by Penny Wylder
Dropping to his ass, he sits down and looks off into the distance. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I say, scooting up next to him.
Ian turns to face me, a serious look in his eyes. “What's your plan exactly?”
“What do you mean?”
“For your career? I mean you have to have a plan, right? Like have you talked to a lot of nightclubs? Have you tried to talk to any agents?”
“Not yet, I'm just kind of winging it.” Shrugging a shoulder, I scrunch my face. “I feel like this is what I should be doing, but not many people think it was the right choice to do this.” Turning to look at the horizon, my heart tightens. “You know what my biggest fear is?” I ask.
“What?”
Inhaling a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “That they're right. That I'll never make it and I'll have to go home with my tail between my legs.”
He reaches out and swipes the tips of his fingers over my cheek and around my ear. Twisting my head to look at him, he gives me a smile.
“You're going to make it.” There's so much confidence in his voice.
“You don't know that,” I say, brushing him off.
“Yes, I do.”
“How? How could you possibly know?”
“Because I've heard you sing.” Leaning over, he gives me a tender kiss on the lips. It's not dirty or raw, it's passionate, gentle, and full of feeling. “Besides, I've been around enough broken shit to know a good thing when I see it. And you're not broken, you're. . .” he pauses, letting his eyes dance around my face. His thumb glides across my chin, and softly brushes over my bottom lip. “You're special.”
My heart jumps inside my chest like a caged bird.
His voice sends a chill down my spine as he stares deep into my eyes. He doesn't doubt himself at all. He believes every word he's saying.
And in that moment, I start to believe him too.
I can do this.
10
Ian
Resting my hand on the small of her back, we walk upstairs to our apartments. We're laughing together, enjoying small talk about our lives growing up.
“I had fun tonight,” she says, bashfully looking down at the keys in her hand.
“Me too,” I say, running my hand down her arm and braiding our fingers together. “What are you doing tomorrow night? You want to catch a movie or something?”
“Yeah, sure, I'd really like that.” She smiles, and that fucking smile turns my blood hot and makes my cock jerk.
Heather turns, about to stick her key into the lock of her door, when it moves slightly.
“Wait, don't,” I say, pulling her back quickly. Nodding my head at the hinges, she follows my eyes.
The hinges are almost broken off the frame, and the door is splintering away. Looking closer, the wood around the doorknob is cracked, and it looks like the metal plate for the lock is bent and broken.
Someone broke in. . .
“Oh my God, did someone break in?” she asks, her voice bordering complete panic.
Heather takes a giant step forward, attempting to rush inside. Snagging her wrist, I pull her back.
“Stay right here, let me go check it out first.” Taking a cautious step forward, I gently push the door open.
The door swings inward, barely hanging on by a thread. Flicking on the switch, the light pops on in her living room. I scan the room. Her stuff is everywhere, thrown around the room as if the entire apartment exploded.
Poking my head in her bathroom, it's empty, and I find the same in her bedroom. “It's clear, you can come in,” I call out to her.
Heather takes one step in the door, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open. “Holy shit,” she says, her voice a mere whisper.
Her arms dangle lifelessly at her sides as her eyes gloss over with tears. She hasn't blinked yet, but the second she does those bubbles of water are going to break.
“I'm calling the cops,” I say.
Heather moves around her apartment, stepping over stuff on the floor, her feet crunching on broken glass. “It's gone.”
“What's gone?” I ask, dialing the police.
“My guitar,” she says, pointing at the couch. “It was right there when I left, now it's gone.” Her eyes move to the small hutch beside her window. “And all of my grandmother's china is gone too.”
Tears begin to flow, streaming down her cheeks as she gently closes the door on the hutch. She heads into her bedroom as I tell the police the address and what's going on.
Heather comes out holding a jewelry box and flips it over. “All my jewelry is gone too. They took everything they could. Even my grandmother's wedding band she left me after she died.” She's crying, her face sitting in a state of shock. “Why? Why would someone do this?”
“Because people are assholes.” Sitting down beside her, I wrap my arm around her and pull her in. Burying her face in my side, her body begins to shake as she cries harder.
Her breathing is labored. She's trying to catch her breath, but all she's able to do is inhale sharp, shallow gulps of air. She's devastated, and I feel terrible.
This is my fault. This is all my fault. I could have prevented this.
I've avoided doing the right thing. I let the place go, and I could have fixed it up easily over the years. I've just been too single minded to give a shit. And because of that, because of my disdain for this fucking place, I let this happen.
All the hurt she's feeling, all the loss, all the pain, it falls on my shoulders.
I did this. Me.
My chest tightens as anger and regret build inside. I have to fix this. It's on me to make it right.
The cops come and take our statements, recording a list of everything she's missing. When they leave, I feel even more horrible, because the odds of them finding out who did this, or recovering her stuff, is slim to none.
We pick up everything we can, tossing out anything that's broken. After dumping the last garbage bag, I wipe my hands.
“Come on,” I say, walking up behind her and gripping her shoulders. “You're sleeping at my place tonight.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, her eyes puffy and red from crying.
“I'm positive.” Walking her toward the door, I say, “There's no way I'm letting you stay here with a fucked up door that doesn't even close.”
Once in my place, she climbs into my bed and covers up. I lay next to her, wrapping my arm around her. Heather snuggles up close, resting her hand on my chest.
“I can't believe this.” She swirls her finger in the center of my chest. “I never saw this coming.”
“No one does, sometimes shit finds us and there's nothing we can do about it.”
I could have stopped this.
“Yeah, I know.” Yawning, she nuzzles her head deeper into my embrace.
There's a long silence between us. I don't know what to say. I don't want to tell her that I could have prevented this. I don't want to tell her that it's all my fault her place got robbed and she lost everything that matters to her.
But I can make it better.
“I'm going to fix this,” I say.
She's quiet, her breathing slow and steady. She doesn't answer.
“Heather?” Lifting my head, I look down and see she's already sleeping.
She's exhausted, and I don't blame her. Sometimes emotional turmoil weighs on us far more than anything physical.
And as she sleeps peacefully and safely in my arms, I can't even close my eyes to go to sleep.
I know what I have to do. It's worth it for her.
11
Heather
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Jumping awake, I look around in shock and confusion. My hands clamp around the blanket as I search for what's making the loud sounds. Looking down, Ian isn't in bed with me.
The clock at the bedside says it's already ten in the morning. I can't believe I slept this late. Scratching my hand through my hair, I walk into Ian's living room, expecting him to be
there.
Where is he?
More banging noises come from outside in the hall. Following the sound, I crack open the front door and peek out, only to find Ian.
He's got a carpenter's belt on, and he's hammering a new frame into the doorway. There's a new door laying against the wall, with clean shiny hardware and hinges.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Oh hey, good morning.” He stands up and smiles, slipping his hammer into a loop on his belt. “I'm fixing your door.” He has an excited grin on his face as he takes a long step over the debris on the floor. Wrapping his arm around my waist, he pulls me in and kisses me. “I got a few more surprises for you too.”
“You do?” Arching a brow, I tilt my head.
“Yeah. So,” he says happily, taking a step back to the door, “you got your new door here, and I got you new locks, plus a deadbolt—can't be too safe. I also fixed the garbage disposal and plastered the cracks in the ceiling.”
“Okay, wait a minute, what the hell is going on? Why are you doing all this? Shouldn't the landlord be taking care of this? I'm going to call in a little bit, this isn't your responsibility.”
“Well, it kind of is because I'm kind of your landlord.”
“Wait. . .” Holding up my hand, deep crinkles crease my forehead. “You're the landlord? No that's not right, this place is owned by Jenning's Realty.”
“Yeah, Jenning's is my father's name, the building belongs to him.”
“Hold on, I'm confused.” Shaking my head, I fold my arms over my chest.
“My father is a real estate guy. He buys and rents out properties. He bought this place when I was seven. He also owns the old radio station I took you to. Back when he bought this place, it was nice, really nice. Then, when he left my mother, he told Grey and me that he'd give her money if we agreed to take care of the place for him. So, we said yes. And after my father took off, doing God knows what, with God knows who, I got pissed.” He lets out a deep breath as he picks up the new door and lines it up in the frame. “And when my mother died of cancer, we decided to just let this place go to shit. He can't make money on it if he tries to sell it. Not if it's falling apart and months away from being condemned.”
“So you two just thought letting it rot would get back at him?”
It all makes sense now. Why the pictures didn't match when I got here. Why I send my rent check to a P.O box on the other side of the country.
“Yeah, we wanted to screw him like he screwed our mother. But I can see now how ridiculous and immature this was for us to do. My negligence put you in danger. It's the reason you lost everything, and I feel horrible I did this to you.” Taking his drill out of the holster, he screws the door in place.
“It's not your fault, Ian. Whoever broke in, whoever stole my shit, they made a choice, you didn't make it for them.”
“I know, I just feel like if I had taken better care of this place, then maybe it wouldn't have been so easy for them.” Looking around, he holds up both his arms. “I mean look at this place. It looks like a crack house or something.”
“It's not that bad, it just needs some TLC is all.”
Ian smirks, holding up a single finger. “I got something else for you too, one sec,” he says, quickly disappearing into my apartment.
Taking a step forward, I run my fingertips over the door. I can't believe he did all this for me. Smiling to myself, my stomach explodes with butterflies as my fingers slip into the open hole where the doorknob will go.
“Close your eyes,” Ian says, standing in the doorway with his hands behind his back.
Following his directions, I close my eyes. Smirking, I wait anxiously. “What is this? Should I be scared?”
“Put your hands out.”
Rocking on my heels, I hold out my arms, and feel him rest something heavy across both hands.
“Okay, open your eyes.”
Peeking out of one eye first, my jaw drops. “Are you serious?” I ask, both eyes now wide open. “Are you fucking serious?”
In my hands is a bright red, acoustic guitar, the paint is glittering off the light in the hall. It's gorgeous. My hand slips up the neck, fingers bending to touch the frets. Tears begin to bubble up over my eyes.
“Do you like it?” he asks. “If not, you can return it and get the one you want.”
“No, no, I love it. I'm just in shock.” Blinking, tears begin to roll down my cheeks. “I can't believe you're doing all this for me.”
He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, smiling big. “You don't deserve to lose everything, especially your dreams because of me. You came here with a purpose; you deserve your shot.”
Looking up at him, I can't stop the smile on my face as tears keep rolling. “Thank you.” Taking a step toward him, I back him into the apartment. Setting the guitar down against the wall, I launch myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him.
Ian stumbles back, laughing into my kiss. “I guess you really do like it.”
Kissing him harder, I nod in agreement. “I do, I love it.” My hands curl into his hair, and I tear his head closer to mine.
Slipping my tongue into his mouth, I kiss him like I've never kissed anyone else before. I feel this kiss in my chest, in my muscles, deep within my veins as it moves all throughout my body.
This man is giving me something no one ever has. He's giving me support, and that means everything.
He wraps strong arms around my waist, groaning into my mouth as his lips seal tightly around mine. Digging his hands into my ass, he lifts me off my feet. My legs wrap around his waist, and I grind my pussy against his corded abs.
Ian drops to his knees, laying me on my back on the floor. My hands work at his pants, ripping the button. Driving my hand inside, I grab his cock. He's so thick, hard as stone as I pull him free.
Wearing only one of his t-shirts, he pushes up the bottom, exposing my bare pussy. Guiding his cock to my entrance, he slides inside. I'm soaking wet, dripping with arousal as his cock easily spreads my lips open and fills me completely.
Pulling back, he drives in hard and fast. My back slams into the floor as he fucks me. I can feel my body moving the faster he goes. He tightens his grip on my ass, holding me in place.
He feels so good inside me. Every thrust sends me closer and closer to ecstasy. Everything about this moment is raw, it's primal, it's built on a hunger that's infiltrated every ounce of my right to my soul.
Ian's peering down at me, his eyes locked on mine as he fucks me with such vigor I'm certain the apartment below us is watching their ceiling buckle.
“I love you,” I say. The words find me, they swell in a way that I can feel, and I know it's real. I love this man.
Ian stills, his eyes moving back and forth over mine. Licking his lips, he starts to speak. “I—”
“What the fuck is going on?” A voice booms in from behind us.
Ian's head jerks up, his eyes growing large. Tilting my head back, my heart freezes in my chest.
Fuck, this doesn't look good.
12
Ian
Quickly jumping off Heather, I pull my pants up. “Grey, what the hell are you doing here?” Buckling the belt, I move toward my brother.
From the corner of my eye, I see Heather yank her shirt down, and grab the throw blanket off the couch to wrap herself in.
Grey's eyes veer as he looks back and forth between us. “What the fuck, Ian! Are you kidding me! Are you fucking kidding me!” He grabs an empty bucket and tosses it across the room. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Look, Grey, I get it—”
Cutting the air with his hand, he yells, “No! No, you don't fucking get it!” He holds out his arms, and spins in the room. “You broke our promise, you're smearing our mother's name by doing this shit! And her!” he yells, pointing directly at me. “What the hell, bro! You're just lying all over the place, breaking promise after promise.”
“Don't, don't you dare mak
e it out like I'm doing anything wrong. This place is falling apart, Heather was robbed! For Christ’s sake, she could have been killed!”
“Stop, just fucking stop. This place is supposed to crumble, it's supposed to turn to dust. That's what we said we'd do, that's the promise we both made.” Slamming his finger into my chest, his lips fold into an angry scowl. “You destroyed it. All this shit goes against everything we stand for. Her included.” He slams the new door, and it bounces back open.
“You're being a stubborn asshole, Grey. Stop and listen to yourself.”
“Fuck you, Ian, I can't even look at you right now.” Storming past me, he lets his shoulder bounce off of mine as he walks out the door.
“Grey, come on. Are you really going to just walk away right now?”
“Yup!” he yells from the hall.
“Fine, fuck you then! You're acting like a child!” I scream out the door at him.
I catch a glimpse of the top of his head as he stomps down the stairs, his middle finger held high so I can see it. The front doors swing open loudly and crash shut. Turning around, I stroke my jaw as set the other hand on my hip.
“Fuck,” I say loudly to myself, pacing in a small circle.
“Are you okay?” Heather asks, sitting down on the couch.
“I don't know why he has to act like this. I know what we said, but that was years ago, things change.” Stopping short, I flick my eyes up. “Right? Things are never really set in stone?”
“Of course,” she answers, getting up and coming over to me. Taking my hand in hers, she smiles. “People change. I'm not the same person I was five years ago, two years ago—shit, I'm not the same person I was a day ago. Things change, people change, that's just human nature. I'm sure he'll come around.”
“I don't know. Grey is stubborn. He always has been.”
Heather doesn't know Grey like I do. He's set in his way and has been since we were kids. I know him, he doesn't forget easily. He takes things to heart, feeling them so intensely that the littlest thing can still be burned into his memory.
