Dirty Scoundrel: Roughneck Billionaires 2

by Jessica Clare

I deserve more than that. I deserve an explanation of what I did wrong. I deserve to hear how he truly feels. I deserve a real conversation, like two consenting adults would have when they’re breaking up. Instead, all I’m getting is a stiff, closed-off response . . . just like I did seven years ago.

  Well, fuck that.

  I march back toward the room, full of righteous fury and indignation. Didn’t we laugh over how this went down seven years ago? How silly we were? I’m not going to let him do it again. Not this time.

  I get to the door, and I realize I’ve left my keycard inside. I can’t let myself back in. Damn it. I knock on the door. Quietly at first, and then insistently, banging my fist on the elegant wood.

  My father can wait. It’s probably just a ploy to get me to see him again. Even if it isn’t, he’s got nurses there. I’m not letting my heart take a back seat again. If this isn’t meant to be between me and Clay, I can accept that . . . after I get a real conversation.

  I continue knocking furiously, my knuckles bruising under the stress. It’s taking Clay an eternity to answer, but I’m not giving up. After what seems like forever, the door opens and Clay answers.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I immediately spit at him.

  He flinches. It’s then that I notice his eyes are stark. His face is as blank as ever, but there’s something . . . missing. Something wrong. He’s really pale. And he’s still got his phone in his hand.

  “You’re back,” he says dully.

  “I am,” I say, pushing my way inside. My indignation over our breakup is receding in the wake of real concern. “Clay, something’s wrong. I know I’m being all pissy but I know you well enough to realize that something’s not right and . . .”

  I go silent as he grabs me as I walk past and then enfolds me in his arms. He buries his face against my neck and just holds me close. So close.

  Is he . . . regretting our breakup?

  “I’m sorry,” he says a moment later, and there’s a strange tightness in his throat. “You can go see your dad. I ain’t gonna make you pick between us because I’m not good company tonight.”

  I hesitate, then slide my hand up and down his back. “Clay? What is it?”

  One hand goes to my hair and he curls his hand in it, anchoring himself against me. He doesn’t lift his face from my throat, and after a moment, I can feel wetness there. Tears.

  “Gage called. Seth’s dead.”

  Oh, my poor Clay. That’s why he’s been so stone-faced, so alone. His youngest brother’s dead. I hold him close, feeling his pain and wishing I could take it away. How I feel in this moment doesn’t matter nearly as much as what he’s going through.

  He can break up with me some other time.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Five Days Later

  Clay

  Still hasn’t sunk in.

  Don’t feel real. Feels like at any time, I’m gonna turn around and see my little brother fidgeting on the sofa. He’d hate somethin’ like this, I think. Seth was always uncomfortable at formal gatherings. Didn’t like to wear a tie. Didn’t like how solemn everyone was. He liked it best when people were laughin’.

  No one feels like laughin’ right now, though.

  I sit in a chair in the parlor of Boone’s big honkin’ house as people slowly trickle in for the wake. The stair banisters are hung with black crepe, and there are wreaths of flowers everywhere. A big portrait of Seth is on an easel near the entrance, and Boone’s doin’ his best to be host and somehow managin’ to keep his shit together. Ivy’s at his side, her hand tight on his arm, and I’m not sure if she’s proppin’ him up or if she needs the support herself. Maybe a little bit of both.

  “It was a lovely funeral,” someone says, passing by. The wife of an employee. Someone. Dunno who. Dunno that I care.

  “Thank you,” Nat says, taking the casserole dish that’s shoved into her hands. “I’ll just go put this away. Won’t you have a seat? The family’s in the main parlor.” She hustles past, a flash of black in her dress, her pretty legs set off by her heels. Feels wrong to be checkin’ out my girl’s legs at my brother’s funeral, but I don’t know what else to do.

  Just so fuckin’ glad she’s here at my side.

  I pushed her away when I got the news, I think. I was in shock. Don’t even know half of what I said. I just know that she stormed away, cryin’, and then came back. She came back for me, and that’s when I lost it. Bawled like a baby on her shoulder and told her about Seth’s—

  Fuck. I rub my mouth. Can’t even say the word. Can’t. Doesn’t seem real that my youngest brother’s gone. Doesn’t seem right that I should be at his funeral a little over a month after we were just at Eddie’s funeral and I decided to change my life.

  At least now I’ve got Nat. I don’t know what I’d have done if she wasn’t here.

  She’s been amazing this week. Ivy’s struggled, thanks to her own grief and her pregnancy. Boone’s been a mess. Me too, really. Knox has been distant. Gage has been drunk. We’re all miserable. But Nat just stepped in and took over funeral arrangements. Wanted to make it easier on everyone, so we let her. She and Ivy worked on it while me and my brothers tried to figure out what to do with the Price Brothers now that we’re four instead of five.

  Just the thought makes my eyes sting. Fuck. I stare up at the ceiling even as people file into the parlor and start murmurin’ condolences to each other. Gage sits next to me, a beer in his hands—Seth’s favorite beer. For the first time in the last week, he isn’t tippin’ a bottle back to his mouth. He’s just holdin’ it, empty.

  Think he’s the one that’s takin’ this harder than all of us. I’m tore up, but Gage . . . he’s broken. He and Seth were closest out of all of us—both in age and in friendship.

  “I’m the one that nagged him to go back to work,” Gage says suddenly.

  “Huh?” I look over at him.

  Gage stares at his beer, expression hollow. “I told him that Boone wanted him to show his stuff. That he needed to make us proud. Everyone did their turn on a rig, you know? Didn’t matter that we had money. It was a pride thing. That’s what Price brothers do. We roughneck. And he didn’t wanna go.” He rolls the bottle back and forth in his hands. “I talked him into it.”

  “You didn’t know,” I tell him, the knot back in my throat. Seems permanently lodged there lately. “It was a freak accident. Equipment slipped. It happens.” I wiggle my toes in my boot, because every time there’s a rig accident, I think about mine and what it cost me.

  Cost Seth his life.

  “I should have known,” Gage says bitterly. “Seth was such a dumbass, you know? Never paid attention. That’s why his rig had an accident—he always got distracted. The others won’t say whose fault it was that the pipe got loose, but you and I both know he was a lazy little fuck.” He gets up and suddenly flings the beer bottle across the room.

  It crashes against the wall, leaving a wet splat, and the wake goes silent.

  “Can’t stay here,” Gage says, and storms out of the room.

  Natalie comes in a moment later, eyes wide. Her gaze goes to the stain on the wall. “I’ll get some towels.” She races away and comes back a short time later, shooing Ivy away from cleaning it up. She’s got it.

  She’s takin’ care of all of us, I think. Nat hates seein’ people hurt. She just wants to make it better.

  I don’t deserve her. She’s too good.

  I watch, aching, as she picks up glass and then hurries off to dispose of it. I worry I’ve fucked things up between us. That night, I know I hurt her feelings. She came back anyhow, and I cried on her shoulder, but ever since then, I know I’ve been distant and preoccupied. It’s like everything that happens this week is another stab in the gut. Meetings with shareholders to determine what’s going to happen to Seth’s share of Price Brothers Oil. Meetings with lawyers to determine how his estate
will be settled. Meetings with employees to fill out work reports. Meetings with the funeral home. It’s a never-ending parade of reminders that my little brother, who had his entire life ahead of him, lost it all on a simple rig accident.

  And I haven’t been dealin’ with it too well. I haven’t touched Nat in days. I’ve wanted to. God, have I wanted to. But it feels wrong to touch her and be happy to have her in my arms when Seth’s gone. I feel guilty for the contentment I feel when I wake up with her in bed, curled up next to me. I don’t know how to handle it.

  So I don’t, and I suspect that just makes things worse.

  Nat hasn’t said anything to me, but she has to be imagining the worst. How can she not? I haven’t been the man she deserves. Not lately.

  Someone comes and sits down next to me. I straighten, about to tell them to fuck off, when I realize it’s a heavily pregnant blonde woman. Ivy. She settles in the chair next to me and then rests a hand on the top of her belly, a handkerchief clutched in her fingers. “Mind if I sit for a few? Baby’s feeling a little heavy today.”

  “Course not,” I tell her. I put a smile on my face because she looks so tired and worn. She’s due in about two weeks and she looks exhausted. This hasn’t been easy on any of us, but I know Boone’s takin’ things real hard because he feels like a father figure to all of us. Fuck, who am I kiddin’? We’re all wrecked. But I feel like I need to be lighthearted so Ivy doesn’t worry. “Junior there sittin’ on your bladder?”

  “Not Junior,” she tells me, as we launch into our familiar game.

  I take up the reins. “I’ve been thinkin’ you should go with somethin’ close to Boone’s name. Like Bud. Or Bo.”

  Ivy looks over at me and just gives me this sweet, content smile. “We decided on a name last night, you know. It’s going to be Seth.” She rubs a hand down the swell of her belly. “I think he’d like that.”

  “He’d fuckin’ love it,” I tell her hoarsely. My vision blurs and doubles. Fuck. I’m gonna bawl like a baby right in front of Ivy. Goddamn it, but I miss my little brother. I miss him so much.

  Wordlessly, Ivy offers me her handkerchief.

  I take it and blow my nose loudly. “Thanks.” As I do, Nat sails past, another dish in her hands. She’s talking animatedly to a couple that have come in, showing them around the house. Distant cousins, I think, judging by their clothes. Or employees of PBO that worked on a rig with Seth. Dunno. There’s a strange mix at this wake—some of the folks are dressed in Armani suits and wearing gold jewelry. Some are just wearin’ their best Sunday shirt and jeans, ’cause that’s all they’ve got that’s proper. All that matters is they’re here to show respect, and I like that Nat treats ’em all like close personal friends of the family, even Seth’s stoner buddies that show up and huddle in the corner.

  “She’s been such a big help this week,” Ivy says in a soft voice. “She knows we’re struggling and she’s been doing whatever she can to help out. I’d have been lost without her.” She looks over and smiles at me weakly. “Wynonna wasn’t much help. Finals and all that.”

  I nod slowly. “She’s got a real soft heart. Hates seein’ us hurtin’.”

  “She’s wonderful, Clay.”

  “I know.”

  My sister-in-law reaches over and pats my hand. “Just making sure you do. I know you paid her to be your girlfriend, but I can tell that you care for her. You just make sure you tell her that at some point, okay? Girls like to be told that sort of thing. I know you boys all think it’s just implied, but it’s not.”

  I nod.

  “I just don’t want you to let her get away.” Ivy rubs her hand slowly up and down her belly again. “Boone told me about the past, when you two broke up. You deserve happiness. Just don’t let it slip between your fingers.” She gives me a self-deprecating little smile. “Look at me, lecturing you like I’m the great love expert or something. I just like her and I’d like a sister-in-law at some point. And I think she’s good for you.”

  I kinda think she’s good for me, too. “I’ll tell her. I promise.”

  Natalie

  I’m exhausted after the wake. Hours after the guests have gone, I’m with the kitchen staff, cleaning up the endless piles of dishes. Ivy’s upstairs sleeping—she’s far too pregnant to be helping clean up. The brothers are all upstairs playing cards and sharing memories of Seth. He loved poker, Clay told me last night, and so they wanted to play a few hands in his honor after his funeral. I totally understand, and I’m keeping busy while Clay gets the grief out of his system. There’s a mounting list of chores to be done, and I’m used to cleaning until late, thanks to my one-woman show at Dad’s museum. So I find the vacuum in Ivy’s enormous house and clean while the others occupy themselves with their grief. I’m not good with it, I don’t think. My mother died when I was young, and my father’s side of my family was pretty much dead and gone by the time I showed up. I’ve never had a big extended family, never had siblings. There’s been stepmothers, of course, but I didn’t cry when they left. I can’t imagine the grief that Clay is going through right now.

  So I do what I can to help out.

  I hate seeing him hurting so much. Every night, he doesn’t want to make love. He just pulls me close and holds me for hours on end. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t cry. Doesn’t get angry at the world that took his brother from him. But he needs my touch. Even when I wake up in the morning, he’s still wrapped around me, as if he’s terrified I’m going to leave him.

  But I’m not doing that. I’m never leaving my sweet Clay again. The other night was a wake-up call for me. I realized how easy it is for me to retreat into my hurt and just walk away when I’m upset. I can’t do that anymore. It cost me seven years of happiness and I’ll be damned if I’ll let it cost me seven more. When I’m unhappy, I need to communicate it better. And I’m going to have a long, long talk with Clay about shutting me out when he’s hurting.

  Now’s not the time, though. It can all wait a few more days.

  I finish vacuuming and wrap up the cord. A moment later, an arm goes around my waist and Clay buries his face against my neck, inhaling deep.

  “All finished?” I ask softly.

  “For now. Played a million hands and shared stories about Seth. Still didn’t bring him back.” His words are unhappy and softly slurred. He’s had several beers, probably to try and drown his feelings. Poor thing.

  I turn and hug him close, wishing I could take away just a little of his pain. “Shall we go? Or do you want to stay here tonight?”

  He shakes his head. “We can go. Wanna be alone with you.”

  My heart starts racing at that. It’s been days since we’ve had sex, and I’m craving it, even though I know Clay hasn’t been in the mood. I understand it completely—but my body still hungers for his. Maybe tonight we’ll make love again.

  But Clay’s silent as the driver takes us back to the hotel. And when we get in bed that night, he holds me close and tucks me against him . . . and that’s it. He needs more time, then. I understand. I turn and hold him close, playing with his hair, and he falls asleep with his head on my breasts.

  In the morning, he’s gone bright and early.

  Nat,

  Work today. More meetings. Sorry to bail. Sleep in, okay?

  CP

  My heart aches for him all over again. He’s clearly struggling. I want him to reach out to me, but I think he’s doing the best he can right now. He comes home late that evening and he’s distracted by a stream of constant texts from his brothers. I watch TV with him, but it’s clear he’s not paying attention, and it’s a quiet evening.

  In the morning, he leaves early again for more work business, and when I wake up, he murmurs something about trying to come home early to spend time with me and presses a kiss to my forehead. Then he’s gone. I watch him go and swallow my sigh. He’s still remote and I wish I knew how to reac
h him.

  I also wonder if I’m part of the problem.

  I’m here constantly, and he feels obligated to spend time with me, even though it’s clear that the brothers have pressing business matters that are eating up their time. I did some research on Price Brothers Oil while Clay was gone and was surprised to see that it’s an enormous company with thousands of employees. Clay’s never indicated that to me, but maybe it takes up far more time than he’s been giving it and it’s catching up with him?

  I don’t want him to feel like he has to rush back to me. That I won’t understand if he works late. That I can’t comprehend what he’s going through, or that I’m going to be selfish and demand that he spend his time with me. I just want his happiness, and I want to alleviate some of the stress and emotional pain he’s going through right now.

  The next day, I decide I’ll visit my dad. It’ll get me out of Clay’s hair and let him have some alone time.

  Maybe that’s what he needs right now.

  I write him a quick note before I head out the door.

  Clay,

  I’m just getting in your way right now. Gone to Dad’s. Take your time.

  Nat

  Clay

  Meetings this week have been an absolute beast. It’s been one thing after another. Seth didn’t leave a will—why would he; he was barely twenty-one—and so his shares have gone to next of kin, which are me and my brothers. Instead of sinkin’ it back into the company and just goin’ about our business, we’ve been discussin’ ways we can use the money to honor the memory of our brother. We’re hashin’ out what we want to get done with the lawyers. Knox thinks scholarships are the way to go. Boone wants to set up pensions for the employees. Gage, well, Gage is just simmerin’ with rage about the entire thing and doesn’t have an answer.

  Me, I want to talk to Nat. See what she thinks. She’s always got a good way of lookin’ at things.

  Today, the ache of my brother’s death hurts a little less. Today, I can look at the last picture I have of him—tucked on the sun-visor in my truck—and not feel like I’ve been stabbed in the gut. I still have a yawning void in my heart where he used to be, but I’m startin’ to feel like I can survive now. Havin’ Natalie helps. This mornin’, I woke up to see her sweet, sleepy face and her lush curves tangled in the sheets, and it made it difficult to leave. Been thinkin’ all day about gettin’ back to her and peelin’ off her clothes and gettin’ her under me. Been far too long since I’ve been inside her. I think I was too numb before, but now the need for her is back with a vengeance, and my dick’s remindin’ me what it’s been missin’ out on.