Slow Burn (The Archer Brothers)

by Rose Harper

  “Really? None of you all went to see her?”

  Shaking his head, his frown deepens. “No. We were all too busy or she just told us it wasn’t a good time. The only time we see her now is on holidays or special events. She only stays Friday and Saturday nights, and she leaves Sunday morning. She goes back to Lexington where she shares a house with her friend and works as a nurse at UK. This week … it will be the longest we’ve seen her in over a decade.”

  “Why? That doesn’t make any sense.” Who the fuck has she turned into? This is not the Sparrow I watched grow up. That Sparrow wouldn’t alienate herself from her family.

  “You haven’t been the same, either. Don’t think I haven’t noticed over the years. We may have talked on the phone and seen each other a few times when I flew out there, but a best friend can always tell when something is wrong.”

  “We wouldn’t have enough time in the day for me to even begin explaining it all,” I quip, walking over to my luggage. “Think I’m going to take a shower and get a few z’s in. Jet lag is a bitch. Meet you downstairs for dinner?”

  “Sure. You better get there first, or you’ll be left to sit next to the she-beast,” Derrick jokes, and I left a half-assed laugh slip past my lips. Only, my laughter is met with silence from him. An air of seriousness falls over him I’ve never seen before, which wipes the smile off my face.

  “What?”

  “I’m serious. None of us will willingly sit next to her. We tolerate her because she’s our sister and love her for that fact, but that’s as far as it goes. She’s changed, Declan. I don’t even recognize her anymore.”

  It’s clear she’s changed since I last saw her, but can she really be that bad? We both got what we wanted that night, and I left on amicable terms with her. There was no fighting, nothing of that nature.

  That’s why I’m so confused about this. Yes, I could have called. I could have visited. But the same goes for all of them. They could have called and visited as well. Derrick is the only one out of the Jameson bunch that stayed in contact with me all these years. He’s the only one who came out and visited me.

  Everyone else … let me slip away as if I was nothing more than a distant memory.

  “Well, don’t be late. We’ll be waiting for you,” Derrick says, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

  Rubbing my face, weariness settles into my bones as I drop down on the edge of the bed. I begin contemplating leaving, just telling Derrick I can’t do this and get back to what I’m familiar with. But I’ve never been one to flake out on my duties. I don’t care what it is or who it’s for, I’ll be there. I just wish there was another way around this, around spending the entire week within feet of a girl I’ve wanted since we were little—a girl I claimed as mine long before she ever decided to claim me.

  No, no, no! You don’t claim anyone! You don’t do relationships, Declan. You are single. You live for yourself!

  That is until I hear soft sobs reverberating off the bathroom walls. Quirking my eyebrows, I allow my hands to slide down to rest just over my mouth and chin as my eyes dart over to my open bathroom door.

  Is that Sparrow? Getting to my feet, I slip my shoes off, so I don’t make any noise and stalk over to the bathroom in nothing but my socks. The closer I get to the open door, the louder her sobs become. Why the fuck is she crying?

  My breathing slows. My chest begins burning from trapping the air in my lungs, but I refuse to allow her the pleasure of knowing I’m listening in on her— that I can’t seem to help myself. Even though it’s none of my business, I have to know what’s wrong with her.

  Stalking across the tile, I softly press my ear against the door, hearing everything as if I were a fly on her wall right next to her. Instantly, I can tell the conversation she’s having is meant for one person, and one person only—the one she’s currently on the phone with.

  “B, there’s no way I can tell him. … No, that’s just the thing. No one knows, just you. Everyone will kill me if they find out!” she whisper-shouts. “I can’t.” She releases another sob, and I find my heart breaking for the cold girl that greeted me when I walked through the front door. “B, it will destroy him.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sparrow

  Groaning, I grab a washcloth to run more cool water. This puffiness is never going to go down. I should have known crying would do this to me. It never fails. I always look like a bloated walrus afterward. You know those women who cry and make it look like an art? There’s no puffiness, no smudged makeup, they just look like they’re ready to walk on a red carpet at the CMT music awards?

  I’m not one of them.

  When I cry, it gets ugly. I snot, sniffle—my nose gets red, and I look like that reindeer Rudolph. My eyes become bloodshot; my face swells. It looks like I’m crying a river of black as my mascara, eyeliner, and eye shadow run. And, hellfire, if I forget I’m wearing makeup and wipe my eyes, let’s add raccoon to the mix.

  Dabbing the cool cloth under my eyes, I inwardly curse as I glance at myself in the mirror, seeing my eyes red from the tears I let flow freely earlier. It doesn’t matter if I fell asleep after my phone call with Brandy. The evidence of my breakdown is still front and center, taunting me like an instant replay.

  “Shit.”

  Reaching for my purse, I fumble through it until I find eye drops. Tipping my head back, I place two in each eye and blink until the excess is gone. It won’t help, but it will cause the redness to retreat faster. Having been through this same situation millions of times, I know exactly what to do and how much time I can accomplish a well-put-together persona.

  Pretty fucking pathetic, right? I have to hide from my family as I have my little breakdowns, for fear they’ll ask me what’s wrong. I can’t let them know. Because if they know, someone will tell him. And if he knows, I’m fucked.

  A soft knock at the bathroom door takes me off guard. I jerk, causing the eye drops to fly through the air and smack the mirror in front of me with a thud. Rolling my eyes, I pick them up and tuck them back into my purse.

  Clearing my throat, I call out, “Yeah?”

  His muffled voice flows through the door like melted chocolate on a warm summer day, even though it’s barely spring here in Georgia. “Men have to piss too, you know.”

  “I’ll be out in just a minute,” I reply, clearing out my stuff.

  Before stepping out, I flip the lock on his door and make a mad dash to mine. Only, I don’t get there in time before he’s stepping into the bathroom, his brooding presence overwhelming as he halts me.

  That’s all I need right now is to be near him where one push will send me tumbling over the edge into the land of insanity. There’s only so much of Declan I can handle, and I’ve already had my fill of him today. To be honest, I’ve had my fill of him to last me for the next decade.

  “Sparrow.”

  Closing my eyes tightly, I fight against the lump resting in my throat as I reply, “What?”

  “We need to talk,” he replies, the softness of his voice catching me off guard.

  Why does he have to go soft now? Why can’t he be an asshole I can really hate, instead of a nice guy I’m having trouble staying mad at?

  “No. I have nothing to say to you.” It’s hard to keep strong in this with Declan. I can be pissed at my family and treat them as if they are nothing more than gum on the bottom of my shoe, but with Declan, I can’t do that. I can’t stand there, treating him like he doesn’t matter. He matters more than he’ll ever know.

  “Well, you can listen then. I’ll be short.” His voice changes in an instant, coming out harsh. It appears he’s picked up a thing or two since being out in Hollywood after all. “I don’t know what that whole scene was about earlier, but if you have something you need to get off your chest, now would be the time to do it—in private, where shit is supposed to be settled.

  “This week isn’t about you and your temper tantrums Derrick has so kindly told me you like to have when you visit.
It’s about him and his soon-to-be wife and the celebration of them getting married. I don’t understand it myself, but even I get where the attention needs to be, and that’s saying something. If you have a problem, tell me, because last I checked we were on good terms when I left, and now that I’m back, I have a feeling you’d much rather cup check me than give me a hug.”

  Turning toward him, I let him see exactly what his visit is doing to me. The bloodshot eyes. The puffiness. The tearstained cheeks. I let him see every damn bit of it.

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I spit. “It’s best if we go through this week pretending we don’t know each other. After all, that’s something you’ve been pretty good at that for the last ten years!” I end in a yell.

  “Ahh, so that’s what the anger is all about. You’re butt hurt because I actually did something with my life, instead of stalling like you have.”

  “Fuck you!” I yell, shaking. I haven’t stalled shit! He may be successful with lots of money, cars, and houses, but I don’t need all of that. I was never a material type of person anyway. I have all I need, and it’s all I’m ever going to want. “Even when it’s brought to your face, you still can’t accept the truth, and you have to twist it to be someone else’s fault. And the truth is: you didn’t even have the balls to look back after you were gone because you were too scared by what you would find!”

  A growl rumbles in his chest. His eyes narrow into slits of fury as he stalks toward me, forcing me backward with his chest until my back hits the wall. A gasp falls from my lips as his head lowers to mine, and his hands raise to either side of my head.

  Being this close to him, smelling the crispness of his aftershave and his natural masculine smell, I shudder beneath him, unable to help myself. It’s been so long since a man has been this close to me—I just wish it was someone other than Declan, and it was in a different situation than this. You know, a situation where I was about to get fucked.

  “Let’s get one thing straight here and now. I’m not like your family. I won’t cower when you toss your insults. They may walk on eggshells around you, but I refuse to. Do you know why?”

  “I couldn’t care less,” I quip as my eyes fall down to his mouth of their own accord before rising to his eyes once more. Why the hell does angry Declan have to be so tempting? Dammit! Why can’t I be stronger than this?

  A cocky smirk appears at the corner of his mouth. It’s deceiving in its light because his eyes still haven’t changed their menacing hue. “Because I am a fucking Archer by blood, by right, and by motherfucking legacy. I cower to no-goddamn-body.”

  Scoffing, I roll my eyes so hard they threaten to get stuck in the back of my head. “Arrogant much?”

  “It’s not considered arrogance if it’s true. Just remember, I know you. I know everything that makes you tick.” Closing the distance between us, his chest presses fully against mine as his lips skim just the barest amount over mine, the heat of his breath washing over my face. It takes everything inside me not to quake in my shoes. His proximity has always been an issue for me and now is no different. “You may think you’re smooth, but I know the real Sparrow wouldn’t act like this. You’re hiding something. So, what is it … what are you trying to hide, little bird?”

  “I’m not hiding anything,” I answer, pushing against his chest.

  “Getting all defensive, are we? A person only gets defensive if they have a dirty little secret.”

  Pushing once more, relief flows through me when he allows me to put some distance between us. I wasn’t expecting that by any means. Declan’s never been the type of person to push himself onto anyone. He only gets this way when he’s fighting for something or someone; so, who’s he fighting for now?

  “Just … stay away from me.”

  “No can do.” Stepping away from me, I breathe easily for the first time since he pressed me against the wall. Only, seconds later, the damn bastard’s stealing it, yet again. “Oh, and the next time you want to have a private conversation with someone on the phone, make sure the person bunking in the room next door can’t hear your side of the conversation.” At my gasp, he continues, “That is the reason I know you’re being shady as fuck.”

  Mutely, I turn my back on him, clutching my purse to my chest. My entire world feels like it’s chipping away piece by piece, and the storm clouds have turned into a raging hurricane.

  As soon as I clear the door, it slams against my back. The force of it causes me to rock onto my toes, but I don’t care. He heard the conversation I was having with Brandy. He probably fucking knows everything now.

  Thinking back, I shut my eyes, pondering on everything I said to her. Were there hints? Did I give anything away? My breaths become easier, chest less tight when I put two and two together. Declan was fishing for information, he had to be. He didn’t hear anything of importance, which relieves me to no end. Because there’s no way any of them can know what I’m hiding. The dirty little secret I most certainly have.

  Declan cannot find out he has a son. He’ll take him away, turn him against me. If that happens, I really will crumble and die.

  Chapter Eight

  Declan

  Making my way down the stairs, I allow my eyes to trek from the family pictures to the refreshing décor strewn throughout the house. Everything is light, airy, clean; yet it still gives off the vibe of a home well lived in, even if it is gigantic. It’s been this way since before I can remember. The Jamesons love their children more than life itself, and it shows with the various pictures, trophies, and knickknacks dotting every available surface.

  They’re the parents any child could ever want, and the type of people most look up to. They don’t use their money to gain any power in this town; they’re too humble to stoop so low—unlike my mother. The minute my father’s side business shot off the ground, everything changed. It was the reason I went to Hollywood a year before I was due to leave. I had to run shit there and have been for the past ten years.

  But still being two thousand miles away, I could tell things were subtly changing with her even if no one else could. Phone calls went from being every day, sometimes multiple times a day, to few and far between. Occasionally, I didn’t hear from her for more than a week at a time, and that included me calling her. Every time I did, it would go to voice mail. There are only so many times you can put up with hearing that automated message before it gets tiresome.

  For so many years, my father has had a successful pharmaceutical business, but until my father started that side business, everything was perfectly fine. My mother was a mother who loved her children more than anything. She was attentive, kind, loving, and the perfect mother any kid could ask for—just like the Jamesons. But then money got in the way. Greed, power, and social status became her everything.

  It doesn’t matter who you are. If you have money, it changes you—just like it changed her. I’ve yet to see a self-proclaimed millionaire still living in the two-bedroom shack they lived in before they made it big. People may say money doesn’t buy happiness, and they’re right in some respects. It may not buy everyone happiness, but it does buy you influence. It makes you powerful, unstoppable. Money can be the greatest gift or the vilest curse. It’s all up to the person who yields the knife how they cut steak.

  My mother, who used to be a terrific role model and parent and someone I loved endlessly, turned into a money-grubbing beast. She allowed the influence, power, and greed to go to her head. Even though my father never changed, she changed enough for both of them.

  She no longer reminded me of the woman who used to sit with us boys in the kitchen, making cookies and playing with Legos. My two youngest brothers—the ones we considered miracles, Ryker and Luca—won’t even know how good of a mom she can be, which is a crime on its own. They’re just twelve, with barely any memories of the woman she used to be.

  During my absence, the only people who’ve stayed in touch with me out of my family have been my brothers, father, and cous
ins (who are more like brothers to me than anything). We all grew up together, sticking to each other like glue from the time we rose in the morning until the time we went to bed at night. We were inseparable.

  All eight of us got into so much trouble when we were growing up. Jason, being the oldest of my five cousins, was a year older than me. He and I were closer than all the rest of them—until Derrick came along, and then it went from being the duo to the trio. We went everywhere and did everything together. It didn’t matter if it was going to the movies or egging Mr. Drakeson’s house on Halloween. We were all there beside one another, our antics sometimes landing us in the back of a police car being escorted home a time or two.

  Jaxon is next in line after Jason, and he’s the same age as my brother, Xavier, both being twenty-four. Our parents thought Jason, Derrick, and I were bad. Shit, no. Jaxon and Xavier took the motherfucking cake. Hell, they were born hours apart from each other and acted more like twins than cousins. Finishing each other’s sentences, wreaking havoc on our mothers when they were little. You’d think they were more devil than angel any day of the week, and that’s even giving the devil a bad name. Both of them are absolutely vicious when it comes to the things they want. Neither will stop until they have it or until it’s crumbled so far in the dirt no one else wants it.

  Then there is my little brother, Klaus. He, and my cousins Jetson, John, and Jake are the ones closest in age. Klaus and Jetson were born the same year, and by the time they were two, John was here. Then, as if our family isn’t fucked up enough, just a year later, Jake was the last of us big kids to make an appearance into the world. Even being almost a dozen of us, we melded together as if we belonged with one another. It’s confusing, all those Js, but I wouldn’t trade them for the world.