by Shayla Black
“Hi, Harlow. It’s Keeley. I know you don’t want to talk. You’re like your big brother.” She gives a little laugh. “But sometimes we need help sorting out what’s in our heads, and you know music is my language. I made this CD of songs I picked for you. If you don’t need or want it, that’s fine. But if something I’ve found helps you to recover after what happened or makes you want to talk, I’m here for you, sweetie. Maxon and I send our love. You deserve the best, and Simon Butler wasn’t it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.”
Her sister-in-law’s gentle if chipper voice trails off and the first song begins to play. It’s old. Retro. Beats sliding down a scale, then tambourines and drums. I’ve heard it. I just can’t place it right away. A woman starts singing about her lying, cheating boyfriend. It doesn’t click until she sings that her boots are made for walking.
I have to smile. I don’t know Keeley, but she’s definitely got this tune right. Harlow had every right to let her dainty boots trample her ex on her way out the door.
That song ends, then another begins, this one more upbeat. It’s definitely from a different era than the first. It’s not familiar, either, and when another woman starts singing, I’m thinking I need to catch up on my chick rock. As I listen to the lyrics, the song is all about telling a deadbeat lover to kiss off in a tone that says she’s not at all broken up about the split.
“‘Goodbye to You,’ huh?” I murmur. If Harlow had been singing this song, she would have called it “Eat Shit and Die.”
I listen as the end trails off. Both songs have been appropriate to her situation…but neither should have made her cry.
The next song is also unfamiliar. The intro sounds like a guitar of some sort in an uneven beat, almost a Caribbean-style rhythm. I hear another female vocalist, her voice one I’ve heard before. Rihanna, I think. She sings that she can pretend she’s not lonely but she’ll be lying to herself and she’d give every dime she possesses to have what she’s only been dreaming about. Is it possible Harlow feels that way secretly, deep down? Is there any chance she wants to be someone’s one and only but is too afraid to admit it?
The next track on the playlist is a bouncy Michael Bublé tune I’ve heard on the radio about not having met the right one yet. Keeley seems really determined that Harlow needs and wants love. Does Maxon’s wife know something about the woman in my house, who visits my bed, that I don’t? I’m struck by one line, where Bublé says he knows that someday someone will make him work so they can work to work it out.
Is that what I need to do with Harlow? She keeps objecting, but is that because she doesn’t really want me…or because she’s trying to gauge my staying power in a relationship?
Interesting questions. I need to talk to Keeley. And her brothers. Hell, maybe Britta has insight, too. I’m not even sure why Harlow has become my mission in life suddenly. Maybe I’m avoiding the speech issue, which I can’t fix, and focusing on the woman who I hope I can.
And maybe for the first time in my life I’m falling in love.
The catchy pop tune ends and another familiar song seeps into my ears. A Foreigner classic, a melody I’ve heard a thousand times. This is the one that made her cry. I recognize the notes now. Yes, in her life, there has been heartache and pain. Of course she has trouble knowing if she can face it again. I listen as the rest of the bridge slides into the chorus, Lou Gramm’s soulful voice rasping that he wants to know what love is, backed up by a large, harmonious choir. He also croons that he wants someone to show him.
The questions start rolling through my head once more, but I think I know what to do. I have to try with Harlow. Not just for her, not because I want to be the knight in shining armor who repairs the heart that someone—not her ex—broke. I feel good when I’m with her. Like I can be myself. Like she might always make me laugh. Like she’s always going to turn me on. Like I could be happy for the rest of my days with her by my side.
Am I crazy? Am I distracting myself from my own problems? Maybe…but I don’t think so.
When the song finally ends, I set her earbuds and phone on her nightstand. Her phone looks half-dead, so I plug it in with the cord dangling from the power strip on the floor. Then I stand in the dark and stare at her. I either need to be in or out. I either need to let her lick her wounds and work out her problems in her time and in her way or I need to be a force in her life that helps heal her. I can’t keep pushing her if I’m going to leave in the end. I have to make a decision here and now whether I’m just the guy she’s boffing for a few months until the real world comes calling again or if I’m going to find a way to make this woman trust me with her heart forever.
I know what my gut is telling me. Screaming at me. So instead of padding back into my room for a solid night of sleep, I take off every stitch I’m wearing and slide into bed beside Harlow. I curl my arm around her, doing my best not to jostle her. Then I plant my face in her neck so I can breathe in her scent and hope this is the first night of many I’ll spend beside her.
I approach Tuesday night with both anticipation and dread. Harlow’s family may have information I need but I’m sure they also have an agenda in mind. This dinner won’t be purely social. They’re going to examine and grill me, which would be fine if I knew for certain I’d be able to keep up my end of the conversation.
We park at her older brother’s place, and a quaint sign hangs in the front yard, proclaiming it the Sunshine Coast Bed and Breakfast. A redhead in a golden sundress waits for us on the lanai, drink in hand. As we emerge from the car, a petite blonde sidles up beside her in a killer black dress. Harlow’s brothers shuffle out after them, deep in conversation. Maxon parks himself behind the redhead and drops a kiss on the top of her head. She must be Keeley, which means the blonde is Britta. Sure enough, Griff cups the dainty woman’s shoulders and whispers something in her ear that makes her smile secretively.
After I shut the car door behind me, I’m keenly aware of her brothers staring at me. I grab Harlow’s hand.
“Advertising that we’re having a fling? After last Friday morning, I think they know.”
“No, I’m borrowing courage. Your brothers don’t like me much.”
“They just don’t know you.”
True. “But when I talk to them, I tend to lose my verbal ability. So this could be a really long evening.”
Harlow turns to me, a little frown working between her brows. “I wasn’t even thinking about you being anxious. I’m sorry.” She squeezes my hand tighter. “I’m here for you. And look, no matter what they threaten, they can’t kill and eat you.”
I know she’s right; they can’t do anything to me. But if I want Harlow in my life for more than a few weeks, I’ll have to deal with Maxon and Griff. Hell, I admit it; I want them to like me. I’d even settle for them tolerating me. If they hate me outright, their opinion might rub off on Harlow and make our already unsteady relationship even more rocky.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they want to,” I grouse.
“They also want to rule the world, ambitious bastards.”
“Stay with me tonight, will you? Just in case I…”
I grimace. She knows what I’m implying. It hurts to ask her for help. I used to give press conferences, do TV interviews regularly. Hell, I’ve even emceed galas for thousands. Now I can’t trust myself to finish a sentence when it counts. I can only hope that with Harlow by my side, I’ll feel less wound up and more able to carry on a conversation.
“Of course. I’m not throwing you to the wolves,” she assures me so sincerely in a low voice for my ears alone before she raises her voice to something designed to carry. “I’m simply getting the family who cares about me off my back while assuring them that I’m not fucking my way out of a broken heart. Hi, guys. Keeley, Britta.”
Maxon rolls his eyes. “Delicate as always, I see, little sister.”
Griff groans. “Did you have to put that mental image in my head before dinner?”
“Hey, I’ve been in the same house
with you and Britta when you’ve been busy, so I don’t want to hear your complaining.”
“We weren’t loud,” he objects.
Harlow snorts. “And the sky isn’t blue, either.”
“Ignore my husband,” Britta insists as she comes forward to hug Harlow. “I promise I’ll kick him under the table if he doesn’t behave.”
Keeley is right beside her, giving Harlow a quick squeeze. “And Maxon simply doesn’t want to remember that you’re a grown woman.”
“Don’t I know it,” Harlow says. “In between nailing all the women in sight, he and Griff chased off every date I could have possibly taken to my senior prom. I’m still a little bitter.” She levels a stare at her brothers. “You owe me, guys. Lighten up. Be nice to Noah. No biting. No baring of teeth. He came here voluntarily. Don’t make him regret it.”
Neither of her brothers says anything for a long moment; they both just eye me as if they’re wondering how much they can trust me with their sister. Finally Maxon sighs and extends a hand.
Exhaling in relief, I shake it. “Good to see you.”
“You’re wearing more clothes this time, so that’s a bonus.”
Ah, the subtle dig. “Thanks. Now I know where your sister gets some of her charm.”
He laughs out loud. Keeley and Griff join in.
“I like you already,” Maxon’s wife drawls. “Why don’t you follow me into the kitchen and I’ll pour you a drink.”
“I’ll go with you two,” Britta says. “I’m not sure how much more knuckle-dragging I can take from our husbands.”
They seem like potential allies, and I’m relieved someone from Harlow’s clan doesn’t hate me, but I’m not down with the idea of leaving her to deal with her none-too-happy siblings. “Will she be all right with them? They won’t grill her too hard, will they?”
“Harlow?” Keeley laughs. “You should be worried about whether she’ll skewer her brothers for acting like asses and whether they’ll still have both their pride and their man parts intact after she’s done.”
Britta nods in confirmation. “Harlow is no fainting flower. Trust me. She can handle herself with them.”
I cast her a glance over my shoulder as the women lead me to the kitchen. The trio of siblings is already deep in conversation, and my girl looks as if she’s getting in most of the words. I relax and follow her sisters-in-law into the white, bright kitchen.
This may be my best opportunity, and I need to take advantage of it.
“What are you drinking?” Keeley asks.
“I don’t care as long as you two can shed some light on what’s going on with Harlow. Why is she so against…attachments?”
Britta slants a glance Keeley’s way. I see on their faces they both know exactly what I’m talking about.
“How serious are you about her?” the blonde asks, her voice soft.
“I don’t know yet. I like her, and I suspect that what I feel may be even deeper than that. I definitely want more than she’s giving me now. She masks everything with sarcasm or sex. No offense, but I feel like the female in this relationship. She never wants to talk about feelings or anything beyond the moment. I know what happened with Simon must have been rough, but—”
“Simon is a symptom, not the problem,” Keeley cuts in.
“Exactly,” Britta agrees. “All the Reed siblings seem to have hearts shuttered extraordinarily tight until you pry them open. Has Harlow told you much about their parents?”
“Almost nothing. Her dad is a distant asshole and her mom was a stage-parent type, living vicariously through her daughter.”
The women exchange another glance, this one full of secrets.
“There’s probably more. Keep digging,” Britta suggests. “Harlow hasn’t opened up to either of us, so I can’t say exactly what’s going on with her. It may be simply a case of growing up in a house without much emotion. At least I hope that’s all it is.”
“Or it may be far worse,” Keeley suggests. “For us, understanding the family dynamic was critical to understanding our husbands. But let me give you a suggestion: don’t go there unless you’re really, truly serious. Opening Harlow up won’t be easy, not if she’s anything like Maxon and Griff.”
Britta nods emphatically. “You have to be invested before she’ll even consider letting you behind her barriers, so if you’re just going to leave, have mercy on her and simply enjoy what she can give you for the time you two have together. Don’t push for more.”
They’re serious. This issue with Harlow—whatever it is—extends to the whole family. I already knew it wasn’t simply Simon breaking her heart, but thought maybe it was her pride. Or maybe that she hadn’t met anyone she could fall for yet. But to hear that her avoidance of feeling has possibly been going on for decades, that she’s never learned to bare herself to anyone except sexually…
I blow out a breath. “I understand. Thanks. One more question, if you don’t mind. How did you finally reach Maxon and Griff?”
“I walked away,” Keeley said softly. “I couldn’t live with someone who couldn’t share his whole self with me. He still doesn’t like yoga and he’s been very slow to warm to the whole vegan thing, but I can handle that. I couldn’t handle being in the same bedroom with him when he wasn’t willing to touch me with his heart, too.”
“Griff and I were separated for three years,” Britta put in softly. “He left me abruptly one day after hearing some news and assuming the worst. It took him finding out that we had a son together before he finally started asking himself some hard questions. The Reeds are stubborn and suspicious. They have a million ways to make you feel special one minute and like a stranger the next. If you decide you want to proceed, Harlow won’t make anything easy on you. If she’s been through half of what Maxon and Griff have, she won’t open up and let you in without a fight.”
When Keeley hands me a drink, I gulp half of it down. Holy shit, I have a lot of thinking to do. “Thanks for the insight.”
“Our husbands could tell you more,” she suggests.
But will they? “We’re not exactly pals so far.”
“Just like Harlow, you have to give them time. If you treat their sister right, they’ll come around.”
“Eventually,” Britta adds. “We’ll rope Harlow in for some girl time after dinner. Why don’t you talk to Maxon and Griff then?”
A firing squad sounds almost as fun. But the ladies have shared with me all they can…or will. Now it will be up to me to persuade Harlow’s brothers that I’m not a creeper or a douche simply out to bag their sister. At the thought of two-on-one time with them, my stomach starts seizing up. I begin to sweat.
This could be a long fucking night.
CHAPTER NINE
Dinner was excellent, dessert even better. I’m mentally counting the hours I’ll need to pound in the gym to work off this much rich food when Keeley and Britta both leave the dinner table and start collecting plates. Harlow rises to help.
Then the predators pounce.
“Get your ass up and come with us,” Griff growls in my ear as he leaves his chair and passes mine.
I glance over at Maxon. He’s wearing an impatient scowl that says he’s just been waiting for the opportunity to sink his teeth into me. Griff’s expression is equally fierce.
So the smiles and jokes over dinner were all a show for the women. Now it’s time for the lightning questions and the ass kicking I’ve been dreading.
With a sigh, I rise and debate what the hell I’m going to say. I won’t win any brownie points with the dour brothers by spewing shiny bullshit.
As I follow them to the lanai, they drop into a pair of chairs facing the wicker sofa. There’s a table dividing the room, and the situation feels totally like a them-versus-me thing. Like I’m on trial, and they’re the judges, jury, and executioners.
I sink to the spongy couch cushions. “Before you say anything, I’ll tell you why I hired Harlow if you can keep a secret.”
That seems
to catch them off guard.
“We can. Shoot,” Maxon demands.
I take a deep breath, swallow, try to keep my head from getting fucked up. “I hired your sister to help me with some speech issues.”
“Bullshit.” Griff nearly lunges out of his chair. “I’ve seen your press conferences for years. You’ve never had any problem. Besides, you’re not going to convince me that you haven’t fucked my sister seven ways from Sunday. I saw you two that morning. I saw her big sex hair. I saw the whisker burns on her neck. I saw the way you touched her. So don’t give me a story about some platonic crap that—”
“I’m not. I’m telling you that since my last major concussion I’ve had speech issues. Right now it’s hard to talk to you, and I’m doing everything I can to hold my shit together. I can’t function like this long-term, and I think Harlow can help. The fact that I’m trusting you with this information when it could ruin me should tell you that I’m serious about understanding her. I need your help. So far, I’m lost.”
“If she’s merely helping you, why do you need to decipher our sister?” Maxon snaps.
“Like Griff pointed out, we have more than a professional relationship. I really like your sister. I’m wondering if there’s something more between us than a therapeutical rapport and a hot summer. She won’t talk about that possibility, and Butler isn’t the problem.”
“I don’t know if that’s compelling enough for me to want to help you.”
Leaning in, I stare down Harlow’s older brother. “Were you in death-do-us-part love with Keeley after knowing her for five days?”
Beside him, Griff snickers. “No, he was still in the phase where he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to strangle Keeley or just fuck her to death.”
Maxon whirls on him with a scowl. “You’re full of shit. Of course I wanted to fuck her way more. Most of the time.”
