Unbound (the TORQUED trilogy Book 3)

by Shey Stahl

  Everyone’s cheering them on as they attempt to sing an AC/DC song.

  Raven shakes her head searching inside her bag of goodies she brought with us. “This is awful. We should have stayed with skater boy.”

  Lenny steps inside and takes a seat near the door at the only open table. “I need another drink.”

  “Here.” Raven lays a bag of Life Savers and a roll of tape on the table. “Help me with these, Sophie. We’re gonna tape them all over her. Suck for a buck game.”

  We probably tape a hundred of those things to her. Well, maybe not a hundred, but it’s a lot.

  And fun… until the guys in the bar started to rip the ones off her chest. Keep in mind at this point, we’ve drank entirely too much and good decisions are long gone. Long gone. It’s a fun game though.

  Shit hits the fan when her soon-to-be husband catches wind of guys using their mouths to suck candy off his bride-to-be and stuffing dollar bills in her dress. Hey, at least she made more tonight than the kid did.

  Red jumps down from the stage. “What the fuck? Why are you covered in candy?”

  Lenny grins, cherry red-lipped and bright-eyed. “Suck for a buck!”

  He shakes his head, like he didn’t hear her correctly, his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Suck for a buck,” she repeats and then winks at him, showing him the cherry Life Saver in her mouth. “If you want to suck, give me a buck.”

  Red’s brow furrows and his intimidating-as-fuck glare moves from his soon-to-be wife to me, and then Raven. “Who’s idea was this?”

  Lenny points to Raven and smacks me in the face in the process. “Raven’s.”

  Raven must feel the pressure from her brother and cracks. “Sophie hired an underage stripper.”

  I smack her on the side of the head. “I did not, liar.”

  Red finally notices Raven’s dress, mostly because she will not stop pulling it down. Mostly because it’s all up in her V. “What are you wearing? You’re dressed like a hooker.”

  “That’s what I said,” Rawley notes, making his way over to us. I can tell he’s definitely had one too many, but he’s not the obnoxious drunk I’m used to. He’s the carefree version of himself I fell in love with and that’s a little difficult for me. Especially when he puts his arm around me, leaning into my shoulder.

  I don’t push him away. I physically can’t. I want him this close.

  “You guys need to stop judging my dress,” Raven tells them, looking around the bar for Tyler. “My man likes it. That’s all that matters.” With an awkward strut, she walks up to Tyler who’s leaned up against the stage singing a half-wasted version of Garth Brooks’s “Friends in Low Places.”

  Red rips the candy off Lenny’s chest and eats a green one while staring at her. “How about I suck for a fuck?”

  “You have to wait for our wedding night. How about a lap dance?”

  Rawley coughs and then tightens his arm around my shoulder, dragging me to the bar. “I don’t want to see that. Come on, girl. Let me buy you a drink.”

  Laughing, mostly because I have some liquor-goofiness in me, I go with him.

  My heart thumps wildly in my chest the second we’re at the bar, alone. Does he want to talk about what happened between us?

  Zack brings us both a couple shots and then leaves, like he knows the two of us have a lot to talk about and is giving us the room to do so. The thing is, I don’t know that we can talk. Like how do you even being to discuss the hurt between us and everything we’ve left unsaid for the last three years, let alone the last three days?

  Rawley smiles and I take in every inch of him. It’s been so long since I saw this look—him relaxed, face flushed and eyes bright. He’s drunk, but it’s still him. He’s not too far gone that he doesn’t remember there’s something between us, yet he’s drunk enough he’s not letting it get in the way. I guess in some ways, I’m doing the same.

  “It’s nice to see you smile,” I tell him taking a seat at the bar with him.

  He watches me set my wallet on the counter, his stare traveling up my arm to my face. “I could say the same about you.” For once, the words aren’t spoken with bitterness. They’re soft and careful.

  It’s different being this close to him. There’s familiarity but so much is left unsaid between the two of us. It’s almost awkward.

  My eyes find solace in the wood grain of the bar. “Do you realize how many stories this bar has? How many memories it holds for all of us in this town?”

  He swallows, nodding before taking another shot. My eyes dart to his talented fingers wrapped around the shot glass. “If walls could talk, huh?” And then he nods again.

  Crap. Even his nod is sexy, and the alcohol inside of me is heightening every sensation I have to the point where I know this is going to be one of those times I actually talk to him. Maybe this is what we need.

  With his elbows resting on the bar, his hands find his hair. “I’ve said and done a lot of shitty things in the confines of these walls, and I’m sorry for that.”

  “There’s a part of me that wants to say, it’s okay. I forgive you.” My voice is choked up, thick with sadness, and I know it bothers him. He’s visibly bothered by it when I see his eyes gloss. I feel tears building, but I push them back. “But you hurt me badly, over and over again to prove a point, and it’s hard to get past that, Rawley. I won’t lie and tell you it’s not.”

  “I know that,” he replies, a small furrow to his brows.

  “I know you do. I’m not trying to make you feel shitty.”

  His face drops forward. Catching my eyesight, his brow furrows, lines forming around the outer corners. “I… I wanted to tell you—”

  “No,” I interrupt, knowing what he’s about to say. Though I want him to say it, he doesn’t need to. I know I overreacted the other night and never gave him a chance to explain. There’s one thing I can say about the night I destroyed Rawley, the night I told him about Mexico. He never interrupted me. He let me explain. Yeah, I lied and said it was a mistake, and maybe that’s why he never interrupted me. He was giving me the opening to tell him the truth, yet I didn’t.

  But the other night when I saw the papers and the idea of him not wanting his son, I overreacted and assumed immediately he hadn’t changed. I never gave him an opening, nor did I want to believe he didn’t do it.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and I’m not sure why. Maybe because he looks as lost as I feel. “I know you didn’t want to sign off on your parental rights.”

  “I would never,” he tells me, sounding wounded. “I want to be a part of his life if you’ll let me.”

  His or ours? I want to ask, but I don’t. I’m not sure my heart can take the answer just yet.

  It’s hard to know what to say next because yes, we’ve had some drinks, but we can barely hear anything around us with the number of people in the bar, and honestly, I don’t know if he’ll remember anything we’re saying.

  I can’t stop myself from the word vomit that follows. “You’re different now. I couldn’t place it at first… but I see it now when your guard is down, here, drinking and laughing. You finally see the hurt you’ve caused everyone.”

  Oh God, stop talking.

  I don’t.

  My heart trembles when our eyes catch, his breathing shallow and uneven.

  “I thought when you left, I never wanted to see you again. No, I knew I never wanted to see you again. Then I got pregnant. More than anything, I wished the baby wasn’t yours.” His breath catches, the heaviest weight hitting him. My heart begins to stumble over what I want to say next because I don’t want to hurt him, being vindictive isn’t me. “I hated myself for thinking that. Then when Lyric was born, I was reminded of the you I fell in love with, because everything I loved about you, he has.” Everything’s out of focus when I blink. “The smile, the energetic personality, it’s all there. He has every good quality you have. So when you came back, I couldn’t deny I was hopeful maybe you�
�d see him for what he is, a miracle. The best of both of us from a night we were at our worst.”

  The sharpness of what I said cuts him deep like razor wires dragging across his skin. Sore eyes linger on mine. “Sophie….” Reaching across the bar when he’s bumped from behind, Rawley slides his hand to mine and covers it. I relax immediately at his touch. He leans in to me when he speaks, a conversation and words meant only for me. “We don’t have to talk about this right now.” His breath blows over me, whiskey and sweet cherry. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  When he draws back, I watch his face and eyes. I know why he can’t talk about it because he’s nearing tears. “What do you mean? Are you staying in Lebanon? What about your music?”

  He inhales deeply and his chest expands, drawing his black T-shirt tight on his shoulders. My stare moves to his mouth as he says, “I’m in a contract right now. We have five shows left in California and then I don’t know….”

  It’s left open-ended, as if he honestly doesn’t know where or what he’s doing next. His expression is lost, much like his words. “You’re not giving up Torque and your music, are you?”

  “No.” He shakes his head like he never entertained the idea. “Definitely not, but I don’t know.” He takes another shot in front of him, gauging me with cautious eyes. “I miss this, the local stuff. Friday and Saturday nights at the bar…. This... you know, where the memories are made.”

  He rubs his hand along his scruffy jaw and focuses his attention on me. Apprehension constricts my lungs and locks up my throat at the words “memories are made” because I know what he’s referring to. Memories we made in this place long before I used to sit here on Saturday nights and subject myself to the bitter lyrics he’d sing clearly meant for me and a heartache I caused. It was a time when he’d serenade me here, long before we were supposed to be in this bar, a place where’d he’d tell me how he felt about me in a way that was effortless and authentic.

  “Dance with me!” Raven yells, her head between us, arms around our shoulders.

  Rawley pulls away, his body tensing as he looks the other way toward the stage where Red and Tyler are again.

  Raven notices the change in his demeanor and slaps her hand to her mouth. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. Did I interrupt something?”

  “No,” Rawley says immediately, turning back toward us. “I’m gonna head out.”

  Panic rushes through me. I don’t want him to leave and grab his hand. “You don’t have to.”

  His eyes drop to our hands and when he lifts his lids, he smiles. “It’s okay. Go have fun with the girls. It’s what you’re here for. I don’t want to ruin that for you. Not this time.”

  Before I can say anything else, he stands and walks out of the bar, and I watch his retreat.

  “Seriously, did I interrupt?” Raven sticks her head in my line of sight, blocking my view of the door closing. “I’m really sorry if I did.”

  “No, you didn’t.” I wave her off and reach for another shot. “Let’s go get this bride fucked up.”

  I’m staring at my ceiling and it’s three in the morning. After taking a few shots with Sophie and finally talking, I’m not sure how to process everything we said. She opened up to me for the first time in probably three years. She gave me her pain, my pain, and we put words to the pain. Gave it what it deserved. Sure, we were drunk, but it was all there.

  “I wished he wasn’t yours.”

  Those words rattle around in my head and as much as they hurt, my darkest night haunting my present, I know why she said them.

  Closing my eyes, I blow out a breath, trying to come up with a reason as to why I acted the way I did for so long. Like a bull in a china shop, I shattered everything around me. For what though? Because I was drowning inside and she was watching?

  You know, I honestly don’t think I know why I acted that way. At least I couldn’t tell you now. Maybe it was the substance clouding my brain, but I know I was angry at the world for the last three years and didn’t care who I hurt in the process, just that someone was hurting as much as I was. And that person ended up being Sophie.

  Just when I’m thinking of seeing if Sophie’s back home, there’s a knock at my door and it cracks open.

  Sophie peeks her head in. “Hey, are you sleeping?” she whispers in the dark.

  She pushes the door open slowly and then I hear the soft click of the door latching, locking. She pauses at the door while the thump of my heart is thundering in my ears.

  “No, is everything okay?” Sitting up, my back meets the headboard. I’m completely naked, so I keep the blankets up around my waist. “Is Lyric okay?”

  “Yeah.” She steps toward my bed, her knees hitting the edge of my mattress. “He’s sleeping. But I couldn’t.”

  You and me both.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  Silence settles in the room, preparing for confessions that have yet to come.

  “I… don’t know actually,” she finally says, breaking the silence. “All I know is I couldn’t lie there in bed and not come in here. I feel like I’m constantly pushing myself away from you and holding onto what I really want to say because maybe the timing’s not right, or we’re interrupted.” I start to say something, but she stops me, her hand on my lips. Her breathing intensifies as she examines my face, eyes wandering over my every feature. Sitting down on the bed, she brings her legs up, her feet near my hands. It’s then I notice she’s only wearing a T-shirt and no pants. I don’t look at her legs. I can’t. “I know I said you’re different now, and I gave you my truth at the bar. You know the pain you’ve caused. I know you do and well, it almost hurts to look at you.”

  Reacting to her words, I lean forward. I drop my head, my parted mouth meeting the curve of her neck. “I can’t remember the last time it didn’t hurt to look at you,” I murmur, my lips pausing at her ear.

  When I draw back, tears are streaming down her face, and it hurts just as much because I’m once again the cause of them. Raising my hand, I carefully brush away the wetness on her cheeks. Our eyes catch, so much suffering portrayed in both of us.

  “I’m sorry for a lot of things, not telling you about Lyric when I could have, but—” She swallows, attempting to control a sob I know is threatening to escape. “—mostly I’m sorry for what happened in Mexico.”

  “I know you are.” My truth needs to come next because this is just as much on me. “I shouldn’t have treated you that way. It was worse than anything you ever did.”

  I don’t know what I’m thinking when I lean in. Just that I do, again. It seems I don’t know a lot these days. In a lot of ways, sex was a way I covered up what I was feeling, a way to numb myself into forgetting. I know we shouldn’t, but holding her, showing her I still care for her seems like the only way to express to her what she means to me.

  Sophie stops breathing as my breath blows over her. Time slows and becomes meaningless, and I’m trapped in her eyes. She doesn’t say anything, just looks at me. I want in this moment forever.

  I don’t know how to process what’s happening, but my body can’t, won’t stop. I know this may be the very last time, but I have faith it’s not.

  All I know is deep down I’m scared and I have been all along. It’s where my insecurities lie and is the truth in the lyrics I write. I’m scared of hurting her again. I’m scared of being hurt.

  The urge to get closer and closer pulses through me. It won’t let up and I can’t stop myself from reaching out. I start tentatively by running my fingers down her arms, up further to her shoulder and then the curve of her neck. My hands shake with so much want and need.

  Scooting down the bed, I lay flat on the mattress and she pulls the blankets back just enough to slip inside them with me. I don’t know where it’s going, or what she wants, but I’m not stopping her.

  “I can feel your heart,” she whispers, her hand on my chest, but it’s moving lower. “It’s beating so fast.”

  Is she going to push me away? />
  Turning my head, my eyes hold hers, my voice trembling around the words when I say, “What do you want, Sophie?”

  She’s scared. Just like I am.

  Her lips part and she studies my face, then lower to my chest where her name’s tattooed over my heart. Her fingertips trace each letter. “I want you.”

  Raising my left hand from my side, I touch her cheek with my palm. “What if that’s not enough anymore?” My brow furrows as I swallow over the painful lump forming in my throat. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  Her touches are light at first. Until they’re not. She removes her shirt, her skin finally coming in contact with me, and it’s never felt so good. She pulls me closer, and I go all too willingly.

  “Don’t tell me to leave,” she says, lips finding the corner of my mouth, her hand lower, past my waist to my erection.

  My palms find her cheeks, feeling her warmth there too when a groan escapes my parted lips the moment she grips my dick and slides her hand down it.

  “Sophie,” I breathe, my lips brushing across her forehead, featherlight in a not-quite-there kiss. I move my mouth from hers. My lips part against her throat, my breath hot as I pant against her skin.

  Jesus Christ I want her so badly.

  Gently, she leans in and places a soft kiss on my lips. It lingers, gives me hope she’ll see I have nothing but love for her.

  I think she’s going to pull away, but she doesn’t and plants her hands on either side of my head, flat on the mattress and moves on top of me. I don’t move. I’m almost afraid to as she deepens the kiss, giving me her tongue. The kiss becomes filled with passion, more urgent, as if she wants more. Each movement our lips make seem to ask unspoken questions, what does this mean?

  I’m not sure either of us have the answer.

  I do know I want more, desperately. Excitement shoots through me, and she feels it as her body presses to mine. I groan, the lightest rumbling of my chest. Unable to contain myself, I roll her so she feels my weight. The only thing now separating us is her panties.