by F. X. Scully
"You look like shit." Roscoe hands me the plastic bag full of my belongings and trudges out the front door of the police station.
"Where's Shannon?"
He laughs. "You're serious? You thought Prim and Proper was going to show up here, baby on her hip to bail your ass out?"
"That asshole pressed charges?"
"The police did. Disturbing the fucking peace, idiot." He runs both hands through his hair, and throws an angry glare in my direction. "Let me get this straight. You flew all the way home to come whale on some guy because he was helping your wife catch a mouse?"
I sigh, searching the parking lot for his car. "It's not about that and you know it."
It isn't until we're sitting in his new Eagle Talon that he clues in. "Holy shit. Is this about the other night? You're still worried about that shit? She's not gonna find out. It was a private party."
"It's not about that either."
He frowns.
"I mean, I'm not worried she'll find out. She probably never will, but Jesus, Ross. I can't be hanging around those hot ass girls."
He laughs at the memory. "Sure you can. You'll be fine, just keep pushing 'em off, like you always do."
"It isn't funny. I feel like shit about it. I was drunk for two days straight. I didn't call her when I was supposed to, then I find out she's calling on her ex-boyfriend to do stuff I should be doing."
"She's pregnant, man. You really think she'd cheat?"
"I don't. But that doesn't make me feel any better."
"Thanks for telling me by the way. You know, about the new kid on the way."
I cringe. "I was going to. I was. It just all happened so fast and I didn't want you to think I was...using you."
He doesn't respond.
Instead, he hands me a bottle of water. I take it from him and chug it back. After wiping my mouth with my sleeve, I crack the bottle of Advil open and throw a few back. I wash it down with the rest of the drink and lean back in my seat, pulling the hood of my sweater over my head.
"Hungry?" Roscoe asks.
"No."
"Well, I'm starving. Been at this damn station for hours and we got a flight back to New York in three. Let's go grab a beer and a burger."
"I'm good."
"Well, I'm going to grab a beer and burger and you're coming with me. No way in hell I'm leaving you alone to cause more trouble."
"Maybe I should go see her."
"Just call her later. I don't think..."
My head snaps up. "You don't think what?"
"Nothing."
"No, what?"
He sighs. "I don't think we need another confrontation."
"Confronta—what are you talking about, confrontation?" As quickly as the words leave my mouth it dawns on me. "He's still there?" My blood is suddenly boiling again and I have half a mind to fight my brother for the steering wheel and speed all the way home.
The look on Dave's face last night is fresh in my mind. That cocky Chiclet smile, like he'd somehow won the battle.
What choice did I have but to beat it off him? Then when he refused to fight back, just kept taking the licks, telling me he promised my girl he wouldn't, it only made me madder.
"I hate that guy," I mutter.
Ross laughs. "I never thought I'd see the day. But my little brother's in love. Ain't that sweet." He pulls into the parking lot of the first pub we see. "You got nothing to worry about. She married you. And if his eyes weren't swollen shut, he might have driven himself home last night." At this he nudges me. "Nice job by the way. You may look like shit, but that dude looks like horse shit."
After the waitress serves Ross, I decide I am hungry and order a grilled cheese and cream soda. Ross orders a round of shots, but I wisely decide against getting smashed at ten in the morning—and secretly I'm snagging the only chance I'll probably get to drive his new car.
"Your birthday's coming up," he says.
I shrug, biting into my grilled cheese. "Not for a few months."
"Still, gotta plan ahead. What do you want?"
"Don't need anything."
He pops a potato skin in his mouth and clasps both hands behind his head. "Hmm, what to get for the kid who has everything?" He winks. "I think I have some ideas."
"What would you say if she stayed at the ranch?"
Ross frowns. "Who, Shannon?"
I nod. "It's clean. It's big. No rats."
He sputters.
"I could buy it. I haven't spent a damn cent of that trust fund and I'd feel better if I knew she was safe."
"In Woodinville? With no neighbors?"
"There are neighbors."
He rolls his eyes. "Marriage, babies, now you want to buy the fucking ranch? What the hell, bro?"
"You've gotta grow up sometime."
Ross snorts before tossing back another shot.
"I'm twenty-two. Twenty-three in a few months, and like you said, I've got a wife and kid and one on the way. I can't mess around anymore. That's why I came back to New York, to make sure they're okay."
He laughs. "Whatever you have to tell yourself."
I frown. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You and I both know why you came back to New York. You can't lie to me. I saw it on your face that night in Moscow. You want this, just as bad as me. You and the wife being broke and pregnant, that's just a lucky coincidence."
"I'm just trying to do what's right. Be a man and stand up for what's right."
Ross shakes his head. "Sure, bro. Let me know when you start to regret it."
The way he says it and that fiery look in his eyes, hits me hard.
Shit. I get it now.
"I won't regret it," I say. "I made a choice. A decision to be a man, even if it kills me. Because that's what good men do. It's what you did. And maybe I didn't say it before, but I'll say it now. I'm sorry I screwed up your life. And I don't blame you for regretting it. But I'm not you. And I'm not Dad."
"Whoa, slow down. Where the fuck did that come from? I never said anything about—"
"You kidding me? I get it, Ross. I do. And I can't be mad at you for it. But I didn't do any of this for any other reason other than I wanted to. I don't feel trapped, she didn't swindle me or whatever."
"Swindle?" He chuckles.
"Whatever. I love her. I have for a while and the baby, she didn't even want me to know. It's not like that. I don't have regrets. But I can tell you do, and I'm fucking sorry. All right. I'm sorry I was a dipshit kid who needed you when you needed to just be fucking free of all of it."
He doesn't say anything for the longest while. And we just sit there at the bar, him drinking and me people watching. I've probably overstepped. Said something I shouldn't. But I couldn't keep it in. It might not have been the most sincere apology but it was a long time in the making. It was something he needed to hear.
"I made a choice too," he finally says. "I wasn't fucking swindled either. You were my little brother and they screwed us both over. I'd been picking up the pieces all your life anyway."
"You didn't need to feel obligated."
"I did. Like I said, you're my little brother. I did what I had to do, and no matter what the fuck your dipshit little mind thinks, I don't regret it for one second." He tosses a few bills on the counter gets up from his stool and stalks away.
She picks up the phone on the first ring and her voice is so quiet I can barely hear her.
"Shannon? It's me. You there?"
She huffs into the receiver. "I can't believe you have the nerve to call here. After everything. How could you do this to me, Lucas? Everyone's going to be staring at me. You know that? I'm going to have to find another place to live!"
She's whispering loudly and I'm burning up inside. I grab Ross's last shot and gulp it back. "He's still there, isn't he? He stayed the night."
"Because he could barely walk you jackass. What the hell is wrong with you? Since when do you attack people?"
"He was trying to...you had to see the
way he looked at me, like he'd won or something. I was drunk. It pissed me off. I'm sorry."
But I'm not. I'm not sorry at all.
"Won what? There's no prize! Dave is my friend. He came over here to help me, that's it."
"He's your ex." The bartender glances over at me a smirk on his face and I do my best not to glare at him.
"We were friends long before you and I...and I'm pregnant. God, Lucas do you really think I'd—?"
"No!" I push away from the bar and turn my back, allowing the phone cord to stretch as far as it will go. "I love you. And I got mad. I thought he would take advantage of you and I got mad."
"And drunk. Good and drunk. Then you burst into my apartment like an idiot."
I sigh. Not that I thought calling her a few hours after being released from jail would result in an instant reconciliation. But I don't understand how she doesn't get it. She had a guy in our house.
"You could have let me know."
"What?"
"You could have called and told me he was—" Shit.
Shannon laughs on the other end. It's cold and sharp. "I've been trying to call you for two days."
"I'm sorry. I...I'm sorry."
"Where were you, Lucas? Huh? Should I have come to New York? Burst into your hotel room and scratched some chick's eyes out?"
"Of course not." I've probably said it too quickly because she laughs again.
"Of course not. Because you can do whatever you want, right?"
"I'm coming home, okay? We can talk about it. I'll just...I'll stay for a few days. We'll work this out. I'm sorry."
"You have a show."
"It's just one show."
"The one that could get you on a European Tour. You need that tour. We need the money."
"Shannon. Please. Just let me make it up to you. I'm—"
"Sorry. I know. That's the thing about apologies though, they're just words." She sighs and there are several more seconds of silence before she says, "I don't know, Lucas. I don't know about any of this anymore. I have to go." Then she hangs up in my ear.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Shannon
Tears are like a food group this morning. I wipe the saltiness from my chin, with a soaked tissue and reach for another. After an epic argument with Lucas, I called my sister. I just wanted to talk to someone who would make me feel better. Usually that's her, but the way she defended him....
I quiver another sigh and blow my nose.
I shouldn't have yelled at her like that. I shouldn't have blamed her. But all of this is her fault. She's the one who told him Dave was here. If she'd just kept her big mouth shut, none of this would have ever happened. Calling her a conniving home-wrecker probably crossed a line, but I can't take it back now.
Worse, I can't help but wonder if it's true. If the two have them have decided to somehow reconcile behind my back.
Dave groans, pushing up on his elbows and looking in my general direction. But I can tell he can't see a thing. His face...god, his face. I've never seen anything like it, with the exception of what the makeup artist did in the Rocky movies.
"I'm so sorry." I suck a deep breath through my nose forcing myself not to get weepy. This isn't about me. He has to be in so much pain.
I'm never forgiving Lucas for this.
"Not your fault." His voice is garbled, on account of two fat lips and a swollen jaw. "Things just got out of hand is all."
I get up from the chair, where I've sat vigil all night, afraid he'd slip into a coma or have an aneurism. "You should have let me take you to the hospital," I say reaching in the freezer for a package of frozen peas. "Are you sure your nose isn't broken?"
"I used to play hockey, remember? I've had a broken nose before and this isn't it." He chuckles, then winces. "My ribs on the other hand."
I whirl around and he puts up a hand. "I'm kidding, Shannon. Just a little bruised. Trust me, I've fared worse on the football field."
"I can't believe he..." I shake my head, trying to push the image of Lucas in handcuffs from my mind. "I just never realized he was..."
"He's not." Dave eases up from the sofa and takes the peas from me. "He's just protecting his territory or whatever."
"Territory? I'm not his territory. I'm his damn wife!"
"And you had another man in your house in the middle of the night. He's jealous. I would be too."
"So that gives him the right to beat the snot out of you?"
Dave's eyes widen with amusement. "I'm right here, you know. Me and my ego."
I chuckle. "That's not what I meant."
"For the record, I did what you said. I didn't fight him."
I frown and as realization sets in, my jaw drops. "You let him do that to you? Dave!"
"You said not to fight."
"As in walk away! Not stand there taking licks!"
"It's fine," he shrugs. "I don't fight anyway. It's not my style."
I smile, sitting down on the sofa next to him. "You're a good guy," I say, patting his knee.
Something I once thought Lucas was. But now I'm starting to wonder.
Dave squeezes my hand. "So is he. He jumped on a plane to defend your honor."
I snort. Right, that's what he was doing.
"You have to remember, all of this," he gestures around the room, "happened incredibly fast. You went from student to mom to wife faster than any of us could blink. You guys are new and new relationships, new marriages they take work. It's not all roses. Look at it this way, a guy who didn't love you wouldn't fly seven hours at the drop of a hat to fight for you."
"Maybe he's not fighting for me. Maybe he's fighting for himself." I shake my head. "The more I think about it the more convinced I am this whole thing is about pride."
"Love and pride carry the same essence. They require the same kind of passion. The love of yourself, the commitment to another, it's a fine line."
I laugh. "You sound like Dad."
"Why, thank you."
I roll my eyes. In another life, maybe I would have ended up with a guy like Dave—or Dave himself—but I've had enough of that kind of living for a lifetime. I need something different. My stomach twists as I recall Lucas's angry glare from the night before.
Maybe this is too different.
Sheila
I shuffle toward the fridge for the hundredth time. I should just roll it next to the sofa. Easy access to the comfort I sorely need. I haven't been in my room all day. It's stupid, but I don't want to go back there after the dream I had about Luke yesterday. In a way it feels like the place is haunted by everything we used to be. And after the screaming match I had with my sister, I'd truly rather be anywhere else.
And it's too damn cold to wander around outside. The guys' adjoining suites—Roscoe's lavish one in particular—is the best place to cool down. At least until they decide to throw the next party.
Why did I have to open my big mouth about Dave? It's not like I meant to. But when Luke showed up at my room, seconds after getting off the phone with her, I was mad at him. Mad at her. Mad at my damn self. It just slipped out.
Instead of one beer, I grab the remainder of the six-pack and the leftover cheesecake. Dash will have a fit when he realizes it's gone, but it's not like he hasn't had enough. It's practically all he's eaten since he discovered that little cafe down the street. But I can't blame him. I sink my finger into the hunk of cool velvet and bring a dollop to my mouth, closing my eyes as my skin buzzes with appreciation.
This stuff is seriously good. Better than any I've ever tasted. He's right about that. I grab a fork and plant myself on the sofa again, the six pack in easy reach.
The front door opens and Luke walks through, slamming it behind him.
I stop the fork mid-way to my mouth. "Damn."
His usually coifed shaggy hair is clumpy, like there's a week's worth of product in it and there are shadows under his eyes, which aren't the normal smoldering gray—they're dark, almost black. His eyebrows, drawn downward, raise s
lightly when he sees me and he lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing the scruff on his chin.
"What happened to you?"
He frowns. "Ross didn't—? Never mind."
He opens the fridge and sticks his head inside.
"I've got the last four right here," I say, jabbing my thumb toward the bottles next to me. "You look like you could use one."
He just stares at me, but mostly through me, like I'm not even there.
"Or," I say holding up a Ziploc bag. "I found this in the freezer. Just can't figure out how to roll it up the way you do."
At that, Luke smiles.
Twenty-minutes later, we're sitting in the bathroom breathing in the remnants of Ryan's stash and I'm ready to polish off the rest of that cheesecake.
"Between Ryan and Dash, I'm a dead woman," I say.
Luke removes the beer bottle from his lips. "Why's that?"
"Cheesecake, weed, bliss," I murmur.
He laughs. "I think I've corrupted you."
And I laugh right back. "I was corrupted long before you showed up."
His lips twitch and he eases down next to me, leaning his back up against the tub. "Where is everyone?"
"In the studio," I say. "Roscoe locked himself in his room and wrote, what he's calling, a hit. Now he's forced them to record it. Stat," I add with a chuckle.
"How long have they been gone?"
"All day, pretty much. He says they can add your tracks later. If at all. What the hell happened between you two?"
"Nothing," he mumbles, hands spread across his face.
"Seems like whatever it is, it's going around. Shannon bit my head off, blamed me for whatever it is you did." I sigh, the memory of her hurtful words still fresh. "What'd you do, Luke?"
He takes my beer from my hands and chugs it back. "That Dave guy's a piece of work. You know that? What's his deal anyway?"
"You mean other than apparently being a has-been dork, who's now ruggedly handsome, smart and the perfect guy to bring home to Daddy?"
Luke grunts something inaudible and I nudge him.
"Dave's great. He's nice, polite and sexy in a Rob Lowe kind of way." I smile, recalling my early years spent competing for his attention.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
