Every Day (The Brush Of Love Series, #2)
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Every Day
The Brush Of Love Series, Volume 2
Lexy Timms
Published by Dark Shadow Publishing, 2017.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
EVERY DAY
First edition. November 25, 2017.
Copyright © 2017 Lexy Timms.
Written by Lexy Timms.
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Copyright 2017 Lexy Timms
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to an actual person, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
All rights reserved.
Every Day
The Brush of Love Series # 2
Copyright 2017 by Lexy Timms
Cover by: Book Cover by Design
THE BRUSH OF LOVE SERIES
Every Night
Book 1
Every Day
Book 2
Every Time
Book 3
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Every Day Blurb
USA TODAY BESTSELLING Author, Lexy Timms, continues her tale about a young man dealing with the consequences of heart-wrenching betrayal by the woman he loves.
Bryan McBride is lost in darkness. He can’t believe his girlfriend Hailey lied and manipulated him. His family is barely together, the death of his brother nearly destroying them. What hurts, Hailey knew about John and never told him. Now trying to find solace in the bottle, Bryan questions everything he ever felt for the woman.
The world doesn’t stop for the pain of one man. He still has a business to run, and his business partner is interested in changing careers. He still has to deal with his parents, who refuse to acknowledge how his brother died.
Bryan wants to forget about Hailey but every time he thinks about her, his heart and his body cry out for her touch. She has awakened a passion he thought was dead.
As he struggles to move on, the past threatens to swallow them both. Bryan and Hailey will have to battle against the raging anger threatening to destroy them.
Fans of Nicholas Sparks will love this sweet-with-heat love story EVERY TIME.
Table of Contents
THE BRUSH OF LOVE SERIES
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Every Day Blurb
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Every Time Blurb
THE BRUSH OF LOVE SERIES
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Chapter 1
Bryan
The ice-cold beer froze my throat as it trickled down into my stomach. Fall was starting to descend onto the bustling town of San Diego, and even though it had been a month since I’d figured out the deceitful little girl Hailey was, I still couldn’t get my mind off her. The beer wouldn’t wash her memory away, and the hot showers I took wouldn’t scrub away her touch. She’d betrayed me. She manipulated me to gain my help to quell her own guilt for being a bystander while my brother fucking died on the street.
I trusted her with my life, and she threw it back in my face.
Why the hell hadn’t she told me it was her at the bar? What did she think I was going to do, get angry with her? That mass of purple hair came wafting back to my memory as I chugged my beer, choking on the foam it caused and closing my eyes tight. Construction on her gallery was finished, and I never had to see her again, but when I closed my eyes at night, I could see every inch of her, every crevice that shouted its lies to me.
She’d used me for her own healing. She’d used my darkness against me. For all I fucking knew, she could have tracked me down once she got to San Diego. For all I knew, she’d manipulated me to gain my favor and try to help her close her own damn chapter without giving any thought to how she might be making me feel.
I threw the bottle across the room and into the trash can before I reached for another one from the cooler at my feet.
Drew had stopped by not too long ago to brief me about shit with the business. He talked me through the new sites that were starting up and asked me if I had ventured out into the homeless community yet. I told him I still had a couple of weeks to make that happen, but right now, all I wanted to do was finish this cooler of beer and go to sleep.
I figured if I drank myself into a heavy slumber, her body wouldn’t appear below mine in my dreams anymore.
Hailey had tried calling me and texting me. She left voice messages and video messages. She sent me moving pictures that pleaded with me to pick up her calls. She tried everything she could do to get in touch with me, so I blocked her fucking number. I didn’t want to be reminded of the woman who betrayed me. I didn’t want to be reminded of the woman I’d poured my soul out to while she held her deck of cards close to her chest. I didn’t want to be reminded of the woman who overtly won over my heart without giving me a lick of hers, all the way proclaiming from her lips in the throes of passion that she did.
That she had.
She was the ultimate manipulator, and I couldn’t trust a word she’d told me during our relationship.
I cracked open another beer and took a long pull from it. The ice ached my head as I grimaced in the dim lighting of my home. I should’ve never brought her here. I should’ve never fucking let her step foot into this house. Something deep down in my gut screamed the entire time that it was too good to be true and that no woman had ever been as free and happy as Hailey had been without some secretive bullshit underneath. I came with baggage, yes, but I was upfront with that baggage. The moment I was comfortable with her, I’d told her everything about my brother and about how it had torn apart my family. I’d told her about how I held onto guilt that I could’ve done something.
She was the one who could’ve done something, and she fucking let him die anyway.
I closed my eyes and sighed as I settled back on the couch. Nighttime had officially blanketed my side of San Diego, and the only thing I could think about was her. I hated it. I hated all of it. I hated that I wanted to know how she was doing. I hated that I wanted to know how she was feeling. I hated that I still wanted to call her, to hold her, and to writhe above her and listen to her lies flow from her lips. Lies of loving me and cherishing me and proclaiming I made her stronger.
I was nothing but a means to an end for her. A cheap way to get her art gallery up and going so she could showcase some dumbass paintings and quell the pathetic guilt that ravaged her black soul.
Every time I walked into my house, I could smell her. Every time I laid my head down at night, I could feel her. As the beer continued to drip down my throat, I was convinced I heard her voice in my ear. I was convinced her lips were ghosting my earlobe, millimeters away from kissing my cheek.
I love you, Bryan.
“No, you don’t,” I said to the fantasy. “You never did. You used me. You used my guilt and my skills. You used my kindness against me. You used your curves and your eyes and your wild purple hair to draw me in before you trapped me in your grasp.”
I took another long pull of the beer before I threw the glass bottle across the house.
It shattered with an alarming sound against the wall. I reached down for another one and popped it open as tears welled in my eyes. I couldn’t get rid of her no matter how hard I tried. She couldn’t call, and she couldn’t text. She didn’t dare come over, though there were mornings I could’ve sworn I heard her voice outside my front door. She couldn’t reach me in any of the ways she needed to in order to communicate, but she was there every single fucking time I closed my eyes.
I could see her sparkling eyes and the way they melded with the ocean. I could see her bright pink hair beckoning for my fingers. I could see her lips, wanton with a desire for me to kiss them. I could feel her body writhing against mine as I woke up with erection after erection, trying to think of anything but her so they would go away.
That’s when I realized I had to cut all of her out of my life. I had to get rid of everything that made me think
of her. I replaced the carpeting we fell onto when we’d first made love in my house. I replaced the couch I’d kissed her on time after time. I replaced the mattress and sheets we’d repeatedly fell into so we could savor each other’s bodies.
I bought wax warmers for every single room of this gigantic, lonely home, trying to erase the ghost of her scent from my nostrils.
I even gave up my drawing. I couldn’t delve into it without thinking of her. I couldn’t start drawing a pattern without wondering what she would’ve thought about it. I couldn’t even begin to think about colors without automatically wanting to incorporate purples and pinks and browns and oranges, all the colors that reminded me of her while she’d fluttered around and bulldozed my entire life.
As I drained my third beer and let the bottle slide to the ground, I picked up yet another one as my mind drifted back to our last conversation when the truth had poured out while she sobbed at my feet. I’d felt no compelling pull to lift her off the ground. She’d collapsed at my feet with her head in her hands, sobbing her apologies and trying to tell me what had happened. She’d concocted some story about my brother being killed or some shit, but I knew that wasn’t true.
My brother wasn’t capable of pissing people off like that.
Everything that had come from her mouth had been a lie. From the moment I first met her, our entire relationship had been founded on shit that didn’t exist. I had no precedent that told me she could’ve been telling the truth. I couldn’t trust the way she begged me to come back, the way she begged me not to leave. I had no choice but to believe that she was simply feeding me more lies, so I would stay and continue to help her.
My brother wasn’t capable of pissing someone off so much they’d want him dead nor was he clean when he died. I’d seen him three months before when I was trying to convince him to move back to San Diego and move in with me so I could take care of him and help him get back on his feet. It was the only time we’d ever had a shouting match about anything. My brother was boisterous but never angry. Even with the parents who’d raised him and cast him out when he first started doing and dealing drugs, he’d never held outward animosity toward anyone.