fiery heat creeps across my cheek. I’m only just getting over the shock that he slapped me when he rears his hand back for the second time. This hit is even more painful than his first. Although shocked I’m being hit, I don’t register the pain. I’m too stunned to do anything but glare at Callum.
His face is as hard as a stone, not the least bit concerned he turned a verbal altercation physical. "Get. Changed. Now."
Afraid of what he’ll do if I don’t comply, I slip out of the shorts, replacing them with the pants he shoved into my chest before placing a long-sleeve shirt over the one I’m already wearing. It’s not cold outside; it’s actually quite warm, but the icy cold glare Callum is giving me makes it seem as if it’s the middle of winter.
His anger remains even with me doing as asked. “Now get your ass into the car and keep your fucking mouth shut.”
Who is the person standing in front of me? He isn’t the Callum I met twelve months ago. He’s not even half the man he used to be.
Callum, Curtis, and I have dinner at a pizza and wings bar in their hometown of Ravenshoe. I sit quietly, watching them banter and chat as if my face isn’t harboring a new red welt. They eat their pizza and guzzle down beer while enjoying each other's company.
Curtis is a few years older than Callum, but when they sit side by side, they almost look like twins. Their blond locks hang loosely on their heads, and their blue eyes are practically identical, except Curtis's have a ring of black surrounding his irises. I always joked that was his dark side being exposed. Now I'm confident it is.
My eyes float up from my plate when a waiter’s apron brushes my arm. “Are you finished?”
I offer him a hesitant smile before nodding. I’ve hardly touched the meal Callum ordered for me. I can’t trust my stomach to keep anything down. I’m still gobsmacked. Callum can be cruel with words, and he’s occasionally shoved me, but tonight was the first time he’s physically assaulted me.
When the waiter moves away from our table, my pulse quickens. Callum is glaring at me. I smile at him, hoping to appease his anger. He doesn’t smile back. He just throws some bills onto the table before demanding I get my ass back in his car.
Our trip home is as quiet as our one to the restaurant, and the silence does little to settle my flipping stomach. If anything, it makes it worse. Callum’s jaw is ticking so profusely, I hear every grind it does.
When he shadows me into our house, his stomps overtake the ringing of my pulse in my ears. He bands his arms around my waist to yank me back. His cock is thick and braced against my ass, but he’s not cuddling up to me for that. He’s mad.
“I can’t even take you out for pizza without you flirting with another man.”
I ram my elbow into his ribs when his hand slithers under my shirt to grope my breast. When he stumbles back, I pivot around. I’m prepared to protect myself, but nothing could prepare me for what happens next.
The man standing before me isn’t the man I fell in love with. He’s a monster.
“What happened to you?”
“Me?!” He storms toward me with his fists raised and his eyes black. “What the fuck happened to you?!”
I wake up screaming. Sweat is coating every inch of me, and I'm on the verge of crying. It takes several scans of my room to remember I'm safe and alone, and even then, I still shake without control. That night was over twelve months ago, yet it still haunts my dreams.
That was the first and only time Callum laid his hands on me. When he fell asleep, I fled his house and never returned. My friend Natalie took me in until my bruises faded enough I could hide them with a good concealer, then I scampered home with my tail between my legs.
To this very day, my family is none the wiser as to what happened to me. They’d support me, but I’m too embarrassed to admit someone like Callum got the better of me. I’m stronger than that, and I refuse to be made a victim. That’s why I'll never change who I am for anyone. I don’t want approval on what I can or cannot wear any more than I want to update someone on what I’m doing and whom I’m doing it with. If that means I'm portrayed as the predator instead of the prey, so be it. I’m not out to impress anyone. I just want to live my life how I want to live it. Is that asking too much?
My chances of doing that are less likely when I check the time on my phone. It’s a little after two in the morning, and I have twelve unread messages from Jacob. They all follow a similar tune: he’s sorry if he scared me, and he promises not to do it again.
I like Jacob, but his messages prove we need distance. He’s becoming attached, which will only end badly. I could continue our friendship if denying him wasn’t above my skillset. Just the way I fell for his trick last night proves this without a doubt. One swipe of his tongue and I was incapable of denying the pleas of my body for a second longer. I've done it the previous four weeks. It was pure hell. I don't have the strength to continue doing it, so it leaves me only one choice. I have to cut contact with him.
He’ll hate me for it, but over time, he’ll realize it’s the nicest thing I ever did for him.
Chapter Twelve
Jacob
Noah stops strumming his guitar when he notices me standing outside his bedroom door. This isn’t his room at my home; it’s the place responsible for his backside having an indent in a chair around my family’s dining room table the past four years.
“Is it safe to come in?”
When he gestures that I can enter, I take two steps into his room before stopping. There’s nowhere else for me to go. Noah's childhood bedroom is as sparse as they come. His mattress doesn’t have a frame; his clothes don’t have any drawers, and the only other décor he has is a bunch of magazines stacked in the corner. Other than that, his room is empty.
Feeling my hesitation, Noah jumps up from the matt
ress to offer me his hand to shake. It's been two weeks since I last saw him. That’s the longest we've gone without speaking. When Patrick said to give him some time, I expected it to be a few hours, maybe a day or two, so I was surprised when weeks passed without word from him.
The first few days, I was pissed he didn’t man up and talk to me, but since Lola was also skirting my calls and texts, I let it slip by without too much notice. By the second week, I was furious. I didn’t understand why he was shunning me from his life as Lola had. We’ve always been there for one another. We’re brothers from different mothers. As thick as thieves. We never let anything come between us.
It was only after talking to my dad did I realize I wasn’t the only one deserving of an apology. I asked Noah to participate in the prank that night. I forgot he was there waiting for me. So technically, I’m to blame for our fight. So, with my tail between my legs, I’ll apologize and hope he'll forgive me.
I use his offer of a shake to drag him in for a man hug. He hates any mollycoddling, but I'm not stirring him today. I've genuinely missed him. "You know you don't have to stay here, man; my house is your house."
“Yeah, I know. I just had to sort my shit out.”
Hating the worry in his voice, I bump him with my shoulder. “This is the longest you’ve been away. Dad keeps asking why the fridge is full.”
He throws a couple of jabs into my mid-section. “Maybe if you switched your steroid-loaded shakes for real food, your dad wouldn’t have noticed I was gone.”
I arch my brow, hiding the fact a few of his hits connect with bruises I collected last night. I had another fight last night, my sixth professional one. Since everyone lost contact with me at the same time, I threw myself headfirst into my fighting goals. Did it make the sting of their rejection any easier to swallow? No, it didn't. But it did increase my love for the sport.
I’ve won every bout, and although last night’s fight went a few rounds longer than I would have liked, at the end of the day, a win is a win. The prize money has grown more impressive with each fight too. Last night, I pocketed nearly a thousand dollars for my efforts.
Unsure why I’ve gone off-script, Noah brings me back to earth. “I’ll pop over and see the old man this week.”
I don’t know why he’s pretending to visit my dad. My home is his home. I was hoping he would have realized that by now.
After we go a couple of rounds of impromptu boxing in his room, my thirst gets the better of me. “Wanna grab a beer?”
Noah looks up at me with wide, dilated eyes. “Sure.”
I dodge his hair ruffle before nudging my head to his duffle bag. The grin I’m wearing doubles when he collects both his guitar and his bag. That means he heard the words I didn’t speak, the ones where I’m welcoming him back home with open arms.
When we enter Mavs ten minutes later, my heart whacks out a funky tune. Lola is working. This is the first time I’ve seen her in two weeks. After exhaling my nerves with a big breath, I shadow Noah to the bar.
“Hey, Lola.” Noah adds a smile to his greeting before placing an order for two beers.
When Lola sets them down on the glistening bar top, she drifts her eyes to me. “Hey.”
I dip my head in greeting before guzzling down a mouthful of my beer. I’m dying to talk to her, but I’m still pissed she cut ties with me. I also don’t trust myself not to drop to my knees and beg for her scraps. I’ve never had my prank backfire so badly before. You can be assured I won’t be doing it again anytime soon—if ever.
My eyes stop floating around the bar when Noah asks Lola if she passed her driving test. She shakes her head. “Not yet. Maggie is scheduling me on day shifts so I can catch the bus.”
It’s the fight of my life to only mumble my curse word instead of screaming it from the rooftops. I’m pissed—fucking ropeable. Not only am I not good enough to talk to anymore, but she also pissed all over my offer of a ride. That’s fucked.
Needing to leave before I say something I’ll regret, I make my way to one of the many empty tables around the dance floor. I’d leave entirely if I weren’t such a sucker for punishment. I know there’s more to Lola’s pullback than she’s letting on. It didn’t occur after her near-teary confession for no reason. If she’s embarrassed, she doesn’t need to be. I see past the shield she wears to protect herself—why do you think I fell for her so quickly?
After ordering another round, Noah joins me at a table near the pool tables. “What’s the deal with you two?”
He opens a second bottle of beer before sliding it to my side of the table. I guzzle it down as quickly as I did the first, praying it will douse the fire roaring in my gut. Once it’s sitting as low as my heart rate, I shrug. “I have no fucking clue. She confuses the fuck out of me.” I keep my reply simple, not wanting to divulge any of Lola's private life without her permission.
Over the next twenty minutes, Noah keeps the beer coming hard and fast. He stopped drinking as soon as he noticed I planned to have more than my usual two. When I set down my fourth empty bottle, his dark eyes lift to mine. “Shall we play a game of pool, or do you wanna head straight to the boxing ring?”
“You don’t have to mend my broken heart. We never ‘dated.’” I air quote my last word. “Rack up the balls; kicking your ass may be the most entertaining thing I do this week.”
By the time we play two rounds of pool, I'm smashed from guzzling down too many beers in quick succession. “You done, Jakeyboy, or do you have a couple of rounds left in you?” Noah’s tone is smug, loving that he whipped my ass our last two games. I don’t think I sank a single ball.
“Best out of five.”
As I rack up the balls, a sweet voice trickles through my ears. “Interested in a game of doubles?”
My mouth dries up as I absorb the owner of the heavenly voice. Her face is as appetizing as her body. Large breasts stuffed into a teeny tiny shirt, curvy hips, and long, lean legs. Her brown eyes hold a gleam as wicked as the casual, man-eating smirk she’s wearing, and her hair is blonde and straight. I’d give her brunette friend a quick once over if her sights weren’t locked on Noah, but her batting lashes tell me everything I need to know. She isn’t here for me.
My eyes drift back to the blonde when she asks, “What do you say? Best out of the three?”
When I glance at Noah to gauge his response, he curls his arm around the brunette’s shoulders. “She’s my partner.”
Her childish giggle would be nauseating if I weren’t so drunk. I offer my hand to the heavy-breasted girl. “I guess that means we’re partners. I’m Jacob.”
“Lucky me,” she purrs while accepting my handshake. “Stephanie.”
While playing pool with Stephanie and her friend Shell, Lola shoots daggers at me. I know this because I'm stalking her as adeptly as she's stalking me. I shouldn't love her annoyance, but I do. It's nice to see the shoe on the other foot for a change. The whole time we've known each other, it's always me getting smacked with jealousy.
When I lean over Stephanie's shoulder to show her how to aim correctly, Lola shoots out from behind the bar and darts my way. "Can I talk to you?"
My eyes bulge out of my head when she cocks her hip. She’s wearing the teeniest tiniest pair of shorts I’ve ever seen, and I’m 100% jealous of her shirt. It’s closer to her skin than my hands have been the past month.
After locking the image of her long, sexy legs into my memory bank for future use, I return my eyes to her face. “Why can’t we talk here?”
The beer I've been guzzling makes my words come out snappier than I intended, and they have Lola's anger ramping up. She glares at me, warning me I’m seconds from having my nuts extracted from my body. I consider my options for a few seconds. If it gets her hands on any part of my body, I’m willing to suffer.
After a short deliberation, I nudge my head to the hallway where the restrooms are. I'm still contemplating disembowelment; I'd just rather it be done without witnesses.
I promise St
ephanie I’ll be back in a minute before following Lola. I barely get two steps into the lemon-scented space when she pounces on me. Unfortunately, it's a verbal altercation instead of a physical one.
"Do you think this is a good idea?"
I hold my hands out in front of my body, as if to say, you don’t want me, so I may as well have fun with a girl who does.
My ego takes a hit it never saw coming when she adds on, “You know Noah is interested in Emily, so why are you encouraging him to hook up with a random bar skank?”
I take a step back, shocked. I thought she was angry about me getting friendly with Stephanie. How fucking stupid am I? She’s not worried about me hooking up with any random. She’s concerned about who Noah might go home with.
“Who Noah fucks is no concern of yours.”
I skirt by her, my steps slowing when she retaliates, “You’re only doing this because you’re angry at me. Don’t sacrifice their chance of happiness because things didn’t work out for us the way you hoped.” She stares me straight in the eyes, the moisture brimming in hers foreign. “I thought you cared about Noah—”
“I do.”
“Then start acting like it!”
With that, she spins on her heels and returns to her station behind the bar. I take a few moments to expel my frustration with a long, unintelligible rant on how she is the most frustratingly beautiful and opinionated woman I've ever met. I tug on my hair; I scrub my tired eyes, and I mouth a million curse words to God before making my way back to the main area of Mavericks. I don't look toward the bar, but I don't need to see Lola to know her eyes are on me. I can feel them.
Shell stops sucking Noah’s face when I stand next to them. “You ready to head out?”
“Now?” Noah peers at me, dumbfounded.
