Retreat
Nicole Dykes
Copyright © 2020 by Nicole Dykes
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Retreat Playlist
Prologue
1. Morgan
2. Ty
3. Morgan
4. Ty
5. Morgan
6. Ty
7. Morgan
8. Morgan
9. Ty
10. Morgan
11. Ty
12. Morgan
13. Morgan
14. Ty
15. Ty
16. Morgan
17. Morgan
18. Ty
19. Ty
20. Morgan
21. Ty
22. Morgan
23. Ty
24. Morgan
25. Ty
26. Morgan
27. Ty
28. Morgan
29. Ty
30. Morgan
31. Morgan
32. Ty
33. Ty
34. Morgan
35. Morgan
36. Ty
37. Ty
38. Morgan
39. Ty
40. Morgan
Note from the Author
Trampoline
SHAED
Stolen Dance
Milky Chance
Someone You Loved
Lewis Capaldi
Stay (Feat. Mikky Ekko)
Rihanna
I Bet My Life
Imagine Dragons
It’s Time
Imagine Dragons
Ride
Twenty One Pilots
Take Me to Church
Hozier
Come Thru
Zero 9:36
All I Want
Kodaline
“Are you okay, Morgan?”
I swallow the pain I feel from this simple question. “No.”
His eyes close briefly before he looks at me again, agony swimming in his expression. “I’m so fucking sorry. I messed everything up, but I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
A cry builds up in my throat, a guttural scream that never comes. I hold it back because he hurt me, but not for the reason he believes. “I know that, Ty.”
“I was in a horrible place, but I had no right to kiss you.”
Damn it! “Stop saying that!”
He looks genuinely surprised, and I want to strangle him or scream at him, but I try my best to stay calm. The last thing I want is a scene. “Then what the hell do you want me to say?” He points to his chest, lost and angry. His confusion palpable. “I’m dying here. I lost everyone with one fucking mistake, Morgan.”
“That’s the part I want you to stop!” I’m angry. I need to end this once and for all. I move closer to him, so close our toes nearly touch. “Stop saying it was a mistake. Quit regretting the best kiss of my life.”
“What?” His eyes search mine, and again, I fight a guttural yell to the sky.
“That kiss was everything I ever wanted. It was everything, Ty.” He’s studying me, locked on every word, and there’s no going back. “I knew you were seeking comfort, but there was a second where I felt like you finally saw me, and it was perfect,” I pause for a moment and take a deep breath but continue to look into his eyes, “until you spoke and told me how much you regretted it. Because you wanted her and because you can’t hurt Jay, you still didn’t see me.”
“Morgan, I—”
I hold up one hand to silence him. “And it’s fine, but stop calling it a mistake.”
“Morgan, we’re friends.”
“I didn’t want to just be your friend, Ty.” I look into his lost eyes. “I wanted you.”
I take a deep breath because I never thought I’d say those words to him out loud. “You what?”
And my heart shatters all over again. He doesn’t see me. “I hope you can work things out with Jay, but I can’t be around you.”
I start to leave, and he takes my hand in his, pulling me to him. “Morgan, wait. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why can’t you be around me? Why the hell can’t we just go back to the way it was before?”
I pull out of his grasp, my hands clenching as I look up at the sky and let out a frustrated, although fairly quiet scream before lowering my eyes to look directly at him. “Because I love you. I’ve love you since I can remember. And you will never see me that way.”
“Morgan, I care about you.”
I shake my head. “That’s not the same thing.”
He looks pained, but I don’t care in this moment. I do not care. “I’m not in a good place, Morgan.”
“I know.”
“I can’t love you the way you deserve to be loved.”
I fight tears I don’t want to fall, but my soul betrays me, and I lose the battle. “You’ve broken my heart for the last time. I have to move on.”
“I miss you.”
I miss you too.
My heart is racing as I sit up in the king-sized bed, sweat drenching my back, making the oversized Tate Pearson Racing shirt stick to my skin.
I have to stop dreaming about the last time I saw Ty.
He’s not dead, and yet, I grieve for him. I replay that night in my head over and over again.
We were best friends. Hell, Ty, Frankie, Jay, and I were a sort of family.
Now, that’s been shattered along with my heart.
I made a huge mistake. I fell for my best friend, my older brother’s best friend, and I got clobbered.
Because he never saw me that way. He fooled around with nameless chick after nameless chick and then fell in love with The Evie Adamson, his boss Chris’s little sister. And it was all downhill from there.
Somehow, I found myself in some sort of twisted love square. Is that even a thing? I have no idea. Maybe it was a love circle? Because we all went round and round, leaving Ty and me all alone and Evie ending up with Tate Pearson, her true love.
My phone rings next to my bed. I already know who it is before I pick it up.
I lift the phone to my ear after accepting the call. “Tate, you’re up early.”
“Yeah, aren’t you supposed to be here, dragging my ass out of bed?”
“I think that’s your girl’s job now. I’m not going anywhere near your bed.” It just so happens I work for Tate. He’s one of the top race car drivers in the country, and I’m his assistant.
We’re in Alabama for a race this weekend, and he’s right, I need to get my ass up and over to his hotel suite so we can get to the track. What the hell is wrong with me lately?
“We have plenty of time.”
“Press will be there. You know they’ll want to talk to me.”
He’s not wrong. “I’ll be there in ten.”
I don’t give him a chance to give me more shit because Tate definitely will. We’ve worked together for years now, and once I stopped letting him run me ragged and we came to an understanding, I started to enjoy my job. I learned how to keep him in line and take no shit, which he respects.
But lately I’ve been haunted by memories and having a hell of a time staying strong.
I climb out of bed and walk to the large mirror mounted in the living room of the hotel suite. Tate likes to travel in style, and that includes his entourage. My blonde mane is matted, the curls flying all over the place, and I look like a hot mess.
“Come on, Morgan. You’re strong. You will not let a boy fuck up your life anymore.”
Talking to myself in the mirror doesn’t provide any relief, but it’s all I have right now. I gather my wavy blond locks into a full pony, holding it together with a black scrunchie from my wrist and dart to the edge of the bed to my black duffle.
After quickly tugging on a pair of ripped jeans and a cropped, black Pearson Racing tee, I brush my teeth in the bathroom sink. Then I splash water on my face and apply black eyeliner and mascara before slipping into a pair of strappy, black heels.
I look like a glorified track bunny, but that’s part of the job. The men pay attention this way, and whatever gets shit done.
I smear red lipstick on my lips before grabbing my bag and heading out the door, down the hall to the elevator.
I check my phone as I reach the top floor and walk to the penthouse suite.
Two missed calls from my older brother, Jay, and two texts from Frankie.
How I missed their calls but woke up for Tate’s, I have no idea. Fucker probably programed my phone to ring louder when he calls.
Mr. All Important.
I knock on the door, something I do now that he’s with Evie and they travel everywhere together. God only knows what my eyes would be subjected to if I didn’t knock.
He answers, shirtless with a grin. “Finally. Did you get lost?”
“Did you forget how to put on a shirt again, Tate? You poor thing.”
His lips turn up in a devilish smirk. “You know you like me better like this. But hands-the-fuck-off because I’m taken.”
I roll my eyes and push past him. “That poor girl. Is she here?”
“Nah, she had some promo shit to handle over the phone.”
Evie works for the Kansas City racetrack. “Okay well, let’s get going. Please put on a fucking shirt.”
“Testy this morning.”
It’s not a question, rather an observation, as he tugs a black t-shirt over his tattooed torso. “I haven’t had coffee yet.”
He nods toward the fully-stocked coffee bar in the suite. “Help yourself.”
Oddly enough, Tate has become my best friend these days. I can’t stand his girl, Evie, although that’s not really her fault. But when it’s just him and me, I actually feel at ease.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
I walk to make myself a cup of coffee, and he eyes me suspiciously until I cave. “I didn’t sleep well.”
“Thinking about that fucker, huh?”
I roll my eyes. He and Ty don’t have the best history, it even came down to a fistfight once. But Tate is a much happier person now that he’s with Evie, believe it or not.
“No.”
He smiles, drinking his own coffee. “Yeah, you are. Why don’t you just go ahead and make up?”
“Drop it, Tate.”
He rolls his eyes, not one to get involved in other people’s drama. He’s never really cared enough before. “Morgan, look at me.” I stir creamer into my coffee and watch it swirl into the black liquid, turning it a delicious mocha color, but I feel him approaching. “Morgan.”
“I really hate the ‘dad’ voice, Tate.” My eyes lift to meet his that harbor too much concern, making my chest ache. “What?”
“If you want him, go get him.”
“I don’t want him.”
“Bullshit.”
Geez, Tate! Sometimes I really hate him. “Tate, I told him I love him, and he was completely clueless, stuck on Evie.”
I see his jaw tick and smile cunningly, knowing I’ve rattled him a bit. Since he loves to always fuck with me, I don’t mind giving it back. “Well, he can’t have her.”
“I won’t be anybody’s consolation prize.”
He nods his head with approval. “You’re right. You’re way too fucking good for that pussy.”
I cringe, my first instinct is still to stand up for Ty, but I fight it. Again, Tate has an odd look of pride on his face.
“Good girl.”
“Look, I don’t want to talk about him anymore, okay? Please. I’m a grown woman, and I’m not doing this sad, pathetic, little-girl shit anymore.”
“Sounds good to me. And although you know I can’t throw you one, I do know a couple of guys who bug the shit out of me, trying to get to you.”
I glare at him, and he laughs. “No. Thanks.”
He easily shrugs it off. “There if you want it.”
I take a sip of the scalding coffee and hiss when it burns the top of my mouth. I groan, “Let’s just do this.”
Thankfully, he finally drops the subject, and we drive to the track.
I have to find a way to actually move on from Ty King.
“You know, after this, we should go get a drink . . .” The twentysomething chick sitting in my chair is attractive enough I guess. But her voice has been getting on my nerves the entire time I’ve been tattooing a red heart on her left hip.
She pushes her tits together, her pink tank not leaving much to the imagination, donning a look that screams, “Fuck me, please.”
It wasn’t too long ago, I would have turned up a smile and let my looks do all the work. We’d go back to my place or hers, fuck, and I’d never think about what’s-her-face again.
My eyes catch my former best friend, more like my former brother, Jay. He’s glaring at me with intense hatred. I can’t blame the big motherfucker since I did mess up.
I knew Morgan was off-limits. That was his one rule. I’d watched the guy pummel total strangers for making remarks about Morgan, and then I kissed her. Because I was fucked-up and angry at the world.
I used her to try to relieve my own pain. But all I did was cause a ripple effect of utter chaos.
Doing this ended my relationship with Eve for good and sent her straight into Tate’s arms. It also hurt Morgan. And it infuriated Jay.
It left me with no one.
I focus on the desperate chick in my chair, finishing the tattoo. “Nah, I can’t.”
“I don’t see a ring on your finger.”
That’s laughable in itself. I’m thirty-three and have only been in one serious relationship, which didn’t last long.
“I didn’t say I was married.” My eyes meet hers with cold indifference I’ve never thought I was capable of. “I said I can’t.”
Her right eyebrow lifts as she gnaws on her bottom lip, stained with red lipstick. “You can’t?”
“I. Can’t.”
“Don’t let him get to you, sweetie.” My eyes roll when I hear Frankie swoop in to the girl’s rescue. Her dyed, red hair is pulled into a high ponytail, her nails painted black, and her makeup flawless. Frankie is fucking stunning, a true badass, and like a big sister to me. “He’s a little pissy at the moment.”
I don’t argue with Frankie. I rarely do.
The girl pouts but doesn’t say another word as I finish and send her to Kat, the receptionist at the studio where I work, to pay and to finally leave.
“You don’t have to be such a dick about it.”
I don’t look at Frankie as I slip out of my gloves and begin cleaning my station. “I think she’ll be fine.”
“You know he doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself, Frankie.”
I don’t bother looking at Jay. His angry face, full of rage, is burned in my brain at this point.
I need a fucking change.
Chris, my boss and the owner of the shop, walks out, sensing the mood instantly, but he doesn’t say anything. I’m sure he’s sick of all the fucking drama.
I know I am.
Luckily, our friendship stayed intact even after I dated his little sister Eve. Maybe he took pity on me, considering she’s happy now and I’m a miserable fucking trainwreck.
Frankie and Chris share a brief look before he shakes his head and goes to his own station. Chris is the best of the best, people come from all over just to get a tattoo at his shop. It’s a great job, one I’ve had for a long time, since Chris took me under his wing when I was nineteen.
Still, somehow after everything that’
s happened, this place that used to feel like home suddenly doesn’t.
Maybe it’s time to move on.
“Pull that shit again and I’ll knock your head off, motherfucker.”
Shit. I roll my eyes as I run out onto the track, pissed and ready to kill Tate. He has a bad boy persona, though we’ve been working on toning it down. Of course, right now he has Chase Castle by the collar, pinned against his orange race car.
“Tate! Let. Go.”
Tate doesn’t look back at me. “He did that shit on purpose. And you’re my fucking assistant, Morgan, you’re supposed to side with me.”
“Clearly she knows a winner when she sees one, Pearson,” Chase taunts through a bloody mouth.
During the last lap, Chase put Tate in the wall, allowing Cash Phillips to take the win, followed by Michael Monroe and not Tate. Of course, Tate, a notorious hothead, jumped right out of his car and pulled Chase out of his. Chase messed up and took his helmet off to confront Tate, and of course, the surly asshole I work for slugged him.
He’s definitely getting fined, but he’s making it worse.
“Tate, let go of him now.”
Tate’s tattooed hands only clench Chase’s collar tighter. “Fuck you, Castle. You just fucked us both out of the W.”
“As long as you don’t win, Pearson.”
“You realize you’re getting fined too, Chase.” I lock eyes with him, and he flashes me an annoying, albeit sexy grin. Why are all these racers so fucking hot?
Retreat Page 1
