Red: Fiery Finale (Spectrum Series Book 8)

by Allison White

  There were lots of face caressing and shiny smiles and flimsy shoulder grips but zero admiration or humanity in that house from my parents. Granted, the event was a social call to discuss business techniques and brainstorm ideas and collaborations, but that didn’t grant them permission to parade me around like a show pony.

  The only solace I had through those horrible parties was a friend I’d made a long way back, since we were in diapers basically.

  “Yeah, I don’t think we can make it this year.” I gesture between Red and me. There are approximately a billion things I’d rather do than attend a snooty party. I’m grown now and can make my own decisions; I just couldn’t back then.

  He doesn’t look upset, just glances at Red expectantly. “You may stay home if you choose to…but my assistant attends, always. You know this, son.” I despise the conceited bass in his voice.

  “I’m sure Red can be sick on the night of your gala,” I say and look at my girl. Her frown is off-putting. Why does she look so torn?

  Red bites her lip and stares between the two. “I think we should go.”

  What? “What?” I voice my thoughts. Why is she agreeing to go so willingly? I know her, and I know that she hates snobby pricks just as much as I do. I grew up with two of them.

  “It won’t be absolutely horrendous, Noah,” Marilyn speaks up, smiling. “I heard the Westerfields will be making an appearance. Aren’t you friends with their daughter…what was her name again?” She hums and looks to my father for help, but he’s too busy stifling his shit-eating grin as he sips his bubbling champagne.

  I scoff and thread my fingers through my hair. “That is if she and Grey aren’t too busy fighting,” I mutter, smiling at the mention of my good friend. To be honest, I think she and her beau are on good terms, which is rare, but they’re too complex to keep track of.

  “Olivia—they were a thing once upon a time,” Father answers Marilyn, tsking. “But then she fell for that hoodlum and my son followed in her footsteps. I really thought you two were going to be the bright kids.” His eyes shine with mockery that just sparks the bonfire of anger swelling in my fists.

  “Very fucking nice, Dad, degrade my girlfriend right in front of me!” I snap. Who does he think he is? Just because he owns a few fucking “empires,” he thinks he’s the king and can say BS like this? No fucking way.

  “But it’s the truth.” He holds up his palms and looks around.

  Marilyn shifts uncomfortably. “Robert…” she says, almost warning him with familiarity lacing his name.

  “You piece of—” I begin to shout when Red takes my hand and pulls me back a few steps. She cups my cheeks and brings me down to her level. No words are spoken, but none are needed. I hear her loud and clear. Unfortunately, screaming at my father will not cure his asshole-ism.

  “We’ll be at your gala Friday,” she grits through her teeth, and her hands tighten around my cheek. Her eyes never leave mine as she hurls her words at my father who, given a quick glance, is shell-shocked and utterly pissed. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.” She turns to Marilyn, who is blushing and sheepishly gives us a wave.

  “You two make an adorable couple,” Marilyn says. I like Marilyn. I pray that my father doesn’t drive her to the brink of insanity by the end of their little “sit down.”

  “Goodnight, Marilyn.” I return her wave with a grin. “Father,” I spit out, not even bothering to look at him. I hold out my elbow, bowing slightly. “Red, perhaps the love of my fucking life,” I say loud enough to hear my father grumbling under his breath.

  “Perhaps?” She beams, linking her arm through my elbow.

  “You’re right—most definitely,” I correct myself. I admire her blinding grin before leaning down and kissing her hair tenderly. “Fuck this place; pizza and vodka?” I whisper as we begin to walk down the dim streets with the exception of lamp-posts creating a hazy light atmosphere.

  She leans all the way back in my arms, and I laugh. “Most fucking definitely.”

  Lips against her hair, listening to her breathe contentedly, I smile and mutter, “There’s my girl.”

  ***

  I wake up the next morning to Red’s ass. I’m too groggy and a tad hungover to comprehend this as reality rather than a wet dream. Leave it to me to dream of my girlfriend’s ass in my face, like she’s a forbidden fruit during this time of the month.

  “Ass? Are you real?” I rasp and poke her butt. I smile against my arm. “Hooray—you are.”

  “Drink too much last night?” she asks, taking the view of her protruding ass with her across the room. I watch her and situate myself against the headboard. My head is booming a headache, and my limbs feel like noodles—but besides that, I’m a golden freaking nugget.

  “Maybe,” I tell her, grinding my palms against my heavy eyes. I blink rapidly and find her in the doorway of our closet. She’s shrugging on her leather jacket, fluffing her hair from beneath it. “Where are you going? You don’t have classes today…do you?”

  “No, I have a few errands to run,” she says and walks over to the dresser.

  “What kind of errands?” I ask, smiling groggily. “Are you gonna go shopping for strings?”

  “Strings?” Her voice is muffled as she puts on eyeliner. I like watching her get dressed. There’s something therapeutic watching her yank on jeans, cursing me for leaving the seat up, and stealing snacks she has squirrelled away for later. Living with her is just what I expected it to be: lots of annoyance covered with kisses.

  “Yeah. Tampons,” I mock her playfully. This is the first time she’s been on her period around me. Well, I know she’s had them since we’ve known each other; I’m not dumb. But it’s the first time actually aware that she’s going through it around me, and it’s kind of interesting. She’s even pissier than usual, aka even cuter.

  She hurls a glare at me, red lipstick held to her mouth. “Fuck off,” she huffs.

  I laugh and swing my legs over the bed. “I’d rather fuck you…” I stand behind her and watch her teeth claim her lip ring as I hold her hips. “But since you’re in the bloody war…” I tease, and she pushes against me.

  “Really, you can fuck off now,” she says with irritation, finishing coating her plump lips with a vivacious red. I want to kiss it off of her mouth.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I mumble with a pout, wrapping my arms around her waist. I kiss her neck gently and look at her through the mirror above the dresser. Her eyes narrow, unbelieving, lips pursed. I kiss her again, then her cheek, then her forehead, promising: “I’m sorry, Rossa. Forgive me. Please!”

  “Okay, okay!” she shrieks, caving in, spinning on her boots, arms wrapped around me. I pinch her cheeks, kiss her scrunched nose. “I forgive you. Geez.” She plays annoyed, but I see right through her words, see her elated grin. But it slowly drips, and her eyes flash with sadness. “I have to go now.”

  “What? No, stay. Please.” I pepper her cheek with kisses, and she smiles and holds my hands resting on her stomach. She almost caves in and lets me smother her with my kisses, but she shakes her head furiously and spins out of my hold.

  “I have to go, but I will see you later. Don’t you have lacrosse practice today?” she says, regret flashing across her eyes.

  “Yeah, but I would rather spend the day with you,” I mutter and let my gaze fall to the ground. I am so whipped, but I don’t even care. Is it so horrible I genuinely enjoy spending time with my girl?

  Biting her lip, she walks over and cups my face. “I will stop by if I can, say hi. Maybe after that, we can get something to eat?” she offers, and it isn’t her shooting down her plans for the day and lying in bed, watching a movie with me, but it is something.

  I nod, smiling. “Yeah, that sounds very nice.”

  “Great.” She grins and kisses me tenderly. I cup the back of her neck, draw her in, and silence the world as I hold and kiss my brilliant Red.

  ***

  Turns out lacrosse practice is cancel
led for today because Coach had some family emergency. But I did grab something to eat with my friends, who invited me and Red to a frat party tonight.

  I’m personally over partying in general. I partied more than what would be considered healthy when she left, to fill a void only she could restore. And now that I have her, I have no plans on waking up with a blank memory of the night before, drinking myself into an oblivion.

  Nevertheless, I agreed, they are still my friends.

  Now, I’m driving home through light rain that’s caused one minor accident on the local, so I’m taking the freeway to avoid the delay. I want to get home, kick up my feet, cue up a horror flick, and wait for my girl.

  My girl.

  I still get giddy thinking about her, about the fact that she’s mine. Not in the sense that I possess her, but that she is mine to hold, to kiss, and to love. I sound sappy as hell, but I’ll accept all of the hate for her. I’d be damned for her if it came down to it, do anything to keep her.

  Sometimes when I think about my life before her, I feel sorry for myself. I was completely lost and a little bit broken. One girl had obliterated my heart, and I was left broody and running on fumes and naked models and bottles of alcohol. I was living my best damn dream…but I didn’t have the love of my life by my side to experience my dream with me.

  And now that I do, I never want to let go.

  My father’s nasty words infiltrate my mind, and I find myself passing the exit to go home. I wanna tell him off until I am red in the face. How dare he insult her like that? Call her a freaking hooligan? And to drag Liv and Grey in it? They’re not the most stable couple, sure, but they’re doing much better than most of the people I know.

  And I love Red. I’m freaking happy with her. Why must she fit this “perfect” role he and my mother and the rest of the fucking world has made for me? I don’t want a fucking shell of a person; I want a damn beautiful girl. I want and have a girl who doesn’t stop laughing, who lives for the thrill of watching scary movies in the dark; I want and have and will always be desperately in love with a girl that steals my heart with every glance, every kiss—everything.

  I pull up in front of the building and park in the reserved spot for me. I storm into the glass building with rage swelling in my stomach. The ride up to the seventieth floor is quick due to the velocity. Annoyingly enough, the rage turns into fluttering butterflies. I’ve always hated this thing…

  The elevators pop open, and I notice Ellis walking by. He’s on his phone and looks pretty distracted as I call out his name.

  “Noah, hey,” Ellis greets me with a surprised grin as I step off the elevator. “Haven’t seen you around. I thought you got lost,” he teases.

  I smile. I haven’t been around lately because I didn’t think there was much of a point. I have my girl back, and the brainwash curtain he draped over me when she was gone has finally dropped. Now that I have full range over what I want to do, coming here and “taking over” when he steps down in a few years’ time isn’t my priority, never has been, never will be.

  “I’m pretty sure I quit…if only I could quit being his son.” Irritation poisons my words, and he frowns, concerned, but I clear the vexation away and plaster on a grin. “So, have you seen my father around? I need to talk with him.” More like curse him out. I look around, as if my father sensed my anger from miles away and is hiding behind a corner.

  “Um…yeah, he’s in his office, I believe.” He touches my chest, brows furrowed. “Is everything okay? You look pissed off.”

  “Nah, I’m good,” I lie.

  He lifts a brow but doesn’t press, which I am grateful for. “Well, all right. Just let me know if you need any help or anything. I’m well versed in the whole ‘shitty dad’ department.”

  “Thanks, man.” I nod, and he nods back before walking off. I watch his suit-clad back, wishing we could swap fathers. His is hard as fuck on him, always pressuring him to be better and perfect. Mine is the same, but I’d trade mine for freaking Darth Vader any day. Why do fathers have to be so shitty? Is it a requirement to bring a child into this world?

  On my way to his office, I promise to be a non-asshole father. I won’t pressure my child to do what doesn’t spark a desire in them. Won’t call their significant other a fucking hooligan. And I most definitely will show them the love they deserve, no matter how they choose to live their life.

  I’ll be the father he never was.

  I reach his office and crack it open, eyes downcast as I let the words brew in the back of my throat, mouth open and ready to launch freaking missiles at him for disrespecting my girl as I near his office, when I hear a familiar voice.

  A voice that whispered it loved me this morning.

  Red.

  I lift my eyes and find her and my father in deep, heated conversation. She’s hunched over his desk, staring straight at him, aggressive posture and fists on either side of her on the desk. They’re so tuned in that they don’t even notice me slowly backing up, trying to hide even though his office is pure glass. I begin to announce myself and question Red when I hear a snippet of the conversation. I know I shouldn’t listen; I should make myself known…but the words are too compelling.

  “You said you would fix this shit for me. Making deals and throwing a fucking ball isn’t exactly fixing shit now, is it?” Red snaps.

  “May I remind you that I do not have to fix your problems?” my father retaliates.

  “May I remind you that I know a certain little secret about your son?” There’s something hidden behind her voice that makes me freeze. What does she mean? What secret do I have but not know about? And why would it be such a threat to hold over my father’s head?

  I’m so confused, and I want to listen in and get more context, but I hear them rush out hushed words, and I look up to find Red straightening, tossing him threats too low for me to perfectly make out. I back away, too put off and puzzled to give my father a piece of my mind. I can’t because there isn’t a single part of it that isn’t whirling with so many questions, one primarily branding itself into my mind: what the hell were they talking about?

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “How was your errand?” I ask Red when she walks through the door. I’m sitting on the couch, watching HGTV. A young couple with a baby is looking at shack houses. Red and I recently became obsessed with these types of shows. She doesn’t want to admit it, but I think it’s because Keeping Up With The Kardashians—her guilty pleasure—latest season just ended.

  A smile I can’t control spills over my face. I adore how normal we can be and how old our souls really are. We’re like a married couple, watching TV shows together just because. Memories of her and me bickering over which house a person or couple will take flashes across my eyes, and I hold onto it before remembering the weird and cryptic conversation with my father takes over.

  “Boring like every errand in the world,” she grumbles as she plucks off her jacket and tosses it on the arm of the red leather L-shaped couch. She jumps and lands on the seat next to me, laying her legs on my lap. “I missed you, though. Like, so much.” She smiles and moves to kiss me on the lips, but I turn my head, and her lips land on my cheek.

  I see her wince in my peripheral vision, but I don’t assure her with a kiss or a smile. I’m too conflicted and kind of hurt by her little meeting with my father. What secret of mine does she think she knows well enough to threaten my father? And to fix something for her? What is there to fix? I want to badger her with questions, but I know she’ll just shut down and possibly leave for a week like she usually does.

  I don’t even know why she does it—leave. It doesn’t solve anything. All it does is create a tension-filled rift between us, makes things ten times worse than they really are. I don’t want her to leave, but I can’t let her keep secrets from me. The overwhelming fear of getting hurt by her again is fueling my actions.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, staring up at me with frightened eyes. “Did I do something, or…?
”

  Yeah, you’re possibly scheming another heartbreak for me, with my father, nonetheless.

  “Nothing,” I tell her and look at the TV screen. The couple are looking at different rooms but are so picky over small things like tiles and window shapes. And looking at them be picky and walk through the house yanks on my heart strings, desire. I want Red and me to do that, no drama or problems except finding the right counters for a kitchen.

  Why does she have to make things so god damn complicated?

  “Oh no, it is not ‘nothing,’” she presses and straddles me. I would normally hold her waist and kiss her, but I keep my arms glued to my sides and my gaze focused on the show playing behind her back. She frowns. “This is serious, isn’t it?” she says cautiously slow.

  “There isn’t anything wrong,” I quickly assure her, and her eyes squeeze together and dart all over my face, trying to find the truth. While she searches for the truth, I decide to do my own digging. I hold her hips and sit up in the couch. “I’m sorry for what my father called you last night—he was completely out of line.”

  Her eyes soften, and she lets out a low breath. “It’s fine. He’s a prick; I kind of expected it. And I do look sort of hoodlum-ish, don’t you think?” she jokes, smirking, and gestures to her tattoo sleeve. I grit my teeth together and shake my head, caving into the need to touch her, no matter how upset I am over her keeping another secret from me.

  “You’re freaking beautiful, Red,” I tell her, but she just shakes her head. I rest a hand on the back of her neck and bring her face down to mine and peer into her eyes, voice soft as I say, “Yes, you are. Don’t let anyone tell you differently. Just because you don’t fit his mold, it doesn’t mean you aren’t freaking breathtaking.”

  She breathes almost in relief and fists my t-shirt collar. “I think God poured one too many gallons of sweetness into you when he made you.”

  “And I think he added one too many boatloads of sexiness in you,” I say and smile when she laughs, nose scrunching. My favorite kind of laugh. I smile even wider, and I know I shouldn’t be. I should be interrogating her, questioning her…later. Right now, I want to just talk with her.