by Nina Levine
She finally relaxes and allows me to mould her body to mine while giving me her lips exactly how I want them. When she threads her fingers through my hair, I groan and kiss her harder. However, my phone sounds with another text, and Scarlett ends our kiss. I want to fucking kill whoever it is.
She leans across the bed and grabs my phone. Shoving it at me, she says, “It’s a sign that you should check your texts and then make me tea.”
“I’m not sure what’s wrong with you if you want tea.” I give her back the words she gave me the night we danced in her kitchen.
“Trust me, I’d rather you than tea, but seriously, I can’t concentrate when all I can think about is this wreckage.” She eyes my torso and the bruises on my face. “I brought oil over. After you make tea, I’ll put it on your face.”
She moves off me, and I watch as she exits the bedroom. The fact I’m un-fucking-able to remove my eyes from her doesn’t escape me. The knowledge I’m falling fast doesn’t either.
Another text comes through and I check all the messages I’ve received.
Griff wants me to meet him at the clubhouse in an hour and a half.
Harlow has checked in to see if I need anything.
My mother has sent a stack of texts asking if I’ve managed to change Paul’s mind over Dad’s birthday.
I exhale a long breath just thinking about that shitshow. It actually inflicts greater agony than any physical pain ever could. I’m beginning to concede that I may not be able to change my brother’s mind.
“Wilder,” Scarlett calls. “I should be looking at you making tea for me right now.”
I smile as her words work their way through me.
I fucking like having her here.
Leaving the bed, I throw on a T-shirt, make my way out to the kitchen and find her sitting on a stool at the counter. Placing my phone down, I say, “I’ll make tea, but just so you’re aware, I still haven’t replied to these texts so prepare yourself for more to come in.”
“You want me to take over the replies? I’ll ensure none of those people bother you again.”
I switch the kettle on. “I’ve no fuckin’ doubt you would.”
“So that’s a yes, then?”
I ignore her question as I locate a teabag. “What are you up to today?”
She runs her gaze over me before bringing her eyes back to mine. “I’m looking at my plans for the day.”
It’s undeniable how much I like what she just said. It’s also undeniable how fucking annoyed I am that I have other plans for the day. “I’ve got shit to do today.”
“Club stuff?”
“Yeah.”
“Seriously? Like, how do you propose you’re gonna be able to do anything for the club today? Have you got a whole new body hiding somewhere here that you’re just gonna switch out with this beaten-up one you’re currently sporting?”
“Smartass. We’re just going over shit at the clubhouse.”
“Well, you’re gonna need help getting there, so I’ll drive you.”
“I don’t need you to drive me.”
“You do.”
“Scarlett,” I start, but she cuts me off.
“Don’t argue with me. I’ve decided.”
If I didn’t like the idea so much, I wouldn’t allow it, but since I do like it, I let the argument go and finish making her tea. I walk it around the kitchen counter so I can pull up the stool next to her while she drinks. Scarlett has other ideas though.
“You should get the ice pack before you sit down.”
“You’re as bossy as my mother always was whenever I came home with bruises.”
“I bet that was often.”
“Yeah.”
“So that dark hair she’s got in those photos on your fridge is dyed?”
I nod. “She started going grey in her forties. I take half the blame.”
“Paul gets the rest?”
“No, my dad does. Paul barely caused her any problems growing up.”
“Was she the one who taught you how to make tea? And how to keep a fridge clean?”
“No. That was my dad.” At her surprise, I explain, “Mum got breast cancer when I was fourteen. Dad taught me to make tea the way Mum liked it, which it seems is also how you like it.”
“And you helped him with the fridge?”
“Dad worked long hours in the mine back then. I helped keep the house running. He was fuckin’ particular about the fridge.”
“Something you look like you’ve picked up.” She glances around the kitchen. “Actually, it looks like you’re as particular about your entire home as you are about your fridge. You’re not at Sleeping With The Enemy level, are you?”
“Sleeping with the enemy?”
“Yeah, that movie where the husband is obsessive about how the tins are facing in the cupboard and a whole heap of other shit. The wife has to fake her death to escape him.”
I smile and lean in close to her. “You trying to figure out what you’re getting yourself into here, Scar?”
She grips my tee, keeping her face near mine. “No, I’m trying to figure out why you put a shirt on.”
Fuck. Me.
“My body’s a wreckage, remember? You were having trouble concentrating.” And now I’m having trouble concentrating.
“That is true. But still.” She sucks her bottom lip in and bites it, and my dick screams at me for being so intent on slowing us down.
We’re caught in this moment when another text comes through on my phone.
“Christ,” I mutter as I reach for it.
Mum: Justin, are you ever going to answer my texts?
“Fuck,” I say, dropping my ass to the stool.
Scarlett gives me a questioning look. “Bad news?”
“It’s my mother, and let’s just say, I’d rather not have to deal with this today.”
She narrows her eyes at me as she sips her tea. “Did your balls get bruised yesterday too?” At my arched brows, she says, “This isn’t the Wilder I know. The man who takes charge and doesn’t back away from hard shit. What gives with your mum?”
This is the Scarlett I know, always calling me out. She never hesitates to challenge me. I knew this going in and wasn’t sure about it because we’ve had some fuckers of arguments over the last year and a half, but here we are, and it turns out I fucking like it. I like that she cares enough to push me.
“She’s organising a party to celebrate Dad’s 60th and Paul’s refusing to go. I’m the one in the middle trying to convince him to change his mind.”
Scarlett turns silent for a moment, a confused expression on her face. “I thought Paul was close to your dad?”
“I can see why you got that impression. They used to be close but that changed when Paul went through some stuff that Dad didn’t handle right. Paul hasn’t been home in three years.”
“Is he still close to your mum?”
“Yeah, they talk a few times a week.”
“But not about this party?”
“No, that’s become my problem now, and I’ve finally reached the realisation that Paul’s not gonna budge.”
“And you don’t want to have to break the bad news to your mum,” she says softly.
“I don’t. I want to fix all of this for everyone.”
“Do you think this rift between Paul and your dad can be healed?”
“I used to think so, but it also involves our other brother, and that’s a shitshow that can’t be healed, so now I’m not as sure.”
“Wait, there’s another Miller boy?”
“Yeah, Brett. Our older brother.” The asshole.
“I’m picking up on some hostility here. You guys don’t get along?”
“I haven’t had anything to do with him in five years. If I’d had my way, it would have been eight years, but since our mother pushed the point to reunite us all, it’s five.” Even after all this time, just talking about him causes a ball of anger to spread through my chest and my fists to clench. I’m not
certain I’ll be able to hold myself back from punching him when I see him at Dad’s birthday, but that’s a problem for another day.
My phone sounds with another text.
Mum: If it’s the cost for Paul to get here, we can pay for his flights.
I look at Scarlett apologetically. “I’m gonna have to call her.”
“I’ll leave you to talk in private,” she says, making a move to stand.
I place my hand on her leg to stop her. “You don’t have to go.”
Her features fill with uncertainty, like maybe this is too much for her too soon, but those brown eyes of hers express that she likes what I’ve said. I keep my hand on her thigh until she relaxes back onto her stool.
Mum answers my call immediately. “You got my texts?”
“Yeah, I got them all. It’s not the cost keeping him away, Mum.” When she doesn’t respond to that, I add, “He’s not going to come. I’m sorry, but I’ve tried. He’s just not ready to rebuild his relationship with Dad.”
This is the first time we’ve broached this, and I hear her panic when she says, “All he has to do is come home, Justin. I know that if he and your father could just be in the same room, they’d realise they want to fix things. Please. You have to talk to him again.”
I do something I try never to do with my mother; I lose my temper. I can’t help it because this isn’t on Paul. This is on Dad, and as much as she buries her head in the sand over it all, she knows this as much as I do. “When was the last time Dad told you he wanted to fix things with Paul? Because I’d wager that he’s never fuckin’ told you that. I’d bet that he doesn’t think he’s at fault here.”
“Justin, language please. And show your father some respect.”
“I’ve shown him nothing but respect, but that’s the thing; it’s time he showed his son some respect and admit he was wrong all those years ago. You need to face the fact that until he does that, Paul is never coming home.”
When she doesn’t say anything, I realise she’s crying. Not something I wanted to cause, it only increases the anger I feel towards Brett. Not that he’s fully to blame for this situation, but in my mind, he could have fucking altered the course of events if he’d been so inclined.
“Do you think I should call Paul and try to talk with him about this again?”
The doubt, and hesitation, and fear I hear in her voice breaks my fucking heart. I would do anything for my mother, but this is the one thing I can’t fix or do for her. “It’s Dad who needs to call him, Mum,” I say gently, forcing all traces of anger and frustration from my voice. “You need to talk to Dad and help him understand this.”
“Okay,” she says slowly, pausing before adding, “Thank you, Justin. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
We end the call and I exhale a long breath.
Scarlett continues watching me like she has been throughout my conversation. Silently. Thoughtfully. When I don’t say anything, because my mind is a mess of family shit, she says, “I wasn’t going to ask you what happened between Paul and your dad because this is all new between us, and I don’t wanna force you into telling me shit you’re not ready to yet. But I think maybe you need someone to talk to about it. What happened?”
I reach for her stool and pull her closer so I can place my legs on either side of hers and rest my feet on the sides of the stool. “This might be new between us, but it’s not like we’ve just met. We already know stuff about each other.” I smooth some strands of hair off her face and smile. “I fuckin’ like that you asked me this. Don’t ever hesitate to ask me shit.”
She glances down at my legs. “You always like to be this close?”
My smile grows. “You don’t?”
“I think you know the answer to that.”
“Just like you know the answer to your question.”
I have to work like fuck not to laugh at the expression on her face. Scarlett looks like she can’t decide whether she wants to run or whether she wants to stay right where she is. The fact her body hasn’t shifted lets me know I’m not in danger of losing her here. It’s a fact that shows we’ve made some progress.
“Okay, so some ground rules, because God knows I’m fully convinced you Miller boys need them, and in particular you need them,” she says, her voice taking on that bossy tone I’ve started fucking loving. “This”—she points her finger at my legs and circles it in the air—“needs to be kept to a minimum. Like, I’m gonna set my cats on you if you’re PDA’ing all over the place all the damn time.”
My hands skate over her thighs, settling there. “This isn’t a PDA. We’re not in public.”
“P stands for private just as much as public in my world. FYI.”
“You’re telling me you don’t like being touched a lot?”
“I’m telling you I don’t need you in my space 24/7.”
“This is hardly 24/7, Scarlett.”
“I’m just laying out what I need from the beginning, so we both know where we stand. I’m good with affection. I’m good with this today, although, just saying, a serious conversation about your family doesn’t require legs and hands everywhere. But, Jesus, if you’re one of those guys who always fucking needs his hands on his woman, I need you to know I am not that woman.”
My smile morphs into a full grin. “I don’t agree. Legs and hands everywhere are always a good thing. However, I don’t need my hands on my woman all the time, so I think we’re good. And for the record, if this is your way of telling me you’re my woman, I’m fuckin’ into it.”
She doesn’t miss a beat. She gives me her trademark sass exactly how I expect it when she says, “That would be a no. I am not your woman. I need to sample the goods before I commit to that. And I’m not just talking about how well you use certain parts of your body. I’m about the full package measuring up.”
“Just so you’re aware, I don’t share certain parts of my body around when I’m dating. I also don’t share the woman I’m dating.”
This seems to catch her by surprise. And it appears to be a good surprise. The way she leans a little closer to me like she’s not even aware of it tells me this. “If that’s your way of telling me we’re exclusive, I’m into it.”
Fuck, I like her honesty and how she’s clear about what she likes and doesn’t like.
Before I can say anything, she continues, “Right, so back to discussing your family. Oh wait, no, first we need an ice pack for your face.” She looks down at my legs. “And since I’m trapped, you’re gonna have to get it.”
I move off the stool. “You should expect to be trapped for the remainder of our time here this morning.”
She rolls her eyes. “I expect nothing less.”
I grab the ice pack and come back to her, settling myself exactly where I was a moment ago. “So Brett’s five years older than me and seven years older than Paul. Brett was the star football player in school. Popular as shit and a real fuckin’ asshole. Not only to everyone at school but also to me and Paul.”
Scarlett places a hand on my thigh, and like before, I’m not sure she realises she’s done this.
“His best friend, Don, was also an asshole, but way worse than Brett. Unfortunately, I didn’t know just how worse until it was too late.”
Scarlett’s fingers dig into my leg as she tightens her grip on me. “What happened?”
“I left Mt Isa when I was eighteen and moved to Brisbane. Mum’s cancer came back after that, and I went home for six months when I was nineteen to help while she was having treatment. Paul was in his last year of high school, and I discovered that Don and Brett had been giving him a hard time since he’d told the family he was gay. They thought they could turn him straight if they helped him ‘man up’ or some fuckin’ shit. That involved them taking him camping, fishing, shooting, and all that kind of shit. It also involved Don beating the absolute shit out of him one night when Brett wasn’t around. That was after weeks of him harassing Paul.”
I take a moment
to catch my breath. This is stirring a fuckload of ugliness in me and the kind of anger I’m not convinced will ever leave me.
Scarlett doesn’t say anything but rather waits patiently for me to keep going.
“Paul was unconscious and hospitalised, but because Don’s father was a cop, he got away with it.” I don’t bother to tell her I took matters into my own hands and beat the shit out of Don before threatening him that if he ever laid a hand on my brother again, I’d finish the job.
“And your dad? What did he do?” Even as she asks that question, I can see in her eyes that she’s connected dots and already has an idea of what Dad did. I guess when the only thing you’re used to from your family is being let down, it’s easy to imagine the worst in others.
“Dad refused to acknowledge Brett’s involvement in everything. Brett might not have been there when Don beat Paul up, but he sure as fuck knew of everything else Don was doing to him. And to this day, he’s still friends with Don. Dad helped Paul through it all, but he expected Paul to let shit go with Brett and keep our family exactly how it had always been.”
“He didn’t want things to change,” Scarlett says, raw emotion bleeding from her like she feels this deeply.
I nod. “He wanted his sons to pretend like nothing fuckin’ happened and to carry on showing up for birthdays and Christmas, and every fuckin’ family event Mum hosted. Paul did it for a while, but as he got older and more confident in his own skin, he put up boundaries, and I don’t blame him.”
“So why are you trying to convince him to go home for your dad’s birthday?”
“That’s a good fuckin’ question.” I glance down at her hand on my leg and put mine over it, tracing lines over her skin as I meet her gaze again. “I miss him there. And I hate seeing the sadness in Mum’s eyes every time he’s not there.”
“So Brett doesn’t show up when you go home?”
“No. I made it crystal fuckin’ clear to him to never show his face when I’m around. Paul doesn’t have to see him, but that’s not why Paul doesn’t go now.”
“He doesn’t go because he wants your dad to acknowledge he was wrong to expect Paul to carry on like nothing had happened.”
