Wicked Reunion (Wicked White Series Book 2)

by Michelle A. Valentine

  His words sting because I never knew he felt like this. There’s so much pent-up rage in him, and it’s all directed at me. Wes is usually the calm one between us. It’s hard to stand here and watch him fall apart like this, but I have to be honest with him.

  “I won’t apologize for loving her,” I say. “But if you want to hit me, do it. I treated you like shit and I deserve your anger. So if you want to hit me, so be it, but it won’t make me stop loving London. I’ll always love her, even if she’s with you.”

  “Ahhhhh!” Wes screams in my face as he draws his arm back, fist curled tight, ready to blast me.

  “Do it!” My chest rises and falls as I await the pain that’s sure to follow the blow as I give my brother permission to unleash his rage on me.

  The next few seconds happen so fast. Wes’s fist flies forward, and I squeeze my eyes shut, knowing I have this coming, knowing that deep down I deserve much worse than this. The force of his punch to my face causes my head to snap to the right. Warm blood fills my nose and then runs down over my top lip and drips to my mouth. The metallic taste fills my mouth, and I open my eyes just in time to witness Wes drawing his elbow back yet again.

  I’m not angry with him—not at all—and I want him to know that. “I’m sorry.”

  Blow after blow, I don’t try to fight any of them, and I apologize every time I get the chance. I welcome the pain. It’s a reminder of how much I hurt everyone. Just as I’m about to lose consciousness, I hear an angelic voice scream my name. The voice rips through my foggy brain, and my eyes snap open just in time to see London rush through the kitchen and lunge after Wes just as he draws back yet again.

  “London, stop!” I protest, but I can’t get the words out fast enough.

  As she leaps onto Wes’s back, he draws his elbow back at the same time, landing it directly into her stomach. Instantly Wes realizes he’s hit her on accident and releases me to turn around. Wes and I both watch in horror as London grunts from the pain of the blow and drops to her knees. She releases a sob and instinctively wraps her arms around her stomach.

  Wes drops to his knees beside her and attempts to comfort her. “Oh my God. London, are you all right? I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were there. Are you hurt?”

  I slide down the wall, barely able to see out of the one eye that isn’t swollen shut, and watch as panic engulfs my brother.

  London sits there on the floor, crying so hard that she can barely catch her breath. Every muscle in her body shakes violently as she lifts her chin to lock her gaze with Wes’s. “What were you thinking? Look at his face!” she shouts before she sucks in a ragged breath. “Look at what you’ve done to him, Wes!”

  My heart squeezes in my chest when I hear her defend me. I wish I could thank her—hold her—comfort her, but I know that would only make things worse with Wes, so I sit there, quiet.

  Wes walks over to London and stretches out his hand. “I lost it. I’m sorry. Come back home with me.”

  The word “home” might as well be another punch in the gut. The thought of him taking her home and being the one to comfort her hurts so fucking bad.

  Tears stream down London’s face as she takes his hand and allows him to help her up. The sight of them together is almost more than I can take. When he pulls her in against his chest, I drop my eyes down to the floor by their feet so I don’t have to watch this tender moment take place right in front of me.

  It’s then I notice blood trickling down London’s legs, just above her knees. Oh my God. She’s hurt. Energy surges through me and I shove myself up from the floor to stand on my own two feet. “London? Are you all right?” Her beautiful green eyes point in my direction, and I motion down to her legs. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Oh, God. No!” is all she manages to say before Wes and I look at each other with wide eyes as the realization of what’s happening to her hits us.

  “Come on. I’ll drive us to the hospital,” I say and grab the keys to my rental off the counter.

  Wes leads London out the door but doesn’t once fight me on being the one driving them. The entire fifteen-minute ride over to the hospital, Wes apologizes to London, blaming himself for what’s happening to her.

  I can empathize with the agony he feels. Five years ago, I was the one who lost control and hurt London, which was how I knew I was no longer the right guy for her. I allowed my own pain and anger to blind me to the point where I physically lashed out at others.

  It’s hard for me to know that I’m the source of my brother’s rage, and more than anything I wish he knew how truly sorry I am for hurting him all those times in the past.

  The tile below my feet is worn from the high traffic that comes in and out of the emergency room. I pace while I wait to hear how London’s doing. She’s been back there nearly an hour, and I’ve received no word.

  I look up just in time to see Mom walking toward me with a worried expression on her face. She cradles my face in her hands as she examines me. “Wes did this? Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor too while we’re here?”

  I pull her hands down, away from my face. “I’ll be fine, Mom. Nothing a little time and ice won’t heal. I’m more concerned with London right now.”

  “How is she?” Mom asks.

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. Wes hasn’t come out to tell me anything.”

  “Mom?” I turn around when I hear Wes call for our mother. “She’s asking for you.”

  Mom pats my arm. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m sure she’s going to be okay.”

  I nod as she takes off back through the double wooden doors with Wes. Needing some fresh air, I make my way outside of the building and find a quiet bench to sit on. I rest my elbows on my thighs and allow my head to drop down while I say a little silent prayer that London will be okay.

  “Do you mind if I sit?” I look up to see Wes standing there with his hands shoved deep in his front pockets.

  I scoot over. “Sure . . . unless you want to hit me some more.”

  I’m only half kidding, because I don’t think I’ll be able to take many more punches to the face.

  After a couple seconds of debate, Wes sits down. “You don’t know how bad I wish I could hit you, but for some crazy reason I can’t make myself do it. You are still my brother, and other than Mom, you’re the only family that I have left. I won’t hurt you, no matter how I much hate you right now. I know we both care for London, and right now she needs us both to be strong for her. She lost the baby.”

  Tears form in my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Wes.”

  Wes is more of a man than me. When I was angry, I forgot all about the strong bond of family, and it took me five years to man up and face the people who I pointed all my anger on, Wes included. I took my anger out on him—he became the target of my rage because he was one of the people who was closest to me. Family is the most important thing in this world. We need to figure out a way to heal all the wounds in ours and find a way to move forward.

  “I’m sorry, Wes. I’ve apologized to London, but I need you to hear it too. I know that I was wrong to leave the way I did. All I can do is ask for your forgiveness.”

  “How can I forgive you when you return home after five years to the person I love most in the world, and she wants you more than she wants me? Do you know how much that kills me?” he says.

  I can tell that he’s hurting, but I am too. “The same way I can forgive you for moving in on the one woman I’ve loved since I was just a kid while I was gone.”

  He raises his eyebrows in surprise as he thinks about what I’ve said. “I always hated that she picked you over me. She never even looked in my direction until you were gone. I was her consolation prize—the next-best thing to you that she could find. I know that she still loves you. She made that very clear to me over the years, and I hate that. I hate that she couldn’t move on past you and see that I loved her too. We both want her, and I don’t know how to fix this, because no matter who she chooses, someone’s gettin
g hurt.”

  I frown as I think back to the first time London traipsed into our yard to play baseball with Wes and me. We both did our best to impress her—to win her over—so we’ve been fighting over her for so long, but only she gets to decide who wins. “It’s not up to us. It never has been. It’s always been her choice.”

  That gets me thinking about how things are different now that there’s no baby. London made it clear to me that the reason she was picking Wes was because she was pregnant and wanted Wes in the baby’s life. I would’ve never stood in the way of that if that’s what London really wanted, but now I see a glimmer of hope that we may be able to get back together.

  Wes rakes his fingers through his blond hair. “As much as I hate to admit it, I know you’re right. I know she still loves you. I’ve been fighting hard to get her to see that I’m a better choice for her than you, but I can see it when I look in her eyes that her heart still belongs to you. That doesn’t stop me from loving her and praying that even though you’re back, that it’s me that she chooses.”

  I stare at my brother, and I can completely relate to what he’s feeling, but it still doesn’t mean that I will just step aside and let London go without a fight. I know she’ll need time to heal after all this, and time is one thing that I have on my hands right now.

  “I can understand that,” I say. “But before I leave this town again, I will make damn sure that she knows how much I love her and pray that she’ll give me another shot with her heart.”

  Wes shakes his head. “And what if she doesn’t want to be with you? She could just as easily pick me.”

  “If she does choose you, I’ll leave again—this time for good. I don’t want to stand in the way of you and London working things out if that’s what she wants.” The idea of never seeing London again is something I don’t even want to consider. There wasn’t a day that passed over the five years that I was gone that I didn’t think of her—dream about what it would be like to hold her again—and now that I’ve had her again, it’s going to be unbelievably difficult to walk away a second time. But it’s what needs to happen if she chooses Wes, and I want him to know that I’ll understand if she does decide to be with him.

  I sigh and look my brother square in the eye. “You, London, and Mom are my family, and more than anything else, I want you to be happy.”

  “What about you?” he asks. “If she picks me, where does that leave you?”

  “Alone—but I’ll always have my music to keep me company.” I muster up a smile so he can’t tell that there’s a breaking heart inside my chest.

  Before he has time to say anything else, Wes’s cell phone rings. “London?” He holds up his hand, palm out like he’s trying to show her the sign to stop through the phone, but it’s like London is in full-on panic mode on the other end of the line. “Slow down.” He pauses again. “I’m on my way.”

  I stand there, watching—hoping he’ll fill me in.

  He glances up at me, and tears glisten in his eyes. “I have to go. London wants me in there.”

  I nod but don’t say anything else before he turns and walks back inside the building.

  After they release London from the hospital, I drive back to Mom’s place. My mind is still going ninety miles an hour as I think about London and my family. More than anything I want to hop in the car and drive over to London’s house to check on her, but I know Wes is there, and the two of them need time to grieve over what they’ve lost. I know he’ll take good care of her, so I’m not worried about that, but it doesn’t change the fact that I wish I was the one there for her.

  Thinking about their loss makes me think of Dad, and I go to the garage.

  Mom asked me when I got here a couple days ago if I’d been to his grave, and I told her no. That’s not the place I feel closest to him. His gravestone is just a rock, a place where his body rests. It’s not where I feel his spirit. I feel it in the music I play and in all the things we did together. That’s when I can close my eyes and imagine his hand patting me on the shoulder.

  Sitting here in this Nova, I sense that connection more than ever. It’s the one place where I feel him the most.

  I ran from the pain of losing him, but more than anything, I ran from the very memory of him. When I found out I lost him, everything in my life fell apart. Nothing made sense anymore because without him I couldn’t see the path to my future clearly. That’s why I had to leave this town and everyone in it behind. Everywhere I looked, I was reminded of Dad, and that brought more pain on me than I could handle.

  It took me a while to accept that he was really gone—even longer to realize that the connection I shared with my father exists whether he’s alive or dead because he still lives inside me. Inside this car, the bittersweet joy of feeling him now hits me hard.

  “Hi, Dad,” I whisper as I run my hand over the dash while sitting in the passenger seat.

  Stirring up the dust on the dash causes me to sneeze, and my knees jerk up and hit the glove box. When it falls open, I furrow my brow when I spot a few white envelopes in there.

  I don’t remember these ever being in there.

  I pick one of the sealed envelopes up and read my name etched across the front in Dad’s thick scrawl. My hands shake as I realize this is some kind of letter addressed to me—a letter that holds the last conversation I’ll ever technically have with my father.

  I press the letter against my chest and close my eyes. Part of me thinks I should never open this letter, but keep it intact so that I will always have a piece of him to look forward to, while another part of me aches to find out what he could’ve possibly written to me about.

  With a shaky hand, I carefully open the envelope, taking care to not rip the letter that’s inside.

  My eyes zero in on the words on the paper, and I take my time reading them. I want to absorb every second of it, because it’s almost as if Dad’s speaking to me one last time.

  Jared,

  You might be wondering why in the hell I wrote letters and stuck them inside this car. Well, first thing is, I left them here because I figured no one would come across them in the glove box unless I’ve died, and, well, if that’s how you found them, let me start off by telling you that I’m sorry.

  Saying sorry hasn’t always come easy for me—learning to admit when I’m wrong took a lot of practice. I wish I could say that I’ve always been the man you’ve come to know as you grew up, but the truth is, in my younger days I could be a hotheaded bastard. Lucky for me, your mom came along and helped straighten me out. She was there for me even when I didn’t want her to be.

  I hope that you can find the kind of love someday that I shared with your mother. By the looks of things from where I sit, I think you might already have with London. That girl is something, Jared, and I can tell that she’s really in love with you. Hang on to that with both hands, because finding someone in this world who will love you despite all your flaws is a rarity, and you should cherish it.

  The second thing I want to tell you is that I love you, and if, God forbid, I don’t make it home to tell you this myself, I’m so very proud of the man that you’ve become. You are so strong and have talent coming out of your pores. Anything you’ve ever set your mind to doing, you’ve always succeeded at, and I admire that.

  I want you to know if I’m on the other side, I’m watching over you, and I’ll be around to give you a swift angel-style ass kickin’ if you get out of line, so be good.

  Well, that’s about all I can think of—you know how I hate writing letters. Make sure you take care of your mother for me. If I’m gone, she’s going to need you. Same goes for your brother. I know he’s older than you, but he looks up to you.

  Oh, and would you mind giving your mom and Wes their letters if I am gone? I would appreciate it. But, if you’ve found this and I’m still away, just put them in a place where no one else will find them.

  Love,

  Dad

  Tears stream down my face as I read the lett
er over and over. I can practically hear his voice in my head as I read the words. This is exactly how he would’ve spoken to me had he been here. I cradle the letter to my chest and finally release all the built-up tears I’ve been holding back for my father.

  NOW

  LONDON

  It’s been a month since I lost the baby. The first few days after it happened, I didn’t even want to get out of bed. It’s been so hard to keep it together, because every time I think about the little life I lost before I even fully had a chance to accept that I was pregnant to begin with, I can’t stop the tears from flowing down my cheeks. Sam’s been around a lot, motivating me to get up and keep living my life. I don’t know what I would’ve done if she hadn’t been here for me.

  Jared called more times than I can count, begging to come see me, but I told him that I just wasn’t ready to deal with things between us right now, that I needed some time to myself, so he’s recently settled for texting me once a day. Losing the baby, ending my marriage for good—it all took a toll on me, and I didn’t think I could handle hearing Jared reject me too if he decided he could no longer be with me.

  Julie stops in quite a bit too, and I’m grateful for that. She knows everything that’s been going on with me and both of her sons and hasn’t once said one cross word to me about the situation.

  Wes was devastated over the loss. When we were in the emergency room, he sat by my side and held my hand while we both cried together after the doctor told us that the baby was gone. Hearing that news—it’s not something I’d wish on my worst enemy, because that was the worst day of my life.

  Wes and I haven’t talked much since then. When he came home with me to care for me after the miscarriage, he begged me to work things out with him—to not go through with the divorce—but I told him I just didn’t love him the way he deserved. After that, I think he finally came to terms with my decision. He called to check on me a few times, but after he was sure that I was all right, he began contacting me less.