I ran out of spoons to deal with the outside world. If Beacon wasn’t about to go into his annual “I don’t care about the world” retreat, I’d be calling him. He’d skip his twenty-four hours of wallowing for me. He’d also skip town.
Beacon finds anything as a good excuse to show his brothers that he can break rules and never get caught. Not that they know about it.
“We’ll have to do it without him, Mozzy,” I tell my cat, who is licking his paws.
While cooking my dinner, I receive a text from Seth.
Seth: You coming over? The ’rents are worried.
Big Sis: No, I’m tired. I’m staying home to rest.
“Are you okay?” Mom calls me right away.
“Yes.” I grunt, chastising myself for saying, “I’m tired.”
Unlike many, I can’t use that as an excuse because it means something different to my family. For them, it means my insulin levels are out of whack and I need to go to the hospital.
“Seth mentioned you’re not feeling well.”
“Mom, I’m fine,” I assure her. “If I weren’t feeling well, I’d call. Plus, my insulin pump has an alarm that alerts Dad.”
Dad is a computer geek who likes to invent gadgets. Mom has had type 1 diabetes since she was eleven. Unlucky me, it can be hereditary, and I got it too. Needless to say, Dad, along with a company that manufactures insulin pumps, developed one that has GPS and sends a glucose report to an app every five minutes. Well, not that often, but I always tell that to Dad when he complains that I don’t keep him updated about my health.
I get it. He worries because I live alone and if something happens to me, no one could reach me in time, which is why I allow him to monitor my glucose levels. The data is available to him at all times.
“But you’re tired?” Mom insists.
“Yes. I’m tired of seeing everyone happy in Coupletown while I reside in Singlehell.”
“Oh.” She sighs.
Earlier I told her about Richardson, so there’s no point in reminding her about it.
“Finn is going to propose to his girlfriend,” I remind her.
My cousin Harper got engaged at the beginning of the year. She’s getting married next August. My cousin Tucker is coming with baby Mae and his wife, Sage, for a couple of hours before heading back to his house where he’ll be celebrating with his friends. Piper, who is younger than me, is bringing her boyfriend. I…I can’t even get me one of those because apparently, I’m uptight and don’t put out easily.
“Until I can replenish my spoons, I’m not going to be attending any events where I’m going to be introduced to ‘a great catch’ or reminded that I need to be a part of a couple. I don’t need anyone.”
“Do you want us to come and celebrate at your house?” she asks. “It’d be only your brothers, your dad, and me.”
This is why Mom is the best. She knows what to say. I’m thankful that she doesn’t say that being single is perfectly fine. Listen, when you feel like something is missing and your heart is incomplete, you can’t just let it go. You have to find the misplaced piece. I don’t depend on a man to be happy. I also want some company. There’s nothing wrong with wanting someone to love me. I deserve love, too.
“You’re the best Mom ever.”
“But you don’t want us with you?”
“I’ll be fine, Mom,” I reassure her. “Maybe I’ll use this time to figure out my dating life.”
Dad might’ve been right when he said I need to analyze the data, go through every relationship I’ve had, and determine the cause of every issue I’ve encountered since the first guy who dumped me. At this point, I’ll try anything.
“Call at midnight, okay,” she says.
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you too, sweetie.”
I spend my evening watching romantic comedies and downloading a few books and magazines onto my e-reader for research. I’m not one to make New Year’s resolutions, but this upcoming year I’m going to rock someone’s world in bed.
Goodbye, shy Grace. Hello, Vixen Bradley.
I need to work on those names. I doubt Vixen Bradley sounds sexy. Maybe that’s what Richardson was talking about. I don’t understand dirty talk, or words. When I’m kissing a guy, I concentrate too much on making it good or on not gagging if the guy can’t control his saliva.
The art of seduction is a mysterious craft—at least to me. Flirting is a foreign language, along with the dirty talk. Since I can’t stay up late, I head to bed before midnight. As I’m about to set my phone on the cradle so it can charge, I text Beacon.
G: Happy New Year, Beac!
Beac: Same, G.
I stare at the phone, waiting for more. He usually sends me a picture, a gif, or an emoji. This time nothing follows. He might be the other reason why I’m lost. Not having him around since last June has been strange. We don’t go more than a week or two without seeing each other. It’s been almost eight months of sporadic encounters.
Usually, he finds a way to visit me wherever I’m at, or I’m the one following the band like a groupie. It hasn’t been easy to find time to visit him in Baker’s Creek. His father screwed my father’s company in many ways. Dad and his partners had to rework the entire plan to infiltrate a human trafficking cell in Europe because my team is grounded.
Also, I had to work undercover for Seth. It took a lot of self-control not to kill the people who work at Bryant, LLP. Selfish pricks. They take children away from their parents so they can fulfill the dreams of wealthy couples who’ll pay a lot of money to have a family. Denver wasn’t a great place to try to date, either.
Sighing, I open the notes app on my phone and start making a list.
New Year, New Guy, Better Sex, Zero Inhibitions—New Grace.
Hmm…that’s a terrible name. Okay, I’ll work on that later.
Learn to flirt.
Learn to kiss well.
Learn to talk dirty.
Push away your inhibitions and stop being an introvert.
Find your G-spot (I mean, how can I expect a guy to know where it is if I don’t even know it myself.)
Find good sex toys. According to Today’s Beauty magazine, I should masturbate at least four times a week.
Take fish oil. It helps the small vessels in the clit.
Read erotica.
Figure out what you want in a man.
When I get to number nine, it becomes clear that I need help. I hate to accept it, but Beacon was right. He’s the best candidate to walk me through at least the first eight points. Once I know more about myself and who I’d like to date, I can make a new list.
Finding the guy.
Since Beacon is taking the day off from life, I just send him a text. Hopefully, once he’s back in the living world, we can discuss my plan.
Am I irrational?
No, this is the best way to deal with my problem. If I don’t do it now, then when?
Now or never, right?
Chapter Eleven
Beacon
Well, here it is. The new year.
We’re supposed to celebrate new beginnings. People around the world party, make resolutions, and feel like their lives are going to get better.
Personally, January is the crappiest month of the year. I am drowning in fucking sorrow. I usually don’t drink. When I do, I don’t go overboard. Except on New Year’s Day.
That’s when I take the day off from being responsible and, as Grace puts it, drink myself stupid.
At the beginning of each year, instead of feeling inspired, I feel raw. Everything inside of me hurts. My soul bleeds.
My grandfather died on New Year’s Day when I was nineteen. A year and ten days later, my grandmother joined him. Many people see that as romantic. There are a few articles about one following the other right behind. One article read, “Mrs. Fitzpatrick couldn’t live without her soul mate and joined him in the afterlife.”
It’s not fucking romantic. My grandfather had fucking canc
er. Grandma didn’t join him because they’re soul mates. She died of heart failure. Media outlets and the entertainment industry romanticize the pain of others in order to sell.
Every year, the reminder that I’m alone constricts my lungs and I’m unable to breathe.
This year is no different, or maybe it is worse. I’m surrounded by my brothers. The ones who ignored me for years. None of them cared to come to my grandfather’s funeral.
Those are the same ones who next November will send me packing back to Seattle and won’t speak to me until one of us dies—if I’m lucky.
They can say all the shit they want, but I know the end result. Each one has their own life. I’m not a part of theirs, and I’ll never be.
“Kid.” Pierce, one of my older brothers, leans against the door frame and stares at me. “What’s happening?”
I glare at him because no one is allowed to enter my home. In fact, last night before I left the main house, I made sure to lock it and set the alarms. There’s no way in hell that they can open it until I unlock this place.
“This is my private residence,” I say, or maybe I think about it.
He shakes his head and starts picking up the bottles and placing them in the trash can. “Let’s go back home.”
“I’m celebrating the New Year.”
He shows me one of the empty bottles of Macallan. “By killing your liver?”
“You’re not a doctor,” I argue.
“No, the doctor went to his office to pick up some bags of saline solution to hydrate you.”
I glare at him, clench my jaw, and warn him. “Leave me the fuck alone or you’ll regret it.”
He narrows his gaze and grins. “Kid, I’m not afraid of you. We let this isolation go for three days too long. Time to come home.”
“I dare you to move me.”
These assholes have no idea who I really am, and today I feel like inflicting some pain.
Before I can say more, Grace saunters into the living room, giving me a glare.
Pierce chuckles and points to G. “I am afraid of this one, though.”
“Three days, Beacon?” Her voice feels like cats scratching metal. “I’ve been texting and calling you, and you’ve been ignoring me.”
“Go home, G.”
She glares at me and whistles. I hold my head, squeezing my eyes. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“No, you’d be dead if those were my intentions.”
“Come on, boys, you know what to do,” she says, and that’s when I realize she brought the band with her.
Lang, Sanford, Manelik and Fisher pick me up from the couch and throw me into the bathtub—clothed. Grace turns on the cold water.
“I swear, you’re going to pay for this,” I threaten them.
They stare at me, amused. When the fog begins to clear, I’m finally able to stand up and switch the water to a warmer setting.
Grace and the guys leave as I begin to strip from the soaking wet clothes. I stay under the stream of water for a while. I’m trying to recall why I stayed longer than usual. It must have been that there wasn’t enough alcohol to numb the pain. It wasn’t just about my grandparents, but also about Grace. I’m losing her. I can’t fathom life without her.
Once I feel like myself, I turn off the water, pull a towel, and wrap it around my waist. When I walk into my room, Hayes waits for me with an IV fluid bag in one hand.
“I’m fine,” I claim, pulling out a shirt from my drawer and a pair of jeans from the other.
I won’t lie, it’s hard to get dressed, but I do it. If he realizes I’m still drunk, he’s going to take me to his practice, and who the fuck knows what he’s going to do to sober me up.
“Leave me alone,” I order
“Humor me,” Hayes insists.
“No. Look, I can stand up on one foot,” I argue, and when I try to do it, I fall to the ground.
Okay, maybe I’m not sober yet. As a matter of fact, I’m so fucking drunk that I’m seeing double—possibly triple. There are too many Aldridges in my room. Well, just the older ones: Henry, Hayes, and Pierce.
“I hope you enjoyed this one time,” Henry begins. “It’s the one and only that we let you brood on your own.”
“If you ask me, we shouldn’t have let him go for so long,” Hayes says, as he pinches me with a needle and starts the IV. “This is to hydrate you. Blaire added B12 to it.”
Pierce squats and gives me that fatherly look he’s been perfecting since…well, since he became a father a month ago. “We understand. You don’t trust us. Seven months can’t erase all the years we neglected you. But give us a chance. I had to call Grace to figure out how to get into this bunker. Not even Vance could break into this place, and he’s some secret elite force.”
I snort because I won a bet. I told Vance he’d never be able to get into my lair if I ever set up the locks.
“It’s not funny,” Henry chides me.
“Depends on how you see it,” I answer.
“We’re worried sick, Beacon. I can’t lose another brother.” Hayes sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“I needed to be by myself.”
“But you’re not alone,” Henry cuts in my explanation. “Whatever you need to deal with, you come to us. I get it. Sometimes there’s shit that weighs you down. Let us be there to carry it for you.”
“This. Is. My. Day. Off.”
“What do you mean by, your day off?” Pierce asks.
“The day when I like to do whatever the fuck I want. Like drink my weight in alcohol.”
“You took three,” I hear Grace’s voice and look up, finding her standing by the door, hugging her midriff, and glaring at me.
She’s pissed. Fuck. Why did they call her? I was going to come out eventually.
I frown, looking at her in disbelief.
She nods twice. “I ignored your family’s calls on New Year’s Day because…I know. But—it’s never three days.”
“Come here.” I pat my side.
She gives me a dirty glare. “The guys and I will be at Tucker’s place. Call when you’re sober and you have fixed your shit with your family.”
“G.”
She turns around and leaves. Okay, I pissed her off, and it’s going to take more than a miracle to get her to forgive me.
“Somehow I feel like the extra two days have to do with her.” Henry stares at the space Grace occupied only a few seconds ago.
“Can I go now?” I stare at the needle pumping the solution through my veins. “This is unnecessary.”
Hayes shows me a second bag. “We have time to kill, kid. Tell us what’s happening. The way I see it, you’re a danger to yourself.”
“I’m fine,” I protest. “So, what if I took a day off?” I ask again.
“Three,” Pierce corrects me.
“I lost track of time,” I excuse myself.
Henry snorts. “Try again.”
“Grace mentioned this isn’t typical of you,” Hayes starts. “I’m ashamed to confess that I have no idea how you behave. You’re a rock star, and we know that many of them like to overindulge.”
“I agree, there are a lot of people in the business who like to party. Not me.” I rub the back of my neck and sigh. “Listen, I lost my family when I was twenty. Well, my grandfather died a year before my grandmother. Both of them left in the same month, January. I’m mourning and celebrating them just for today.”
“We can’t be here for you if you close yourself off.” Henry takes his role of big brother pretty seriously. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when it happened, but I’d like to be here when it gets rough. Everyone is worried about you. We’re trying hard, kid, but you just don’t want to believe us.”
“That’s one day,” Pierce says. “Why were you fucked up the other two?”
“I lost track of time,” I repeat.
“Grace,” he answers. “The only reason I was shit-faced a few times last year was because I was losing my wife.”
&nbs
p; Because you were being an asshole. I’m not.
“Just know that we’re here if you ever want to talk about it,” he concludes.
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
What can I tell them?
Well, she went out on a date with some asshole for New Year’s Eve. She’s been with him for a month. She never lasts with anyone for that long. There’s nothing I can do to stop it because I can’t leave this fucking town. Daddy dearest lets us go out for thirty days, but we need to request that in advance—unless it’s an emergency.
Her brothers won’t intervene anymore because if I’m not going to make a move, I should just let her go. It’s not that simple—I need her. She’s my music.
I could fly out without my brothers or Dad’s lawyer noticing, but I promised Grace I wouldn’t do it unless it was a fucking emergency. Interrupting her in the middle of a date is important to me. And yet, I can’t make a fucking move.
Grace is off-limits.
Do I love her?
Denying it is the only way to continue this sham.
Every time I see her, my entire world brightens. It sounds like the beginning of a romantic song. It’s not; it’s my life. It’s happened ever since I can remember. Things aren’t as bad when she’s around. Everything works out when I’m with her.
Grace is loving, bright, and quirky. I am the one who understands her the most. We make sense, but we can’t be together.
My brothers wouldn’t understand why I’m brooding for her, and I can’t explain it to them. Things aren’t simple. I might look like a rule breaker, but I’m actually pretty good at following the ones that matter.
One of the rules of the organization I work for is that I can only tell what I do to those I trust and will keep my secret.
If I told them, I’d really need to kill them because I don’t trust them.
Pierce is right. It takes more than seven months to get over my past. More so when I’ve no fucking idea what the future will bring.
“Take it from us,” Henry says. “Tell her how you feel now. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed.”
“I thought you weren’t afraid to speak about your feelings,” Pierce cuts in.
Call You Mine Page 7
