JARED (Lane Brothers Book 4)

by Kristina Weaver

  So not happening asshole.

  “No. I can’t do this. I won’t do this. I’m not coming back. The wedding is off.”

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Dev

  Two hours later I am so frantic I can’t sit still and have just managed not to rip my office apart from sheer frustration.

  I should have told her the truth about her father from the beginning instead of keeping things away from her, but coward that I am I’ve been trying to juggle my business and this situation while convincing the Slade’s that keeping their family in the dark is not the right move.

  And then yesterday Gia had called and requested a meeting.

  I’d refused at first since just the sound of her voice is enough to make me sick but some part of me had needed closure on that situation. We’d been together, had been prepared to marry for God’s sake-no, I wanted her to know that I’ve found someone who not only wants me and the lads but who loves us and wants to build a life with me, with all the noise and laughter and love she hadn’t been prepared to give.

  I’d wanted to rub it in her face and show her what she’d thrown away. I wanted her to know that she wasn’t the love of my life and that no amount of beauty could trump the perfection I have now.

  Yeah, I’d wanted to rub her face in it.

  And then she’d dropped the bomb that her father has passed and left her his company and I’d felt so sorry for the pitiful woman I’d offered her comfort and set about finding her a cracker of a CEO to help her run the multibillion pound dinosaur that is Crafts, her father’s company and a money bleeding eyesore in today’s business world.

  “What did you do mate? She was fine this morning when she left.” Davy accuses, giving me a death glare that’s hot enough to strip skin.

  “I didn’t tell her about Brand. He’s sick and-”

  “Nah mate, nah. Hun has a temper and I can see how she’d be pissed off you didn’t tell her but she wouldn’t pull a runner for that. She’d come home, kick you in the bollocks and then make you find a way to fix this. Something ain’t right.”

  My phone rings and I answer before the second ring can come through, ready to demand some answers, okay, ready to beg when I hear a loud growl and cursing over the line.

  “You better not have fucked another woman after telling my sister you loved her asshole. I just got an earful from my wife about seeing you touching some other chick and now I have to fly to Vegas to watch my scamp marry some asshole who likes it both ways! What the fuck did you do?”

  Oh Jesus.

  “I am not having an affair. I met with Gia to help her set up a meeting with John Buchannan. She needs a CEO to take over Crafts and-oh Christ. Imp saw me and thinks-”

  “Yeah asshole and she threw a fit and went to-”

  “Where the fuck is she!”

  I’m panicking now, of course I am because I realize that the conversation we had was not about my omission about her father but about her seeing me with Gia and Jesus! I’d bloody well made it sound like I am having an affair and that I basically want an open marriage and-

  “Vegas asshole. She caught a plane to Vegas with that chump Dillon and she said we could get there and watch her get married or we can miss out. You better fix this.”

  I don’t hardly hear the rest of it because I’m already running for the door, Davy and Ry hot on my heels.

  ***

  I make it to Las Vegas, just barely holding on to my sanity by a thread and though Lila is still spitting mad I managed to calm Grey enough to get the truth and the details out of her.

  Imp, my imp, is somewhere in this God forsaken city ready to marry another man and pledge not only her life but the life of my child to another.

  “Where are we going!”

  “Lila said they’re at The Sunset Chapel!” I yell back, running for all I’m worth and praying, pleading with whatever power that is, that I’m not too late.

  I make it to the door before the others can catch up and rip it open, my heart in my throat and beating so fast I feel woozy, only to stop in my tracks when imp comes to a stop directly before me, her swollen body covered in a white, flowing summer dress, her hands clutching a bouquet of flowers.

  “Am I too late?”

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Becky

  There are a very few things in life that I regret as much as I do this. Not because I should feel guilty and most definitely not because he deserves my emotions, but because I know that I have fucked up somewhere, badly and that it’s gonna bite a chunk right out of my ass.

  “Am I too late?”

  I hear the words but I’m so shocked that he’s here, that he’s got the gall to think he belongs here that all I hear and feel at the moment is a roaring scream of soul screaming pain.

  I’d turned up at Dillon’s, my mind and body working on autopilot, urging me to do something, what I needed to do to fix this so that I can come out at the end, not whole, but still somewhat intact enough to survive seeing him again.

  Because honestly? As much as I want to fool myself into thinking all this emotion is anger I have to be real here. I hurt like a mother effer. There’s a hole in my chest wide as the freaking Andreas Fault and so deep I don’t even know where to start building to fill that bitch up.

  I’d been so happy, like hysterical happy, after he’d said he loves me and that I’m his perfect match, that the betrayal I feel now is almost a physical wound that keeps gushing blood.

  “Imp.”

  “Hey babydoll, you ready for the photog!”

  Devon’s eyes dart behind me to the grinning idiot that is Dillon-I don’t even need to look to see his smile, since he’s had the thing all damn day-and I see them harden before they settle back on me, the light completely extinguished.

  “Bleeding balls, tell me you did not marry that poof.” I hear, looking away from Devon’s intense stare to see that Ry and Day standing behind him, their expressions so hurt and hostile I can’t compute it for a second.

  And then I realize what they’re saying, what they’re all thinking and I want to scream in denial. Because I know that no matter what I feel it’s not fair on them. They think I’vethrown them all away, abandoned them and left them for something better, as if they’re not the very best, my ideal.

  “I did not marry that…don’t call him that. But to be clear, we are not married.” I say clearly, swinging my gaze back to Devon and watching his shoulders relax infinitesimally. “Not that I wouldn’t have since I’ve been on something of a bender today, but he’s been in love with some-his exact matches for some time now and they finally decided to stop messing around. I’m his bestgirl/ring bearer.”

  Yeah, and while I’d been a little pissed that my revenge marriage wasn’t gonna happen, I am beyond thrilled to know that Dill has finally taken that final step out of the closet and that it wasn’t too late for him to go back to Danny and Phil, the other two thirds of his love triangle.

  Apparently they’d split up because Dill wasn’t ready to out himself to others, namely his father. He told me when he’d answered the door and introduced me to the man and woman in his living room that my courage in telling Devon how I felt had given him the push he’d needed.

  Long and short? I’m the fourth wheel to this ménage but oh so happy to see him so happy. The only problem now is that I’m still exactly where I don’t want to be. Alone.Hurt. Aimless.

  I have no home, no job and no one to turn to now. I could call Grey and he’d have a house and a bank account ready and waiting for me. Hell, the man would probably roll out a cot next to his bed and tuck me in at night if need be.

  But I don’t want that.

  I’m ten seconds away from having my birth canal savaged and becoming a mom so I know I need to at least make a cursory effort to stand on my own two feet and not run back to my big brothers because some asshole hurt my feelings.

  “Wait, you’re not leg shackled? For real? See Dev, I told ya our girl would never leave us this way.”
Day says, grinning and sweeping me up in his arms.

  The contact gives me the comfort I didn’t know I desperately needed and I hug him back, grasping hold of his wide shoulders and bury my face in his neck.

  This is, not exactly home for me, no that’s the rat bastard who’s still glaring at me, but the scent of his skin, a mix of sweat and some woodsy cologne stills the tremors that have been quaking inside me enough that I feel the world shift and settle.

  He’s laughing when I finally let go because my belly is so huge the hug consisted more of him folding himself double to get at me and I giggle back, closing my eyes on a sigh.

  “So listen, I can’t leave now ‘cause we still have to do photos and Dill wants to have a lunch-”

  “Are you coming home? That’s all I need to know.” Devon growls, his eyes still glued to Dillon and the pair standing beside him.

  The question throws me for a couple reasons. First because the moment he’d said the word home I think of that hodge podge of colours and patterns and my heart almost cracks with longing. Second because I can’t hardly believe he thinks he has the right to growl at me that way. Third because I don’t know how to answer him without things blowing up.

  Yeah, I see that twitch dancing at his right eye lid and knowing him if I say no and turn away like I’m tempted to do he’ll go batshit crazy and ruin Dillon’s day.

  “Sure. Just let me finish up. I’ll see you at home.” I finally concede, avoiding his eyes to give Day and Ry both a kiss and another hug.

  “We need to talk.”

  No shit.

  “Yeah.”

  “Tonight. I’ll send the lads back to the jet and wait for you outside. Make your excuses. You have a half hour before I come back in here and fetch you. And no, do not test my patience right now because as far as I know you shouldn’t even be flying right now.”

  “Fine, alright! Just give me a chance to go do what I have to.”

  I swear to hell and back, as crappy as I feel now if Devon Baxter so much as breathes wrong in my direction I’ma be raising this kid after putting his father in the morgue.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Two hours and a lot of nail biting later I’m on a private jet, my feet up, the boys chattering happily around me about the shit fit Devon had had, his panic and the next football match which just happens to be the game to end all games.

  Yeah, we take that stuff that seriously.

  Oh and have I mentioned that Mr Personality has been sulking and glaring at me the whole time? As if I’m to blame for any of this. I mean, he’s the one who says things he doesn’t mean and then went off to put his filthy hands on some other woman while I’m waddling around like a bloated hippopotamus incubating his seed.

  Talk about being an ungrateful asshole.

  And no, I don’t feel like I’m all bitter and in need of therapy; I’ve been watching Dr Phil, he’s all the man I need right now and very into self-examination.

  I’ve examined myself from top to bottom and know what I came up with?

  I’m a big old spoilt baby who runs and hides at the first sign of trouble-yeah believe me I like this thought even less than admitting to myself that running away and threatening to marry another man was not my finest hour.

  That had led to my next thought which had been-brace yourself-I should have stayed and confronted him so that-eeek-he could have the opportunity to explain himself.

  And that’s when I’d started feeling guilty about my childish actions and for this reason I am on a plane, with hardly any argument, going back home to listen to what I know will be a mother of a lecture.

  And to top it all off none of the boys are talking to me since Devon’s been glaring at them any time they seem to want to open their mouths.

  Fine. Just fine.

  We land what feels like hours later thanks to the white out and I slump into the passenger seat, trying really hard not to notice the flex and give of his thigh muscles beneath the legs of his slacks or the way his hands caress and squeeze at the gear shift.

  “Are you going to give me the silent treatment all-?”

  “We’ll talk at home. Ryan and David will not be present for this discussion.” He snaps out and I bite my tongue, mostly to keep from sticking it out at him like a total child.

  I want to though, so badly that it must show in my expression because when I look back in the rear view mirror Day and Ryan are laughing silently and shaking their heads.

  I flip them off and turn to look out of the window, feeling deflated and angry, a general mish mash of emotions that aren’t even close to being stable or calming.

  To say that I’m dreading this conversation would be a massive understatement. I don’t want to talk about this for a couple reasons, the biggest of which is that I’m passed the hard, steely, dry eyed stage and my freaking hormones have landed me somewhere between teary and violence.

  I don’t know which one will win out at this stage but I’m rooting for violence since I loathe the thought of crying for this guy. Again. Ever.

  We pull in through the massive gates a few minutes later and Ry and Day dash inside before the car has even fully stopped, leaving me to accept help from Devon and lean heavily on him as he pulls me from the car and steers me into the house.

  No preliminaries follow after he pulls me into his office and closes the door. He just leans down, getting in my face and snarls at me.

  “I did not sleep with Gia.”

  Huh. Okay.

  I snort and shake my head, waddling over to the sofa and falling down with a groan. My freaking feet, back, legs-my whole bloody body-hurt like I’ve just escaped a meat grinder and my vag isn’t feeling its usual self either.

  I’m really hoping it’s not what I think it is because seriously, if I start gushing amniotic fluid and having labour pains I’m going to be worse off than I already am.

  “Look Devon, we spoke on the phone. You can’t unsay what you said and from where I’m sitting you were so saying you were having an extra slice of cake while still intending to nibble at my pie.” I huff, running a hand over my belly and trying to get into a comfortable position.

  That makes him growl and I realize I’ve seriously overshot the sneer factor when he plants his hands beside my head and gets all up in my face, his breath billowing over my lips, making me uncomfortably aware of his nearness.

  Is it wrong to be totally turnedon by his dominance right now? My mind screams yes! Totally wrong, but the rest of me is still on snail mail and rearing to go.

  “Let me say this again and more clearly so that you understand. I did not touch Gia. She came to me and asked for help with her father’s business. He passed away and she has no clue how to keep the business afloat. I put her in touch with someone and that was the end of that.”

  I feel like a total moron when he pulls away and stalks to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink while those eagle sharp blues drill a hole into me.

  Okay, so maybe I jumped-

  “Nahah! You said-”

  “We were at cross purposes Rebecca! You thought that I was confessing to sleeping with her and I-”

  “What? What could you possibly have thought I was talking about? Up till a day ago I was happy, okay maybe I was also a little nervous waiting for the other shoe to drop and-”

  “See?” he roars and I sit back with a squeak when he hurls the glass at the wall, the sound of shattering glass ripping through the silence. “This is the problem. You are continuously looking for things to throw at me.”

  Oh God, he’s scrubbing at his hair and neck, never a good sign because it means he’s so angry he doesn’t know what to do with himself, a totally non Devon occurrence.

  “No I’m-”

  “Yes you are. We made love at your brother’s wedding and fine; I deserved your anger when I pulled a runner but I came back and begged forgiveness. I’ve spent months trying to prove myself to you and all I ever get are snide remarks and the odd smile. Jesus, I went without s
ex for months trying to prove to you how much I wanted you and you think I’m stupid enough to risk it all now on a meaningless fuck with a woman I can’t stand!”

  I want to listen to him, especially now that I’m pretty darn positive he’s telling the truth and we’d been at mixed buggers, but the thing is, I am so totally sure I’m in labour right now.

  I can’t tell him though because as much as I want to I am not so into a lecture the whole time I’m in labour. Maybe I can hold out till he stops ranting and pretend to go lie down?

  I could sneak out of the house and get to the hospital and my epidural before he finds me. Just thinking of the drugs I have schedule for the birth makes me euphoric and I grit my teeth against the pressure curling tightly through my hips.

  “The thing is that I am so fucking tired of all this. I take one step forward and you push me four back. It’s a waste isn’t it Rebecca, me thinking that you will finally start trying?”

  He’s calling me Rebecca? This is bad.

  The pain is not unbearable as yet but the more I breathe the tighter that vice clamps lower in my abdomen.

  “I told you I love you.” I grit out, taking quiet breaths through my nose.

  “Yeah, but that’s it isn’t it. It’s not loving that you have trouble with its trust.”

  “That’s bullshit!” I yell, covering a whimper with the anger he’s evoking.

  Trust? He thinks I have trust issues? I’m not the freaking one who refused to even have a normal relationship because of some floozy who’d rejected me and my family.

  “No. Think about it. You spent years studying for and working towards something you hated because you didn’t trust your own parents to want you to be happy. Instead of just telling them you hid in that little apartment and wore your frumpy clothes just as your family wanted.”

  “Because I knew what would happen! The minute Logan bucked against dad’s hold he-oh shiiiiiit.”

  Looks like I’ma have to go with plan B after all because just then I get a mother of a spasm through my belly and I swear, if it wasn’t for the fact that some tiny part of me feels guilty about hurting him I would punch him in the throat when he pauses and rushes over, his arms sweeping me up before another syllable can leave my tightly clenched lips.