by Emery Rose
“Yeah, she did.” My grip tightened on the wheel. I was too old for this shit. Shouldn’t be jealous of my own brother spending time with the girl who was never meant to be anything more than a casual hookup. She’d made that clear earlier when she refused to tell me why she was really here. Ridge was still talking, and I was straining my eyes to see through the river of rain while I listened to him.
“She’s the real fucking deal. Her voice, you know... it just ... gives me chills.” He cleared his throat and turned his head, embarrassed by the admission. Her voice did the same thing to me, but she’d never given me a private concert or sang just for me. And I really fucking needed to stop dwelling on that.
“I thought it might be cool to be a roadie,” he confided. He was obviously feeling talkative tonight, a rare occurrence for him. “Learn how to do the lighting or sound or some shit like that.”
I was all set to shoot him down but then I remembered how Shiloh told me when he shared his dreams with me, I shouldn’t immediately dismiss them as stupid. And hadn’t I been the one to tell him that everyone needed a dream? So I kept my mouth shut. What good would it do to mock him for having that dream or tell him to dream bigger the way Patrick used to tell us when we were growing up?
My dreams had been my own and I’d never won those belt buckles for Patrick or because he pushed me to keep doing better, insisted that none of us settle for anything less than being number fucking one. Everything I’d done, every medal and trophy and cash prize I’d won, I’d done for myself. I had wanted to be world champion, and I had been. Twice. Where did you go from there? The higher you climb, the harder the fall. When you stopped being number one, it was harder than you’d think to pick yourself up, brush yourself off and walk away.
And maybe that was what this was all about. I wanted to be number fucking one in Shiloh’s life, but there wasn’t a chance in hell of that ever happening. Why settle for runner-up to music and world tours and platinum albums, and all the other shit that would always take precedence?
“There’s the truck!” Ridge pointed up ahead and then in the next breath, “Holy shit.”
Holy shit was right. My headlights illuminated the wrecked vehicle in the field. A small figure was on the shoulder of the road, and it looked like she was down on her knees, praying, her face tipped up to the sky while the rain poured down on her.
What the hell are you doing, woman?
I pulled over, left my truck running, and shoved open my door, my arms reaching for her as soon as I was close enough to hold her. I pulled her to her feet and into my arms. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Sobs wracked her body, and I stroked her wet hair, holding her close against me as she clung to me, my eyes on the deer lying alongside the road.
“You found me. You came for me when I called...”
“I told you I would. I told you I’d come for you.” Had she expected me to leave her out here in the middle of a thunderstorm? What kind of jackass would do something like that?
“But after the way I left you… you still came.”
Yeah, well, I was a dumbass. Couldn’t stop myself from caring about her even if I tried.
“The deer came out of nowhere. I didn’t see her until she was right in front of my headlights and I tried to swerve but it was too late.” She took a shuddering breath. “I killed her.”
“It was an accident.”
“She had a baby. I killed the baby’s mother.”
“Shh.” I pulled her closer and kept stroking her wet hair, the rain beating down on us and the thunder rumbling in the distance. “It’s okay. You couldn’t help it. It happens. It was an accident.”
Standing outside in the middle of a violent thunderstorm wasn’t going to bring the deer back or do Shiloh any good. She was soaked to the bone, shivering uncontrollably. Lifting her into my arms, I carried her to my truck. Ridge shoved open the passenger door and climbed into the back. I set Shiloh in the seat and put two fingers under her chin, turning her face toward mine. Then I used both hands to gently push the wet hair off her face, so I could see it better in the light from the cab. Blood trickled down her forehead from a gash just below her hairline. She must have rammed it into the steering wheel. “Ridge. Give me your flannel shirt.”
He took it off, leaving him in a T-shirt and handed it to me. I used it to dab off the blood on Shiloh’s forehead and even though my touch was gentle, she winced. “Do you have any other injuries? Where else does it hurt?”
She shook her head a little and wrapped her hand around my wrist, pulling it away. “I’m fine.”
Stormy grays locked onto mine and I saw a world of pain and sadness that seemed to go deeper than tonight’s accident. “Brody,” she whispered, her eyes welling up with tears again.
“Hey. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay. We need to get you to the hospital.”
“No. I’m fine. Just... take me home, okay? Please.”
Her whole body was trembling from the shock and the longer we stayed in my parked truck, the worse it would be for her.
“Get in the truck,” she said. “You’re getting soaked.”
I almost laughed at that. I was drenched and so was she. “A little rain won’t hurt me. Everything is going to be fine. Let’s get you home.”
“What about the deer?” She wrung her hands in her lap and gnawed on her bottom lip. “We can’t just leave her on the road.”
“I’ll move her into the field and come back in the morning to take care of everything.”
“I’m the one who hit her... I should be the one to—”
“You don’t have to worry about anything,” I assured her. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Why are you so good to me?”
“I’m just doing what anyone would do.”
She shook her head. “No. Not all men are like you, Brody.”
Then you’ve been with the wrong men. What kind of jackass wouldn’t reassure her and tell her everything was going to be fine?
“Need help, bro?” Ridge asked from the back seat.
“Nah. I got it.” I tossed his flannel shirt in the truck. I’d wash it later. “Just stay in the truck with Shiloh.”
He nodded, probably relieved. Ridge wasn’t a country boy, he’d grown up in a city, so he wasn’t all that comfortable around animals, let alone dead ones. I closed Shiloh’s door then walked over to the doe and crouched in front of it, my back to the truck. Just to make sure there was no hope, I felt for a pulse, but she was gone, eyes still open and staring blankly at the sky. Even in the pouring rain, coat wet and matted with blood, the white-tailed deer was a thing of beauty.
Animals were so pure and innocent. They didn’t stab you in the back or break your heart or spread rumors. They weren’t greedy, taking only what they needed to survive, and they only fought to protect their young or their territory or when they felt threatened.
I stood up, grabbed the doe by the hind legs and dragged her into the field. She was dead weight, weighing as much as I did, so it was slow going but I kept dragging her until she was in the tall grass where I left her to rest. Tomorrow I’d call the games warden, and have it dealt with after I had Austin’s truck towed. No need to alert the media that Shiloh Leroux had hit a deer in a borrowed truck.
Catching some rainwater on my hands, I scrubbed them together then wiped them on my soaking wet T-shirt. A bolt of lightning lit up the sky. In the distance stood three deer, one of which was a fawn, a stark relief to the dark landscape.
I turned away and walked back to the truck with the doe’s blood still on my hands.
Before I could climb into the driver’s seat, one of the county sheriff’s black SUVs pulled up in front of my truck. Fuck.
He stepped out of the SUV, his black cowboy hat coming into view and then his ruddy face as he came to stand in front of me. Double fuck. I reached inside my truck and took my keys out of the ignition. “I’ll take care of this,” I told Shiloh, my voice low. She opened her mouth
to protest. “Just stay quiet. It’s all gonna be fine.”
I turned to face Silas Barnes. I hated the fucker.
“Brody McCallister. It’s been a while.”
Not long enough. “How’s it going, Sherriff?”
“That your truck?” He jerked his chin at the blue Chevy.
“Nope. Belongs to a friend.”
He stroked his jaw. “Anyone hurt?”
“Nope. It’s all good.”
His eyes darted to my truck then back to me. Ready to accuse me of committing a crime or breaking the law. It felt like old times. “There a reason you got blood on your hands?”
When I was a teenager, Silas called me a juvenile delinquent and told me if I didn’t straighten up, I’d turn out to be exactly like my no-good father. I couldn’t think of a worse thing you could say to a sixteen-year-old. I’d told him to go fuck himself. After that, I’d gotten picked up a few times for minor infractions and had spent a few nights behind bars.
“I hit a deer,” I said, opting for a half-truth. “Damn shame too. She was a beauty.”
“You hit a deer?”
“That’s what I said.”
“So you were driving a friend’s truck and you hit a deer?”
“Yup.”
“That’s not what happened,” Shiloh said. “It was—”
“Me. I hit the deer,” Ridge said, coming to stand next to me. “It was me. I freaked out. Called Brody. He came out and took care of it.”
Silas’ eyes narrowed on Ridge. “You’re the kid who stole the trucker’s wallet, ain’t ya?”
Ridge gave him a surly look. “Yup.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. Shelby McCallister was always trouble. The apples don’t fall far from the tree.”
My jaw clenched. Ridge opened his mouth about to say what I was sure would land him in more trouble. Before he could get a word out, I elbowed him in the ribs hard enough that he grunted. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’ll be on our way. I’ll get the truck towed tomorrow.”
He held up his hand like a traffic cop. “Not so fast. Show me the deer you hit. And I’m gonna need to see your license and the registration for that truck,” he told Ridge.
“Ridge. Brody. You don’t have to—”
I slammed the door shut, stopping the rest of Shiloh’s words and beeped the locks so she couldn’t get out of the truck. No need to get her involved in Silas Barnes’ bullshit. Ridge and I would handle it.
Turns out, Ridge was a hell of a lot like me. I was so damn proud to call him my brother.
I stepped into the steaming hot shower behind Shiloh and turned her around to face me, the water pouring down over her head, mascara tracks on her cheeks and her smudged eyeliner giving her raccoon eyes. Only Shiloh could manage to make smeared eyeliner look so fucking sexy. I soaped every inch of her body, mindful of the bruises and welts on her skin from the seat belt digging into her and the injuries she’d sustained from whiplash. She let me do it without saying a word or putting up a fight. I squeezed shampoo into my hand and washed her hair then wiped the mascara off her cheekbones with the pads of my thumbs.
After we’d dealt with the sheriff who had a hard-on for the McCallisters from the wrong side of the tracks—not to be confused with Patrick’s sons—I’d brought her back to my house and stripped off her clothes then threw them in the wash with mine. She’d been in the shower for twenty minutes, just standing under the water before I joined her. I’d already taken a quick shower in the one I’d installed next to the laundry room.
“What were you doing in here?” I asked her as the soap suds rinsed from her hair and circled the drain. Thankfully, the cut on her forehead wasn’t too deep and I didn’t think she needed stitches, but she’d taken the two Tylenol I’d given her because I thought the crying and the blow to her head would give her a headache.
She mustered a smile, and it was so sad, I’d have to add it to my list of things that made me want to cry. “I was letting it go.”
“What do you have to let go, Shy?”
She lifted her hands to my face and cradled it. For a moment, I thought she was talking about us, but I knew it was something more. Something that went a lot deeper. She kissed my lips and it felt like goodbye. I wrapped my arm around her waist, her slippery-wet body flush with mine and it didn’t seem like the time to think about sex but damn if my dick didn’t get hard, like it had a mind of its own. She reached between us, her hand wrapping around my cock and squeezing, sliding up and down, applying just the right amount of pressure.
My mouth found hers and I kissed her softly then deepened the kiss, my tongue tangling with hers as she continued to stroke me, my dick getting impossibly hard in her hand.
She pulled back from our kiss, her lips still on mine and murmured, “I want you. I need you. Right now.” As if to drive home her point, she stroked me harder and faster, her chest heaving and her eyes at half-mast while the water cascaded over us and the steam filled the bathroom, making this look like a dreamscape.
My hands coasted over her ass and to the backs of her thighs and I lifted her up, her arms and legs wrapped around me as I pushed her against the tiles and drove into her.
“Fuck me,” she said. “Fuck me hard.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, thrusting in and out of her, my balls tightening and the base of my spine tingling. Her short nails dug into my shoulders and I wouldn’t be surprised if she drew blood. My eyes opened and she threw back her head, exposing the column of her neck as she met me thrust for thrust. There was zero finesse in this, and no rhythm to speak of. She was pulling, and I was pushing, our breathing ragged as I pounded into her, needing more and more and more. Of fucking everything.
“Oh my God. Brody!” She screamed, her voice echoing off the tiles. I didn’t let up, I kept the punishing pace until her legs clamped tighter around me and her head fell to my shoulder, her body trembling with the release. Seconds later, I came so hard my legs felt like they might give out. I flattened my palm on the tiles behind her to steady myself and catch my breath. For a few seconds neither of us moved. My face was buried in the crook of her neck and she was still holding on so tightly like she was afraid that if she loosened her hold, I’d disappear.
“Don’t leave me,” she whispered, and I didn’t know if she was talking about right this moment or four days from now.
I lifted my head and pushed the wet hair off her face, my thumb stroking her cheekbone, my dick still inside her. “I’m not going anywhere, Shiloh.”
She was the one who would be doing the leaving, not me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Shiloh
Dressed in Brody’s T-shirt and sweatpants, I crawled into bed next to him. He was wearing boxer briefs and lying on top of the covers, his back leaning against the headboard. It was strange that this was the first time I’d ever been in his bedroom, sleeping in his bed. His room was simply furnished with a tall oak dresser, two bedside tables that looked as if they’d been carved from a single piece of wood and off-white painted walls like the rest of the house. Everything was neat and tidy, no clothes strewn on the floor or dirty piles heaped in the corners of the room like Dean had always done.
The air smelled fresh and clean, like his cedar soap and the outdoors. Cream linen blinds covered the windows, open to let the fresh air in.
His bedding was forest green and a few framed black and white horse photos hung on the opposite wall. Horses were his first love, so I guess it was fitting that he kept photos of them in his bedroom.
He slid his arm around my shoulders, and I leaned into him, resting my hand on his heart, one of my legs draped across his lap. He wrapped his hand around my leg, just above my knee and asked me how I was feeling.
“I’m okay. Just a little stiff and shaken up.”
“You’ll be sore for a day or two.” His thumb made lazy circles on my skin and I thought those hands of his held magic in them. They were made for healing, not for breaking things.
“I owe you and
Ridge so much.”
“You don’t owe us a damn thing.” But I did. They’d both stood up to take the blame for something I’d done. “You wanna tell me what’s going on with you, Shy?”
Earlier, I’d made the decision that I wanted to tell him everything. “You remember when you asked me why I was here, and I told you I had my reasons, but they were personal?”
“I remember.”
He waited for me to go on, his thumb still making lazy circles, his arm still wrapped around me. Not pushing me to hurry up and tell him what the hell was going on in my head. He’d come to find me tonight, no questions asked, and in some ways, he was part of the reason I’d broken down and cried so hard. Because real men, good men, showed up and tried to fix what was broken. They didn’t call you an idiot for driving through a thunderstorm. Didn’t try to make you feel shittier than you already did for wrecking a truck and killing that poor doe who had been unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Real men carried your burdens along with their own, and I thought Brody’s shoulders were broad enough to carry the weight of the world.
I took a deep breath in preparation to tell my story. Brody’s arm tightened around me as if he alone could hold me together and keep me from losing it again. I wouldn’t lose it though. I’d cried all my tears and it was time to let it go. “When I was eighteen, I got pregnant. But I didn’t even realize it until I was four months gone and had just graduated high school.” When I’d walked onto the stage to accept my diploma, Landry, Dean and Gus had cheered louder than anyone else in that audience. It had been a good day. One of my best memories.
“The guys and I had been making plans to hit the road as soon as I graduated. Dean bought ... or stole... I don’t even know which… but he got this old van, big enough to fit all of us and all our equipment. The guys had been working on that thing for months. We all wanted to get away, especially Dean. His family was... still is... total shit. If his dad wasn’t beating the shit out of him, his older brothers were. Anyway, I found out I was pregnant and that put a wrench in our plans... we were barely scraping by as it was…” I took a deep breath and let it out. Brody was massaging my upper arm with his hand and stayed quiet.
