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

by J. C. Hannigan

  “She wouldn’t tell me,” Braden scowled. “Besides, I didn’t really want to hear it. I don’t have time to kick someone’s ass today. I’d rather spend the day with you, doing exactly what we did last night,” he added, taking the mug from my hands and setting it down on the bedside table.

  He kissed me again, his lips sliding against mine as he laid down beside me, almost leaning on me without putting any of his actual weight on me. His hand moved up to touch my face. He pulled away to look at me, his fingers stroked my jaw and brushed across my lips, already swollen from our activities the night before.

  We made love again. Slowly, this time. Tenderly. Each time he pulled out and sank back into me, he did so at a leisurely, thorough pace, stroking spots that had me climbing higher towards an orgasm in no time at all.

  When we’d finished, I curled up against his chest and let my hands trail down the hard muscles, my fingers tracing against his inked skin.

  I’d been a part of Braden’s life for a long time, and I knew the hands on the clock were pointed to the time of Deanna Miller’s death. I’d also seen Deanna wear pearls similar to the ones in the design. I wasn’t sure if the skull and the roses had special meanings too, or if Braden had just included them because they looked awesome.

  “What are you thinking about?” he asked, his lips lifting in a small, affection smile.

  “Just admiring your work,” I told him, running my hands along his arms. They were also essentially covered with colourful designs. Some places had been outlined but not completed.

  “You do that,” he grinned cockily, his fingers running up along the side of my breast. “I’ll keep admiring your work.” My eyes fluttered as his lips traced soft kisses along my neck. Even though my body was aching from the strenuous workouts we’d already engaged in, Braden could still evoke pleasure and make me shiver with want.

  “We really need to get to back to the farm though. We need to clean up before the party rental place shows up.” I argued breathlessly.

  My stomach flipped with nervousness at the prospect of showing up with Braden, having everyone see that we’d arrived together. I didn’t want to have to defend what I was doing to everybody. I didn’t want them to think I was some massive skank who couldn’t even wait a full twenty-four hours after her relationship ended before screwing someone else. Technically, we still lived together, and I was going to have to deal with that fact sooner rather than later.

  “Oh God,” I buried my face in my hands, my heart rate thudding out of control.

  “What is it?” Braden’s playful expression faded away, concern lining the blue of his eyes.

  I couldn’t speak. I felt like something was squeezing me into a tight little ball, forcing the air out of my lungs.

  “Breathe, Elle,” he said, his voice strong and calm, his fingers pressing gently into the flesh of my wrist. The pressure grounded me, and I listened to him. I knew I had to. The only way to get past those panic attacks was to remind myself that they were fleeting, that if I just focused on breathing, I could escape the feeling of being suffocated. When my breathing slowed down, Braden released the gentle pressure and brushed my hair away from my wet cheeks. “Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

  Swallowing, I adverted my eyes. “I just got to thinking about Alex.”

  He froze beside me, his expression unreadable. “Do you regret it?”

  “No,” I said forcefully, shaking my head animatedly. “I regret not telling him sooner. And I broke his heart, Braden. I broke his heart and I let him go home alone, to the place we share, and I didn’t think about him again. I’m a horrible person!”

  He was quiet, reflective. After a small stretch of silence, he sighed, rubbing his hand across his strong chin. “You’re not a horrible person, Elle. What were you supposed to do? Leave your best friend’s wedding to have a post breakup conversation?”

  Braden had a point, but still. I knew I couldn’t truly move forward until I dealt with the things I had run from, the things I’d left behind in Barrie.

  “Now, stop worrying about it,” he instructed gently, pulling me on top of him. I looked down at him, my hair spilling over the side of my shoulder. He gathered the thick tresses up and held it in place, using it to bring my lips down to his. His kisses brought me back to him, to our little world where only we mattered.

  Braden

  Kia’s were pieces of shit. There wasn’t enough space in between the components in the engine block to work without practically scrapping all of the skin off your knuckles—which I’d already done twice. It took me twice as long to replace the power steering line as it usually did in a vehicle with a better engine design.

  When I took the line off the pump, power steering fluid pissing everywhere. I wiped up the mess with the dirty rag I had wrapped around my bloody knuckles, swearing under my breath.

  I couldn’t wait to be finished work for the day. While Elle and I hadn’t made any concrete plans to hang out, I still wanted to see her. I felt like the happiest man in the world when she came home from the wedding with me. Being with her again like that made me feel indestructible.

  I’d offered to drive with her to the Armstrong’s farm, since we were all supposed to meet up there and start cleaning-up, but she had insisted on driving over with Becky and made me promise to not touch her or look at her the way I’d been touching and looking at her.

  “I just want to enjoy it for a while, before people start butting in,” she’d told me before I even had time to get pissed at her for basically telling me to hide the fact we’d slept together.

  Having finished putting on the new power steering line, I checked that everything was running smoothly in the KIA before I slammed the hood down. I crossed over to the metal basin sink to wash my hands. The orange soap burned, but I was used to it.

  As I was finishing, I heard someone pull up. I grabbed a somewhat clean towel and walked over to meet them, intent on telling them we were closed and they’d have to come back in the morning.

  The car door slammed and heels clicked along the pavement. I paused, watching as Elle approached me warily. Her long, wavy hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, and she was dressed in shorts and a white tank top, wearing a pair of red kitten heels that instantly made me hard. I could picture her modelling them—and only them—so clearly.

  I stepped towards her with a huge, stupid grin on my face, closing the distance between us with long purposeful strides. Then my hands were pulling her close and I was kissing her. Elle’s hands were pressed against my chest, pulling herself against me, matching my hunger with her own. Then she pulled away abruptly.

  “I have to go back to Barrie, Braden,” she told me, keeping her distance.

  “What do you mean? Go back?” I frowned.

  “I have a meeting in the morning with my boss. I need to talk to Alex and I need to start packing my stuff…” she trailed off, biting her lip. I wondered if she regretted it, if she resented the fact that her life was in complete upheaval.

  “When will you be back?” I asked, trying to hide my insecurities. I didn’t want her to think that I didn’t trust her alone with him—even if it was a little true. I knew she cared about him, but I also knew that she was feeling incredibly guilty over the way things went down. Who was to say that he wouldn’t ride on that guilt and try something that made her doubt her feelings for me?

  “A couple days?” she answered my question with a question.

  “I can go with you,” I offered, the words rushing out in my desperation. “I could help you pack and move.”

  She smiled sadly and stepped back towards me, her hands looping around the back of my neck. “I can’t do that to him. I can’t have you be there for this.” Her eyes drank me in, the sadness that edged them foreshadowing pain.

  I hesitated for a moment before returning her embrace. I breathed in her scent, pressing my lips to the top of her head. I understood, even though the disappointment stung. Elle wasn’t the kind of person
to intentionally hurt others. She was fierce when she needed to be, but always respectful. When she did cause someone unjust pain, she went out of her way to make it right again.

  She didn’t like loose ends. Maybe that was why she had a hard time letting me go; because I was a loose end. My actions four years ago went against everything she’d known about me, everything that was true.

  I wondered if she’d have a hard time letting him go.

  * * *

  This town was suffocating me. Or maybe it was the fact that she’d left it again; returned to Barrie—to him. She’d left four days ago, and I hadn’t heard from her once—not a single returned text or phone call. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d changed her mind about me.

  I closed my eyes, remembering the way her body had felt beneath mine. The pain in my chest was acute and powerful. I’d truly thought that her coming to me like that had meant she wanted to press rewind on our time apart, but maybe it had just been her scratching an itch. A final hurrah before she went back to the good guy.

  I was, after all, the asshole. I’d been the one to pursue her when I knew she was trying to move on. I had swayed her with pretty words—and no matter how truthful they were, I should have respected her enough to leave her alone. But I couldn’t and I hadn’t, and now she was gone—only this time…it was her choosing, not mine.

  Which is why I found myself sitting at O’Riley’s, a tumbler of whiskey in front of me. I hadn’t touched it—not with my lips, not yet, anyway—and I’d been there for the past hour, trying to figure out what in the hell I was supposed to do now that I’d lost her.

  I wanted to toss the entire glass back and feel the burn of the whiskey as it made its way down my throat and into my stomach. I knew it would erase the heartache and the pain. I knew that it would silence the thoughts that had raced through my head every minute—every second—since I’d watched her drive away.

  I had thought I’d gotten the girl back. I thought our night of crazy, wild, passionate sex meant that she chose me.

  I laughed, the sound bitter and poisonous to my own ears. Mick O’Riley—the bartender and owner of O’Riley’s—shuffled slowly over to me. “Something wrong?” he asked in his gruff voice. I looked up at him blankly. “With your drink. You haven’t touched it.”

  “That’s probably a good thing,” I replied. I sighed heavily, willing myself to find the strength to walk away from this bar—from the enticing drink in front of me. I could practically taste it on my tongue.

  “Do you need me to call someone, son?” Mick’s gruff voice was as gentle as it could get, and his light eyes held concern I didn’t want to see. I dropped my gaze back down to the glass of whiskey before me, holding it between my hands as if it could jump out at me.

  “All those times my old man came in here,” I said, focused on the drink. “Did you ever ask him if he needed you to call someone?”

  Mick peered at me silently. He appeared locked in some kind of memory. “I didn’t, no,” he finally answered several long minutes later. I drew in a breath, finding the act of inhaling oxygen painful. “It was a different time back then. We didn’t meddle, we just let people suffer in their brokenness, let them nurse their pain however they saw fit.”

  “So why are you asking now?” I demanded, my eyes flashing with contempt and anger.

  “Let me tell you a story,” Mick’s voice was as tired as his wrinkled eyes. There was no humour in his gaze, no happiness or joy—just an old, exhausted sadness that seemed to pour straight out of his irises directly from his soul. “A few days before your old man died, he stopped in here. Same story as usual—wanted to drink until he was numb. I kept the whiskey coming, because that was my job. And then Brent Miller did something he’d never done in all his years sitting on that there stool,” Mick said, gesturing with a subtle nod of his head to the very barstool I was sitting on. “He stared into his whiskey, and said ‘what have I become’.”

  The silence between us was heavy and thick. I swallowed, my throat dryer than ever. “Then what happened?”

  “He practically fell off the stool and stumbled outside,” Mick answered. “But he left the whiskey. It didn’t matter how drunk he got, he always finished any glass I put in front of him…except for that night.”

  As despicable as my old man was, and as much as I hated him and resented him for everything he put me and my siblings through—I knew the strength it took for him to walk away, to leave the glass untouched.

  “Son, I can’t pretend that I understand what you’re dealing with. All I know is that there are going to be many things in this life that stress you out. Don’t give in. Remember the days that are good and hang onto them with everything you have. Then it’ll get easier to ignore the call.” He nodded down at the glass in front of me pointedly.

  “How do you know that?” I demanded, scowling.

  “I’ve been bartending my whole life here, I’ve seen the drink destroy many men.” Mick said warily. “You’re doing good kid,” he added. “Don’t mess it up now.”

  I stood up and tossed down a couple of bills, avoiding Mick’s gaze. I nodded once, saying nothing more as I turned around and walked out of the bar to my truck. I sat in the cab for several long minutes, staring at the clock. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning, and I’d been out all evening. I’d sat on that bloody barstool for five hours.

  The drive home seemed to take forever. I slammed the truck door, about to walk down the pathway that led to the basement door. I came to a stop when I saw Becky sitting on the front steps of our porch, dressed in her pajamas and a bath robe, Hunter laying down beside her. We’d been tasked with the job of taking care of Brock’s dog while they honeymooned. The poor mutt was sulking almost as much as I was.

  “What are you doing up?” I asked, pausing.

  “Krista texted me. Said she saw your truck parked outside of O’Riley’s. Want to tell me what you were doing there?” she asked, fighting to keep the emotion out of her voice as she stood up. Disappointment had her lips pulled down in a frown.

  I inhaled, my nostrils flaring as I drew in a breath. I didn’t know how to answer; I didn’t know how to tell my sister that I’d been inches away from throwing away the last several years of recovery.

  “I swear to God Braden, if you started drinking again—that’s it. You’re gone. I can’t have that around Aiden,” Becky added, her eyes welling up with tears.

  “I didn’t,” I assured her, my voice as raw as I felt on the inside. “I wanted to, Becky. God I wanted to, but I didn’t.”

  Becky stared at me, as if trying to decipher whether or not I was telling the truth. I met and held her gaze, wondering if she could see the honesty in my eyes, or if she just saw the ghost of our father. “What stopped you?” she whispered.

  “Mick, believe it or not,” I replied. I dragged my hand through my hair, tugging at the roots. I opened my mouth, about to tell Becky the story the old bartender had told me—but it almost felt private, something that was meant for my ears only. “And the fact that I don’t want to be like Dad. I just…sometimes the thirst overwhelms me.”

  “I think you need to stop this, Braden.”

  I lifted my eyes up, my brows knitting together with confusion. “Stop what?”

  Becky was fidgeting, her fingers tapping against the table with her restlessness. She brought them down to her lap, then placed her palms against the table—almost as if she didn’t quite know what to do with her hands. Her crystal clear blue eyes rose to meet mine. “I think you need to stop chasing Elle. It’s upsetting you, it’s making your recovery harder. You went to a bar tonight, alone for Christ’s sake.”

  My eyes narrowed. The irritation I felt at Becky sticking her nose in my business yet again bubbled and boiled. “I’m not chasing her, and this isn’t her fault.” I replied, sternly. “She isn’t the cause of this, I am.” I added, turning my back to her. “Besides, I haven’t heard from her since Monday. For all I know, she’s back with him, and maybe sh
e belongs there.”

  I heard my sister exhale, before crossing over to me and putting her arms around me. “I’m sorry, Braden. But I think you’re both hurting too much. You both need to focus on yourselves.”

  I pulled away from her embrace and stomped downstairs. There wasn’t really anything I could say in response, anyway. Becky was right. Elle and I were both broken. If she had chosen to be with someone who wasn’t broken, someone who could handle her issues and didn’t bring more to the table, well I’d have to accept that somehow without self-destructing. If I had to lose Elle, I was just glad that she could be with someone like him.

  I stared at my bed, my hands tugging at my hair. I couldn’t stay in this room another night, not when my sheets still smelled faintly of her. I grabbed my duffle bag, tossing random articles of clothing into it.

  Elle

  The last five days had been insane. On Monday, I’d officially handed in my resignation and was no longer a paramedic for the city of Barrie. The relief I felt was immense. I was no longer letting my coworkers down. I’d felt like a dead weight for so long, and I knew this was the best route for everyone.

  I’d also had a meeting with the landlord to transfer the lease over to Alex. She had been sad to see me go, but was thankful my roommate would be able to continue renting.

  Unfortunately, everything else didn’t go as smoothly.

  Alex hadn’t shown up to the meeting with the landlord, but he’d called her beforehand to tell her that he would come sign the new lease agreement later. He hadn’t been home, either. The first night, I waited for him. I wanted to tell him everything; lay it all bare.