Everything I Shouldn't / Everything I Need (Nashville Nights #2-3)

by Stacey Mosteller

  "I already knew that, Liv," I say, rolling my eyes and turning away from her as she crosses the room to sit beside me, handing me the bag from the maternity store, along with a bag from one of the baby shops. Since I already know what shirt's inside the one bag, I open the other and can't stop the tears that immediately start falling. Unlike most of my tears, these are happy. She bought a tiny long-sleeved shirt with snaps that says "Luv U Mommy". It's adorable, and just what I needed after today. We sit side-by-side on the bed as I trace the letters on the shirt, still marveling over the fact that by the end of this year, I'm going to be someone's mommy. Holding this itty bitty shirt in my hands is tangible proof. It brings everything into focus for me as I imagine what he or she will look like; will the baby have blonde hair like me, or will it be dark like Jeremy's, will it grow up tall or be as short as I am. The options are endless and I can't wait to find out the answers.

  Jeremy

  I'm staying far away from Drench tonight, choosing to drown my misery at a dive bar still fairly close to downtown. My only interest tonight is in getting completely fucking plastered because the thoughts running through my head are unbearable. I keep seeing the look on Sarah's face when she saw me with Melanie and it just fucking guts me.

  The bar I've chosen is still close to downtown, but far enough away that I shouldn't run into anyone I know. Tonight is about drinking away all the pain, and the bullshit going on with my drug-addict of a mother. When I walk inside, it's packed, the lights are dim and there's a band I've never heard of on stage. Bypassing the few empty tables close to the door, I head straight for an empty barstool that doesn't have people crowding around it.

  Taking a seat, I raise my hand to signal the bartender and when he comes over, wiping his hands on a towel, I mutter, "Bring me a shot of Knob Creek." He nods, gets out a glass and pours my drink before he sits it down in front of me. I tip my head back and take it immediately, wincing from the sharp burn it leaves behind. Jack is usually my drink of choice, but tonight, tonight I want the pain that drinking Knob Creek brings. Slamming the drink back down on the counter, I motion for him to fill it up once more, and by the third drink the burn isn't as sharp and he's watching me closely.

  Pouring another shot, he sits the bottle of bourbon on the bar next to it and says, "I'll just leave the bottle." He walks to the other end of the bar to hand out beers and shots to other customers and leaves me alone with my bottle and glass.

  I'm not sure how much time passes or how much I've had to drink, but my vision is fuzzy and I'm definitely feeling no pain. The bourbon's going down too easy for me to be anything close to sober when a hand lands on my forearm, and a woman's voice says, "Jeremy?"

  "What?" I ask belligerently, not even turning to see who it is. I know by the voice that it's not the one person I do want to see so anyone else is inconsequential.

  The hand on my arm doesn't move, but her other lands on my back as she leans in to speak loudly in my ear, "I haven't seen you in a long time...where have you been stranger?" Her voice comes out as a purr, impressive considering how loud it is in this room. It sounds vaguely familiar, but I'm drunk enough that I can't place it without turning to see who she is.

  My eyes widen, at least I think they do, when I can finally focus enough to see her clearly. The long blonde hair, fake ass tits and eyes turned violet thanks to contacts is enough to tell me exactly who she is. "Candy," I groan inwardly because the last time I saw her was a long fucking time ago. She hasn't even crossed my mind since that last time; when I crawled out of her bed more than a year ago, leaving while she was still asleep so I didn't have to do the morning after "I'm not going to call" routine. It made me a complete dick, but my intention that night was never to go home with her and I really don't want to make that mistake again.

  "Well," she drawls, "you do remember my name." Like I could forget, I hate the stupid nickname she goes by. "I wasn't sure you would considering the fact that you snuck out of my house without even saying goodbye." She pouts, thinking it's attractive I'm sure, but it's not. It's just fucking irritating.

  I shrug, unable to think of an excuse for leaving that morning that isn't going to make me sound like a complete ass, because it was a dick move. I just didn't want to deal with her ass, not much different from how I feel right now. Ignoring my silence, Candace sits on the stool beside me someone just vacated, calling the bartender over and ordering her own drink. "Do you need another?" she asks sweetly.

  "No." My voice is gravelly thanks to the bourbon and the emotions still coursing through me. Gripping the bottle that's almost half-empty, I slide it closer to me and attempt to pour another shot without spilling it on the counter.

  Her hand wraps around mine, her red-tipped nails digging into my fingers as she helps me steady the bottle. "Damn handsome, do I even want to know why you're so intent on getting wasted tonight?"

  "None of your goddamn business," I snarl, dragging the bottle away from her and turning to face the other direction. I just want to drink in peace...is that too much to ask? Thankfully, she doesn't reply, doesn't touch me, doesn't attempt to bring my attention back to her, and after a few more drinks I forget she's even sitting beside me. I have no interest in Candace, no interest in anyone but SarahBeth.

  Picking up my phone, I attempt a text, even though it's hard to see the tiny letters on my screen with eyes blurry from the amount of alcohol I've consumed.

  Mias u

  I slam my phone back down on the bar, waiting for her to reply, even though it's several minutes before my phone beeps to signal a new message.

  Huh?

  I have to read the message I sent three times before I realize I misspelled the word. Shit. Holding the hand with the phone close to my face I try once more, still unable to get it right. The letters are just too small or my fingers are just too big; either way it's not working.

  "What are you doing?" Fucking hell. I thought she'd given up, but no...Candy is still sitting beside me, watching me try to send the text on my phone. Damn, her voice is grating on my nerves.

  I attempt to glare at her, though if I succeeded it doesn't faze her, I say, "Sending a text. What does it look like I'm doing? I'm trying to send a text message and it's not working."

  Candace sighs, holding out her hand like she seriously thinks I'm going to hand her my phone. "Here, let me send it for you."

  "Do I look fucking stupid to you? I'm not handing you my phone," I say more harshly than I intended, jerking my phone out of her reach. Candace just rolls her eyes before reaching over me to grab my phone.

  She looks down, reading the screen, and the fact that she's looking at messages that were sent from SarahBeth while I was ignoring her makes me livid, especially when she laughs. "Poor girl just can't take no for an answer can she?" She reads the last text on the screen before the one I sent, the text that says

  You win. No more calls, no more texts, no more showing up where you work. I won't ever contact you again, for ANYTHING

  It was received less than four hours ago, and is the reason I'm here at this bar. I finally jerk my head out of my ass and she's decided to move on. The obvious smile in Candace's voice makes me see red when she continues, "She finally got the hint and now you want her back. That's just perfect." She looks up at me, a calculating gleam in her eyes. "You know what they say about getting over someone, right? The best way to get over one is to get under another, and baby, I remember how good it was between us."

  Christ. It was just one fucking night, one night of many when I went home with a woman I never saw again. Her mouth is on mine before I can come up with a response to what she said; my mind just numb enough and my dick just interested enough to let the kiss go. Candace stands and moves in between my legs. She plasters her body against mine and I wrap her blonde hair around my fist as I tug her head back to roughly return her kiss.

  The kiss has nothing to do with seduction, or want. It's full of misery, hate, anger and the self-loathing that's eating away at my insides. T
his. This is exactly what I deserve -- meaningless sex with faceless women whose names I won't remember in the morning. That empty guy I used to be before SarahBeth.

  We stumble into her apartment, both of us extremely drunk, banging into walls and the table behind her couch before we finally make it into her bedroom. Gripping me by the lapels of my shirt, she presses me into the wall just inside the room, pressing her lips wetly to mine before trailing kisses along my jaw.

  "SarahBeth," I groan, caught in a fantasy where instead of kissing Candace, I'm kissing the girl I love. My hands are on her hips and her too perfect breasts are crushed up against my chest as she writhes against me when I speak. As soon as the word leaves my mouth, she stiffens, pulling back to look up at me, a look in her eyes I don't understand.

  After studying me for a moment, she leans back in to whisper, "You can call me whatever you like. I'm good at role-play."

  I shake my head, trying to clear it, but when she drops to her knees, undoing my belt and plunging her hand inside my underwear, I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the wall. Taking my dick in her hands, she starts stroking it roughly, trying to turn me on, but it doesn't work. The combination of bourbon and the fact that she's just not SarahBeth have taken their toll on my body. I'm sure I'll feel fucking awful tomorrow about the fact that I just can't get it up, but I'll probably be thankful too, because going there with someone else is a sure way to end any chance I have of getting SarahBeth back.

  Unwrapping her hands from around my cock, I tuck myself back in my jeans and zip back up, pushing her away when I'm finished. I should feel guilty over the fact that I pushed her a little too roughly, that she almost fell flat on her ass, but I don't. This was a bad fucking idea, one I need to rectify as quickly as possible.

  I start to walk out of her bedroom, not acknowledging her on the floor at my feet, staring up at me in shock, stopping only when she grabs the leg of my pants with a hand. "Wait, where are you going? I said I was okay with role-playing. You can call me SarahBeth if you want to."

  Shame filters through me swiftly, causing me to be more of an asshole than I already am when I jerk out of her hold and look down at her, after what has just happened, my mouth twisted in disgust. "I'm not interested in role-play and I damn sure wouldn't degrade her by pretending you are her." Candace sucks in a gasp at the insult, struggling to get to her feet so she can poke me in the chest with a pointy fingernail.

  "You asshole!" she shrieks, "Why did you even come here if you weren't going to fuck me?" Her shrill voice combined with the pain of her fingernail poking my chest has me cringing, ready to get out before she loses it even more.

  Grabbing her by the wrist, I remove her finger from my chest and bend the few inches needed to be eye to eye with her. "Why would you bring a guy back to your apartment and let him fuck you when he's thinking about someone else? That's the question you should be asking yourself instead of worrying about me."

  Knowing I'm damn well not sober enough to get myself home, I text Tyler from the lobby and ask him to come get me. Luckily, it's a Monday, so while he had to meet with the band for practice, he at least didn't have a performance so his "give me twenty" comes quickly. I don't want to risk Candace coming downstairs and starting a scene, so I head for the little bistro next door; it's closed, but there are still a few tables sitting outside. Thankfully, the crazy one doesn't follow, but I pick a table far enough from the door that she won't immediately notice me if she does come looking for me.

  It takes Tyler less than the twenty minutes he said to pull up in front of the apartment building and I'm on my feet heading for his car before I receive his text. Shutting the door, I lean my head back against the seat and sigh in relief. Thankfully, Candace doesn't have my number so I don't have to worry about her trying to get in touch with me later, but I still have to deal with Tyler who's staring at me, one eyebrow raised in question.

  "Uh, mate, why am I picking you up here?"

  Shit. Now I have to explain to him what I was doing, and after the things he said earlier, he's not going to be sympathetic to what seemed like a good idea before I sobered up some. Running a hand through my hair, I blow out a breath, "I ran into a girl I fucked a year ago and we ended up in her apartment." Cringing inwardly, I wait for the fallout. I don't have to wait very long.

  "You really are a bloody idiot, you know that?" Tyler fumes, shaking his head as he maneuvers the car into the nearly nonexistent traffic. The insult's lost a little bit of its punch since he already told me that once today, but the meaning behind it is still the same. He's right, I am a bloody idiot.

  "I know," I mutter, turning away from the judgment in his eyes. "I was drunk, and she was blonde enough that I could pretend for a few minutes that I had her back." It sounds even more pathetic when I say it out loud.

  Tyler laughs humorlessly before responding. "I don't fucking understand you. You're in love with the girl, yeah?" I start to speak, but he cuts me off. "You're in love with the girl, but pushing her as far away as you can. Are you trying to see just how far you can push her before she loses her shit? Because if so, mate, she's already there. SarahBeth's hoping you come to your senses, but she's not going to wait forever. You need to fix this shit now. She needs you, more than you can imagine."

  That's the second time today he's told me that Sarah needs me. Any lingering buzz I still had is gone now. "What do you mean she needs me?"

  "Nothing, never mind. I shouldn't have said anything." Tyler shakes his head, muttering, "This whole situation's gone to shit."

  What the fuck? "Ty, man, you can't tell me she needs me and then say never mind. What the hell is going on? David made a similar comment a few days ago and I'm really starting to worry."

  "Oh no, no way. I'm not getting in the middle of this mess. You need to talk to her, not me and damn sure not Dave. Your answers need to come from her, and they need to come soon." Pressing his lips together like he's trying to keep words from flying out of his mouth, he focuses on his driving and soon we're at his apartment. Instead of pulling into the parking garage, he pulls up to the front and motions for me to get out.

  Confused, I ask, "You're not staying?"

  "No," Tyler says, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "I need to go see someone." Well, all right then. Getting out of the car, I barely shut the door before Tyler peels off, obviously upset. As I walk inside, heading straight for the elevator, I pull my phone out to send SarahBeth one last text. It's past two in the morning and she's most likely asleep, but she should see the message in the morning when she wakes.

  I miss you. We need to talk...soon. I'm concerned about you.

  It's not the most eloquent of messages, but hopefully it gets the point across. There's no way in hell I'm telling her that I want her back in a text message. By the time I leave the elevator, she hasn't responded, not that I really expected her to, but I'm still a little disappointed. I want this over with, I want things back the way they were, aside from the hiding that is.

  I let myself in and stand in the dark, empty room for a moment. Morning isn't going to be much fun, and I know I'm going to have a horrible hangover. I just hope she talks to me, that she forgives me for being an insensitive prick. I have no idea what I'll do if she doesn't. I don't bother to take off my jacket or my shoes; I lie down on the couch and immediately fall asleep.

  SarahBeth

  I miss you. We need to talk...soon. I'm concerned about you.

  That's the message I wake up to the next morning. It's funny really, considering I finally decided last night after seeing him with Melanie that I was going to give him up, that I would move on and try to be happy without him since that's what he seems to want. Just when I resolve myself to never being with him again, I get a text that makes no sense, and then this. I can't even think of a way to reply. I'm afraid, afraid to hope -- to take his words at face value. For all I know, he meant to send this to someone else. Deciding not to let it get to me right now, I get out of bed, determined
to go one day, just one day without grieving over him. One day where I concentrate on the life growing inside me, the little person who will always, always be with me.

  I have less than a week until summer semester starts, and I've been going back and forth on whether I should continue with school or if I should just start looking for a job. The choice isn't an easy one, because with a baby coming and not knowing whether I'll be able to count on Jeremy, a job seems like the most obvious option. But, then too, this was supposed to be my senior year, only a few semesters left and I'll have my degree, I'll be able to get a better job that will let me provide for us both easier.

  Yes, David would probably support me -- he would, no probably about it -- but I still feel weird asking him for anything after all the crap I've put him through recently. Same with Lyric, I know she'd help if I asked, but I just don't want to. I want to prove that I'm a grown up, that I can do this on my own, without help from anyone. I've been depending on my brother for the past five years, and when I wasn't depending on him, I was manipulating Jeremy into doing things for or with me. I don't want to be that girl any longer. I want to show my son or daughter how to be self-sufficient and resilient, the two things I really don't feel like I am.

  The girl I used to be would be sneaking down the stairs, hoping to get away from the house without being caught; the woman I want to be is standing at the door to my brother's office, the one that used to be my dad's and trying to get up the nerve to knock. Taking a deep breath, I squeeze my eyes shut and raise a fist to the door, knocking lightly, hoping just a little that he doesn't hear me and I can walk away quietly.

  "Come in," my brother's voice says from inside. Unable to calm the butterflies taking over my stomach, I open the door and walk inside to see him sitting behind my father's old desk in a room that still holds a trace of dad's cologne, like it had seeped into the walls. David keeps this desk clean; unlike his desk at Drench, which is covered in so many papers I'm not sure what color it is anymore. This one though only has his laptop and three pictures -- one of Lyric taken on her birthday, one of me at graduation, and one of him, me and Jeremy taken not long before everything fell apart. They each have an arm around me, and the contrast between them is easy to see. Jeremy is all sexy darkness while David is blonde and light-hearted. They both tower over my barely five foot frame in the picture, but we're all smiling and it's a reminder of happier times. Times before I ruined everything.