Bad Romance

by Jen McLaughlin

  You lived. You fucked. You died. The end.

  Next story.

  In the end, no one really gave a damn about you once you were gone. That was why I lived life for today, instead of planning for tomorrow. It was also why I didn’t give a damn about anyone or anything, because in the end they wouldn’t give a damn about me. That was a lesson I learned before I was eleven. I made sure not to care about anyone enough to let them hurt me, because that was how the world treated me. That was the way I’d lived my life for the last fifteen years, and it was the way I always would….

  With one exception.

  But that hadn’t exactly worked out so well for me.

  My gaze fell on the blonde dancing on the floor with an abandon for life that I didn’t quite grasp, and never had. My unquenchable interest in the blonde dancing seductively in the crowd didn’t make much sense. The feelings she stirred inside me went deeper than lust, as if I somehow knew her, or should. I didn’t know how deep those feelings went, and I had no intention of finding out, but still. They were there.

  Maybe it was because I’ve avoided people in general since coming home—women in particular. Not because I was nervous or any shit like that. Hitting on a gorgeous woman never intimidated me, for the most part. It was just that I was focused on trying to re-accustom myself to civilian life, and I didn’t want to drag another person into the shitstorm that my life was right now. But I spotted this woman when I walked through the door, and I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off her since.

  My reaction to her had been fast and sure.

  I was so fully isolated that no one in my family even knew I was Stateside, and I hadn’t been back long, but the second I saw this woman, I knew she had to come home with me tonight. Screw isolation. I’d rather screw her. I could easily lose myself in her arms for an hour or two. Her soft curves and long, wavy blond hair teased me and made me feel alive for the first time in God knows how long. It looked unbelievably soft, and my fingers itched with the desire to see if I was right. If it was as soft as it seemed.

  It was time to find out.

  Smoothing my shirt, I stood up and took a step toward her. But she turned around, and I prepared myself for my first full view of her—shit. That wasn’t a hot blonde I could take home, give a few orgasms to, and forget. She wasn’t even a light flirtation I could indulge in.

  No, she was my little stepsister. Lilly Hastings.

  The one whom I’d kissed seven years ago, and then never saw again. Only she wasn’t so little anymore. And she was even more drop-dead gorgeous.

  She’d always been on my mind, thanks to the letters she’d sent, but I never spoke to her again after that night. I think, in a way, I was ashamed of how things ended. Of the way we’d kissed and then gotten caught. I never even checked in with her to see if she got in trouble after I left. If she’d been okay. And that was just shitty.

  Did she hate me now? She should. I deserved it.

  I forced myself to stand still. To not approach her, or flee.

  We had nothing in common. Not anymore. She didn’t know what it was like to sweat in a desert for years, or to watch your buddies get blown to pieces. She didn’t know what loss and pain felt like. She didn’t know me.

  Not anymore.

  So I sat the hell back down on my stool.

  If she wanted to dance her little heart out, and bring home four guys—well, that was none of my business. And I wasn’t gonna do a damn thing to make sure she made it home safely afterward, because she wasn’t really my sister, and I wasn’t really her big brother. I didn’t need to look out for her. She was better off without me messing around in her affairs. Look what happened last time—a clusterfuck.

  It was why I never wrote her back, or contacted her. The guilt over my actions, and over the punishments she had to have suffered because of them, weighed me down. And in true Jackson Worthington fashion, instead of apologizing or writing her back…I ran from my problems until it was way too late to apologize.

  Instead of returning her sentiments of love and affection, I read her letters, savored them, and never wrote back for one reason and one reason only.

  I knew she deserved better.

  She needed to move on, and get over her girlish infatuation with me. Sooner or later, it was bound to happen. I knew it. And good ol’ Walt did, too. She wasn’t made for a guy like me. Lilly belonged in the world of trust funds and diamonds, not army guys and shitty base housing.

  She was made for bigger and better things, and she needed to realize that. To forget about me. I might never have stopped caring for her, but since she stopped writing me once she got into college…something told me she’d wised up and moved on.

  I’d gotten my wish.

  Too bad it felt like shit.

  So I would sit here, drink my Jameson in peace, and ignore the annoying voice in the back of my mind that told me I had to save her before something bad happened. Because, when push came to shove, I was just like everyone else in this club, like everyone else in the world.

  I didn’t give a damn about anyone else, either.

  I was okay with that, too.

  Tossing back the last of my drink, I watched her shake her ass as she danced. So did at least half of the other men in the room with me, including the man she’d welcomed moments before. I didn’t blame them. I’d never seen a woman move so gracefully, innocence mixed with a soft sensuality.

  Granted, it had admittedly been a long time since I watched a woman dance. Most of my last seven years had been spent overseas, fighting for home and country. The army had sent me home after an injury, and now…

  Now I was back in the outskirts of Arlington, Virginia, hiding the fact that I was back in suburban hell from my family. Walt had no idea I was home, and neither did my mother. I’d hidden it, but truth be told, they weren’t exactly chomping at the bit to see me. When Walt told me to get the hell out, he’d meant it. The plan to turn me into his prodigal son had been dropped, and he hadn’t spoken to me again.

  Good riddance, I say.

  Seven years hadn’t changed my opinion about the man.

  I was positioned here temporarily, working on recruiting duty while the army docs made sure I was still whole in the head. Turned out, I was. Now I needed to plan my next move in the ranks, and it would involve a desk job instead of battles in a hot-ass desert. I wasn’t fighting anymore. I wasn’t protecting my country and the people in it.

  My life no longer had meaning.

  After spending my adult life as a soldier, it was all I knew. Fighting. Pride. Survival. War. One bad night and a poorly timed shot had ruined it all. Had taken me down. And I hadn’t really gotten back up yet. But I was trying.

  I was figuring my shit out.

  I turned so only the bartender was at my back, instead of the whole room full of people. I might be out of the war zone, and I might know I was safe here, but I still didn’t like having people at my back. Whereas Lilly looked so free. So unworried about life.

  I had no idea what that felt like anymore.

  The years had been kind to her. She was slim, but not too much so. She had curves in all the right places, and she just sort of vibrated with energetic life. She always had, even as a teenager. It had been a while since I felt alive at all, so maybe it was that eternal light of hers that drew me in. Just like the memories of what we’d once been to each other did. Christ, I’d missed her….

  Which was why I should’ve turned around and gotten out before she saw me.

  Nothing had changed. She still didn’t need me in her life.

  My vision blurred, and I squinted so I could focus on Lilly better. The whole room spun wildly, which wasn’t a good sign for tomorrow morning, but what the hell. Wouldn’t be the first time I drank too much, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. I drank a lot nowadays.

  Anything to dull the pain of losing my career due to an insurgent’s good aim.

  Some preppy little asshole bounced into me, knocking me off balan
ce as I precariously sat on the barstool. He glared at me, but I ignored him because I could have him bleeding and unconscious on the floor in two seconds. I wasn’t looking for an easy fight. Not tonight. Not after Lilly had awoken the need inside me that I usually ignored.

  I’d rather find a sweeter escape.

  Too bad the only woman in this room I wanted was her.

  If I went up to her, would she even recognize me? I sure as hell didn’t look like I had at eighteen. For starters, I had tattoos, muscles, and a few new scars. Seen and done shit that no man should ever have to see or do.

  I was a different man from the boy she once knew.

  Was she the same girl I kissed by the pool?

  The man who’d bumped into me earlier shoved past me again and walked right up to Lilly. He tapped her on the shoulder, and she looked at him. After a few words, she shook her head and twisted away from him, her shoulders stiff.

  The douche had been dismissed.

  He didn’t take the hint, though.

  Instead, he leaned in, grabbed her shoulder. She spun on him, scowling, and spoke again, her arms flying animatedly. The jerk still didn’t back off. If anything, he crowded her even more, laying his hands on her where they were obviously not welcome.

  Well, shit.

  The dude had taken the one road I couldn’t abide. Being a dickhead to a lady. I might be a jerk, and Lilly might be a grown-ass woman who could fight her own battles, but men shouldn’t treat women like that. Period. Someone needed to teach this dude a lesson.

  And that someone would be me.

  The man grabbed her arm roughly, shaking her, and I stood. Rage, pure, unadulterated rage, hit me in the chest. No one touched her like that and got away with it, damn it. That protective instinct I’d tried to bury seven years ago arose like it had never left me, like it was a dormant reaction that only came alive for her—like I was only alive if I was with her.

  Fists at the ready, I made my way to her side. Lilly saw me coming before I reached her, and relief filled her bright green eyes. To be honest, I had no idea why. She had no way of knowing I was coming to her rescue, no reason to even think I would.

  She shouldn’t be so trusting.

  Someone needed to teach her that, too.

  As I walked closer, I heard the tail end of their conversation. “And I’m not your property.”

  The douche grabbed her arm way too tightly. “Yeah, you are, because you’re mine. You became mine the moment you were born. And you know it as well as I do.”

  I stiffened. She wasn’t this asshole’s property. Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? I tapped the douche on the shoulder. “Psst. Jackass.”

  He spun, face red, and said, “What?”

  Hauling my fist back, I smiled and let it fly. I hadn’t even been planning on starting a fight—not really—but after I’d heard him speak…well, it had been inevitable.

  Assholes pissed me off.

  Probably because I was one, too.

  The man fell backward, a hand clamped over his now-bleeding nose. He lowered it, blinking down at the red fluid as if he’d never seen blood before. Hell, he probably hadn’t. He wore the preppiest outfit I’d ever had the displeasure to see, and a pair of lame khakis. The kind with pleats in front. Fucking pleats.

  Lowering his hand, Preppy Prick scowled and launched himself at me.

  We fell to the floor in a tangle of flying fists and grunting, and as much of a pansy ass as he might be, he got one solid punch in. His fist connected, and my teeth tore into my cheek from the force of the blow.

  The metallic taste of blood touched my tongue, and I lost it.

  Growling, I regrouped and got three solid punches in before someone dragged me off him. I gingerly ran my tongue over the gash, grinning and laughing as the fool struggled to get to his feet. It had been a while since someone managed to get a hand on me, and it felt good. Welcome, even.

  Fighting felt good.

  “Who started it?” the man behind me asked. I knew that voice. It was Tyler, the owner of the bar, and a good friend of mine as well as a combat brother. “What happened?”

  “Who do you think started it? Look at us.” Preppy Prick pointed at me with a shaking finger. “It was him.”

  Tyler held me even tighter. “Of course.”

  I purposely avoided looking at Lilly and remained quiet.

  Being this close to her, and not knowing if she recognized me, not being able to touch her, was almost as hard as it had been for me to read her love letters and not write back. To set her free with my silence. And that had been the hardest thing I’d ever done.

  She stepped forward, pale and trembling. “He—He was trying to help, I think. I’m—”

  The longer I stood there, in front of her, the more opportunity I gave her to figure out who I was. And if she found out I was home, she would run back to her father and my mother and tell them I was here. This needed to end, now. “It doesn’t matter why I did it. I’m done now,” I called out. I didn’t bother to fight the hold. “I’m done,” I repeated.

  “No kidding,” Tyler said quietly, keeping his words low enough for me and me only to hear. “What were you thinking, coming in here and starting trouble in my place? Trying to get the cops all over my ass?”

  I shrugged as best I could. Tyler would have no clue why I’d come to Lilly’s rescue, and I wasn’t about to tell him in front of her. He was the only one who knew about Lilly, and how much I’d clung to her letters. How much I’d missed her. “That he had it coming.”

  Preppy Prick hadn’t lost consciousness, but it would be a while until he had the energy to bully women in clubs, so I would have to be happy with that. Tyler unclipped my keys off my belt loop. “You can have these back tomorrow morning. Take a cab home, or call someone to pick you up.”

  I had no one I wanted to call, and he knew it.

  So I said nothing. Just grinned.

  “Come on, man,” Tyler said in my ear. “Don’t make me ban you like every other bar on this street.”

  I spit blood on Preppy Prick, who struggled to sit up at my feet. A bouncer finally got him upright, and he ushered him to the door. “Go ahead. See if I give a damn.”

  Tyler pushed me toward the opposite door. “Look, I fought alongside you. Don’t make me push you away now, when we’re both trying to get back to living.”

  I yanked free and walked to the door on my own, before the bouncer decided to kick my ass out. I was good at this part. The leaving. It was the staying that I sucked at.

  That, and not being an asshole.

  Pushing out into the stagnant night air, I sucked in a deep breath. It cleared my head a little bit, but not enough. I could still see the images of my time as a sniper, keeping my guys safe from ISIS while they ran toward us, screaming shit I couldn’t understand, with AK-47s in their hands. I didn’t have PTSD, or even panic attacks.

  But when I got in fights, it triggered things.

  Things better left forgotten.

  My therapist said this was normal behavior for soldiers freshly back from the war zone. That it took time to get back to feeling like a civilian after years of fighting for your life. And for others’ lives, too. Sometimes I wondered if she lied to make guys like me feel better. Most people did.

  The door opened behind me almost immediately, while a siren blared in the distance. I didn’t bother to turn around. It would be Tyler, checking to see if I’d hit the road yet. And making sure I was okay. He’d been friends with me for a while, so he knew when I drank this heavily, I wasn’t always making the best choices.

  On my worst days, he stood by my side, and I was there for him on his. Which was why I knew he hadn’t really meant his dire warning. Dropping my hands, I muttered, “I’m fine. Go back inside. I’ll call a cab in a minute.”

  “I wanted to thank you,” a soft, feminine voice said, sending shivers throughout my whole body, and I knew Lilly Hastings stood behind me. “For coming over like that. And I’m sorry if it got
you in trouble.”

  “It’s nothing. Anything to help a lady in need,” I muttered. It might have been seven years since she climbed into my lap and kissed me, but my body remembered how good it had felt. How right. She meant a lot to me at one time, but we weren’t meant to be. “Bye.”

  “Jackson…”

  Well, shit.

  Mixed emotions broke out within me. Happiness that she remembered me. Pain, because nothing had changed, and I still wasn’t the man for her. And a little bit of fear, because if she told my mother I was home, I’d have to deal with her shit, and I had enough of my own to deal with right now.

  Tensing at the way she made me feel—all shaky and hot and uneasy, even though she was my stepsister—I flexed my jaw. “So you knew?”

  “Of course I knew.”

  She stepped closer. Close enough that I could smell her soft floral scent. She smelled like that sweet escape I wanted her to give me earlier, and everything about that was wrong. She deserved better. Much better. I hadn’t rejected her for this long—suffered for this long—to swoop back into her life and fuck it all up again.

  “Stay back. You don’t want to get too close to me right now. Trust me.”

  The warring sensations she brought out in me jumbled my mind. Confused me. She made me feel things I didn’t want to feel. Things I shouldn’t feel.

  Not for her.

  She had unsettled me back when we were kids, too. But something about her had always shaken me off my axis. And when she kissed me by the pool…

  She’d been right. I’d liked it a lot.

  “I’m not scared.” She stepped closer. “You’re back?”

  “For now.” I continued facing away from her. “Hey, it was nice seeing you. But don’t tell my mother, or more important, your father, that I’m home.”

  She laughed. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  I heard her take another step. “Were you planning on telling us at all?”