Rebel Heart: (Rebel Series Book 2) ((Rebel Series))

by J. C. Hannigan

  “So, what’s happening with the bachelorette party?” Becky asked, looking at me with her Miller blue eyes. They were almost the same colour as Braden’s.

  I forced a smile as I leaned forward, filling the rest of the bridesmaids in on my plans. I watched as their faces went from skeptical to delighted.

  “Oh my gosh! It sounds like so much fun!” Krista declared, clapping her hands with glee. “I can’t wait to see Tessa’s face when we get to the male strip club.”

  “Male strip club?” a deep voice rumbled, startling the four of us.

  The hair on the nape of my neck stood up at attention at that husky tone. I turned my head, my eyes landing on dark scruff and thick lips, twisted upwards in a bemused smile. Just like ten months ago, when he walked into the restaurant, my heart immediately started to pound frantically in my chest.

  “Planning the bachelorette party, are we?” he added. His deep blue eyes caught and held my gaze, and he ran his tongue across his thick lips.

  “Yes, we are. Do you mind?” I said dismissively. Braden slid into Tessa’s still vacant seat beside me. I stared at him with dismay, trying to ignore the sizzling heat of his thigh brushing against mine. I moved over, desperate to break the contact, although the heat remained.

  “Don’t mind at all,” Braden replied, his voice heavy with implication as his eyes roamed across my face. He pulled his gaze away, looking across the table at Krista, Becky and Katie. “Hey.”

  “What are you doing here?” Becky smiled, her eyes drifting back and forth from him to me.

  “Meeting the guys for a beer. Travis just got back into town,” Braden answered, tilting his head and glancing around the bar. His eyes rested on a table across the room, where Brock, Grady and Gordon were sitting, splitting a pitcher of beer and wings. Brock caught sight of Braden and waved, calling him over. Braden nodded once, acknowledging he’d seen them.

  “You’re having a beer?” Becky asked, concern lacing her tone.

  I couldn’t help but notice the pinched look her expression took on. Braden turned his head back towards her, almost scowling.

  “No, Becky. I’m not having a beer,” he said darkly. A silent standoff happened between the two of them. Becky assessed him and Braden stared right back, his expression hard. The atmosphere was taut with tension, but before anybody could say anything else, Tessa came back.

  “Scram, Braden,” she smiled, nodding towards the opposite side of the bar. “Your table is over there. We'll rendezvous once we finish our plotting.”

  “Alright, Tessa,” he drawled, standing up.

  He paused before her and kissed her on the cheek before glancing back over his shoulder at me. He winked, a cocky grin on his kissable lips. His defined muscles, clearly visible through his white t-shirt, made me forget my train of thought and lose myself completely in the fantasy of those arms holding his body above mine. The view of him walking away was almost mouth-watering, I had to remind myself who I was staring at—the man who ripped my heart out of my chest and stomped on it.

  “Okay, Tessa, we’re going to need a list of people you want to invite to your bachelorette party.” Katie’s voice brought my attention back to the table. She slid a pen and a pad of paper across the table.

  “Obviously you guys,” Tessa said thoughtfully, chewing on the end of the pen as she thought. “What about Laura and Olivia?”

  “From Barrie?” I made a face. I’d never liked Olivia Bryant. She had been in Tessa’s program and had struck me as faker than her orange spray on tan (which she seemed quite fond of).

  “Oh come on,” Tessa joked, shoving me gently. “If we vetoed everyone you didn’t like, we would have no one left to invite!”

  “Ain’t that the truth,” I muttered, glaring across the room. My eyes landed on Braden, who was unapologetically staring at me. My scowl intensified and I jerked my chin away, not wanting to have a stare-off. I’d always been the best at staring contests and I knew this was one I couldn’t win.

  I was afraid Braden would be able to see through my mask, and recognize the broken parts I desperately tried to cover up with my resting bitch face and well delivered scowls.

  Braden

  Small town life as a recovering alcoholic was challenging. Everyone seemed to know my business—but then again, everyone had always known my business. My family’s too.

  I had to stay away from a lot of my old friends, because they didn’t seem to understand the slippery slope I was precariously balanced on. One drink could just as easily turn into twelve. I hadn’t touched the stuff since leaving rehab, but that didn’t mean I didn’t ever get thirsty for it.

  Sitting at O’Riley’s with the guys should have been harder, especially with the pitcher of beer in front of me. Maybe it would have been, if Elle wasn’t across the room. Her presence there was enough to override my thirst for alcohol, because I had a different kind of thirst…a thirst for her.

  I had a feeling she’d be at O’Riley’s, which is why I hadn’t turned down Brock’s invitation to go out, as I usually did. Sure, Travis was back in town too—but honestly, I didn’t care. Travis and I were never super close, but it gave me a solid excuse to see her again.

  Now that I’d seen her, I felt dehydrated. All I wanted to do was walk back over to where she was and kiss her until I could breathe her in through my lungs, until I could feel her beneath my skin.

  I’d heard whispers over the last several months that Elle wasn’t single anymore. She was seeing some guy. Living with him, in fact. It had to be serious if she was living with him. I didn’t want to screw things up further for her, but in the same breath…I couldn’t seem to shake the thought that things weren’t over between the two of us. Then again, maybe that was my dear old friend denial coming out to play.

  My fingers clenched tightly around my glass, as I brought it up to my lips. The cold cola did nothing to quench the thirst, and I slammed it down harder than I intended. I closed my eyes against the sound of conversation around me, allowing myself a few moments to just breathe and centre myself.

  In the last several years, I’d learned a few coping methods to help keep my dependency for alcohol in check. Meditation and taking the time to breathe, along with being self-aware were key things I had to do. Denial is an alcoholic’s best friend, and I refused to allow myself to live in denial.

  I’d also developed a fine appreciation for tattoos and exercising. I got my first tattoo the first year of college, and I’d quickly realized it was the perfect way to inflict the right amount of pain for a therapeutic gain. I could leave marks that meant something to me on my skin, marks that would forever remind me of where I’d been and where I never wanted to go again.

  The first tattoo, the one that started it all, was a massive chest piece that started just below my collarbone, creeping downward and swooping back up to touch my shoulders. Most people don’t get massive tattoos the first time around, but I had a concept in mind that I couldn’t shake, and I needed it to mean something. The Roman numeral clock hands pointed to the time of my mother’s death—also the time of my own descent into a personal hell. On either side of the clock were two identical roses, and flanked behind it all were incredibly detailed angel wings. Weaving around the clock and around the skull just beneath it was a beautiful string of pearls, the same pearls my mother had worn on her wedding day.

  They’d been important to my mother because they’d represented hope, a hope that she’d carried with her throughout the worst years of her life. Her marriage to my father may have been a joke, he may have been an abusive piece of shit, but she still loved those pearls, even after my father had sold them at the hock shop in order to get cash for booze and gambling.

  We came home to find Mom sobbing over her empty box, the same box that had once held those pearls. Without saying a word, my siblings and I put everything we had into getting her those pearls back. We didn’t understand at the time why they were so important to her, but they were, and so they were important to us as
well. Brock paid the majority, from his job working on Bill Armstrong’s farm. I contributed eleven dollars and thirty cents that I had earned doing yard work, and Becky tossed in the fifty bucks she made babysitting for the neighbour. By a stroke of pure luck, we were able to buy them back after Dad died.

  I made sure that the pearls would be etched on my skin as a reminder for evermore.

  Not only did this tattoo remind me of my late mother, but it reminded me of my dickbag father too…the man that had destroyed everything that should have been good and healthy in my life. The man that had created the darkness within me.

  I guess tattoos were just a way I could unleash some of the ugliness in a beautiful, artistic way. The pain of the needle entering and exiting my flesh helped to curb my desire for self-destruction.

  And currently, my desire for self-destruction after the way Elle had regarded me tonight was pretty damn high. I made a mental note to find a decent studio and artist closer to home, now that I was back again.

  “Braden, you alright man?” My brother’s voice roused me from the complicated direction my thoughts had taken. I looked up, catching the concern behind his gray-blue eyes.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired,” I told him, giving him a reassuring grin. My eyes wandered again, this time pausing across the room. Brock followed my gaze and nodded with understanding, as conversation amongst the others continued on.

  Travis was late getting to the bar and when he finally showed up, he brought his own entourage. Two women that were scarcely wearing any clothes trailed in, each of them holding one of Travis’s arms. They looked ready for a night out in LA, not a local dive bar in a small town in Ontario. Their faces were heavily painted with makeup, their blonde hair blown out and straight down their backs. They could have been twins, for all I knew, but I was pretty sure the one on Travis’s left wasn’t a true blonde. Her eyebrows were darker, as were her lashes. In any case, they’d spent a lot of time and money trying to look like twins. It was almost comical, seeing the looks on their faces as they stepped into the dimly lit bar and looked around. I guess whatever they’d been expecting, it wasn’t this.

  Two tough looking guys in their thirties all dressed in black wearing sunglasses at night and a microphone came in behind Travis and the women, eyeing the bar as if searching for potential threats.

  Travis tugged his arms free of the girls as he came up to our table, slapping the one on the right’s rear end. “Go get something to drink. Tell Mick to put it on my tab.” He said as he winked at her and nodded in the direction of the bar.

  “Come on Tasha,” the one whose rear he’d smacked said, linking her arm with the other girl. Both of them looked as if they smelt something vile as they walked over to the bar in their five-inch heels.

  Brock stood up, almost frowning as he embraced Travis in a quick bro-hug. “What the hell is this shit man?” he asked, gesturing to the massive guys standing behind Travis. Because of Travis, we were suddenly the focus of the entire bar. I could feel the scowls from the table across the room, the table I knew Elle was at, without even looking for confirmation.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s Rob and Paul. They’re keeping me out of trouble—and trouble away from me too. Figured it’d be smart to bring them. They can help out with security detail at the wedding, so Tessa’s brothers can enjoy the ceremony and what not.”

  “Great job not drawing attention to yourself,” Brock responded dryly. He looked as if he was having second thoughts about including Travis in his wedding party.

  “Attention follows me no matter what I do,” Travis said, working to keep his carefree grin in place.

  “And the Hollywood twins? Who are they?” Gordon piped up.

  “Tasha and Sandra? They’re best friends and super close, if you know what I mean.” Travis responded, waggling his eyebrows. “Don’t worry, they’re not here for the wedding. There was an issue with their flight back home, and they had a one-night layover in Toronto. They wanted to check out the old home town that inspired so many songs before they left,” he added, seeing Brock’s angry expression.

  Dark hair flitted by, and I wasn’t overly surprised to see that Becky was leaving the bar. She didn’t like staying out late, even when she hired a babysitter.

  “You’re such a dog,” Gordon laughed, standing up to give Travis a hug of his own. He looked over his shoulder at the bar where the girls were still placing their drink orders. They seemed to be having a hard time with the specialty drink menu. My guess was that they were trying to find a beverage that contained less hops and more fruit. “Damn, they’re fine! Where do you pick up these chicks?”

  “These ones are from Vegas,” Travis replied with a smirk, pleased that someone was impressed with his find.

  “Is the media going to be a problem for us?” Brock scowled, still unimpressed.

  He was probably worrying about the wedding details getting leaked to the media. That would create quite the shit storm for him and Tessa. They wanted a small, intimate wedding, not a wedding paparazzi would crash just for pictures of one of the groomsmen.

  “No, Brock, it’s not going to be a problem. Everyone thinks I’m just here for the show at the stampede.” Travis frowned. “Speaking of brides, where is that gorgeous Tessa?”

  “Right here,” Tessa sounded far from impressed as she approached, flanked by an irritable Elle and a starstruck Krista. Tessa came to a stop in front of our table and Travis. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot against the old hardwood floor, her eyes narrowed. “And just what in God’s name do you think you’re doing, Travis Channing? You’re making a goddamn scene!”

  “Oh come on Tess,” Travis grinned playfully, looking past her to the bar. “O’Riley’s is practically empty tonight.” It wasn’t exactly true—Monday nights were dart club night, which meant an abundance of middle aged folks sat around drinking beer and throwing darts at the only dart board. Right now, the majority of males from the dart club were admiring the fresh sight of Travis’s friends—and they were loving every second of the attention.

  Tessa arched a delicate brow. “And who are the Playboy bunnies?” she added, her frown intensifying. “If I recall, the invitations said plus guest, as in singular, not plus double penetration twins.”

  Travis threw back his head and howled with laughter until tears formed in his emerald eyes. He tossed his arm around Tessa’s shoulders and pulled her to him. “This is why I love Tessa, because she’s hilarious and witty.”

  “Unlike the two high-class call girls you brought home?” Elle challenged, rolling her eyes. “What Travis, you can’t find girls with IQs in Hollywood? As if you had to bring more trash into this town.”

  I’d been smiling up until Elle finished speaking. I was pretty sure that was a personal dig at me. It stung, but I deserved it and I knew it.

  “Easy Elle,” Tessa said, sending her a warning look. “Play nice. We don’t know what their IQs are.”

  “Where’s Becky tonight?” Travis asked, ignoring Tessa and Elle’s commentary and glancing around the bar.

  “She just left,” Elle said through narrowed eyes. “Unlike some people around here, she has responsibilities.”

  “Ouch,” Travis drawled. “She’s feisty tonight,” he added, glancing at me—as if I could somehow put a muzzle on her. That was an interesting thought...one that made me ache with the need to see if all my previous methods of keeping her quiet and making her smile still worked.

  “That she is,” I added, my eyes sliding over to land on hers. Elle smirked, as if reading my mind and the dirty thoughts running through it. I licked my lips slowly, and her smirk fell away.

  For a moment, and just a moment, her mask of cold indifference fell away too. Her brown eyes were heavy with hurt and something akin to longing, and the set of her plump lips called to me like a siren. Then, the fleeting moment was over and Elle’s mask was back in place. She turned her head away from me, slicing our eye contact as effectively as if she’d used a knife.

 
“Let’s go, I think we’ve done enough planning tonight,” she said to Tessa, nodding to the door.

  Tessa looked at her friend for a moment. Something passed between the two of them, an unspoken conversation that I had a feeling had a lot to do with me.

  “Alright, later everyone,” Tessa said. Brock stood up to hug and kiss his bride-to-be goodbye. She indulged him for a moment, kissing him back with just as much passion as they’d always had, her entire body leaning into him like they were one being. Then she pulled away and fixed those amber eyes on his. “Brock, get your groomsman in line,” she warned.

  “Yes ma’am,” Brock grinned, kissing her again before they separated. I watched Elle and Tessa head back to their table to collect their things, my heart growing more hollow with every step Elle took as she walked away from me without so much as a backwards glance.

  * * *

  Throughout the next day, I couldn’t get Elle out of my head. My thoughts were consumed with her lips, her smile, her eyes, and her body as I worked.

  Originally when I came back to town, I’d thought my position at Chuck’s Garage would be temporary, until I found a job in my field. But a little over a month after I returned, Chuck had a heart attack.

  When he was recovering from triple bypass surgery, Chuck had no choice but to finally heed my advice to hire another part-time mechanic. He’d also bestowed more responsibility on me—and he’d given me a pretty good raise. “I don’t trust anybody like I trust you, Miller,” he’d told me when I tried to refuse the nearly ten dollar jump in my hourly rate. It was hard to deny him when he looked so frail in that hospital bed, and I found I didn’t want to. I enjoyed my job, working on vehicles gave my hands something to do while my mind ran wild with possibilities.

  Now I was acting as shop manager, overseeing the new mechanic, Miles, that he’d hired fresh out of college. I was still swamped with all the work coming in, but Miles was a fast learner.

  I was under old Mrs. Winston’s station wagon, replacing her break lines, when two heels appeared beside my legs. One foot nudged me, and I rolled out from underneath the car.