Raw Rhythm (Found in Oblivion Book 6)

by Cari Quinn

  Some part of her wondered where exactly she’d gone wrong in life to end up in this place with this man. “You’re an odd duck.”

  “Hungry duck.” He got out and slammed the door, then waited for her in front of the hood. Because of course she couldn’t be trusted to sit out there alone. God knows what she could do.

  Worst of all, he was right to be cautious. She’d just told him as much.

  She followed him inside and they squabbled over nuggets and fries and dipping sauces for so long the checkout clerk actually asked them to forfeit their spot in line until they made up their mind. It was late evening, so it wasn’t as if there were tons of people there, but she wasn’t going to cause any more of a disturbance than they had already. So they got two twenty-piece McNuggets with barbecue sauce, two large fries, and two large Cokes.

  “Healthiest meal ever,” she said between shoving her face full and licking salt off her fingers.

  They were eating in the little mini food court, and Mal was too consumed with his meal to even look up. Or else he was pretending to be so she didn’t ask him if he had an aversion to licking all pussies, or just hers.

  Probably better to avoid that line of conversation entirely.

  “I need to call my sponsor,” she said instead. It was almost as hard to get that particular sentence out.

  No, it was actually harder. She would rather talk about sex all day long than this subject. Especially with him.

  She didn’t think he’d heard her at first, since he kept dipping and eating as if she hadn’t spoken at all. Then he lifted his head and stared. “You have a sponsor?”

  “Yes. I don’t call her as much as I should, but yes.” She fumbled with the strap of her tank top before pulling her cardigan in tighter around her body. “I don’t want to screw up again.”

  “You’re not going to.”

  “Why? Because you threatened me twenty ways of Sunday?” The memory—indistinct as it was—still rankled, though she knew he’d done what he had for her own good.

  Somehow he’d probably say he’d withheld giving her an orgasm in the backseat of the SUV for her own good too. It built character or some such. So why had he turned toward her for a kiss in the first place?

  She didn’t have enough mental bandwidth to deal with him right now. Then again, he counted as a serious distraction, didn’t he?

  “No, because you’re strong. I’m not saying it’ll be easy. But I believe in you.”

  She snorted. “You do not. You’ve watched me like a hawk.”

  “You needed it for a few days to get your equilibrium back. You’ll be able to handle it on your own soon enough.” He shrugged and picked up his last nugget. “Until then, I’ll be the asshole in your face every twenty seconds.”

  “Why?”

  “You deserve to get back where you were, with what you loved,” he said simply.

  She set her French fry down as she fought to swallow the emotion lodged in her throat. “Nicky’s gonna play for me until I can,” she whispered, and that too felt like a huge admission.

  One more way of acknowledging how weak she was. So much so that she needed all kinds of backups and fail-safes.

  “Okay.”

  “It was a deal they made. How I got in the band. He did some kind of agreement with Li. How to cover for the potential druggie.” She laughed bitterly and rubbed the side of her hand over her cheek. “And here I am, falling right into line.”

  “Are you on something right now?” His voice whipped out, cold and hard.

  “What? No. Of course not. What could I be on? I don’t have anything on me. You took my pills.”

  “Your system is clean or on its way there. You’re not a druggie, Ricki, any more than I am. So stop fucking calling yourself that.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  If only that were true.

  Elle glanced around, afraid someone could overhear. Mal didn’t exactly have an indoor voice when he was worked up. “You don’t understand.”

  “No, you don’t. Every time you call yourself that or think that way, you’re setting yourself up to fail. You’re a recovered addict, and you’re working that recovery every day. So go call your sponsor. I’ll be right here.” He reached across the tray to take her last three nuggets. “Eating what you couldn’t finish. Wimp.”

  She smiled and went to make her call.

  Much as it shamed her, she told the truth to her sponsor, Kristy. All of it. The E she’d taken, the alcohol she’d consumed.

  Her sponsor wasn’t gentle on her. The reason she’d lasted with Kristy as long as she had was because she didn’t pull punches. Kristy laid out for her everything she had to lose just as Mal had, then she added one more possibility—jail or worse.

  She’d been given a gift by living through the concert in Queens. Not only that, Mal had risked himself to make sure she survived. She couldn’t throw his kindness back in his face.

  God knows he didn’t have a ton of it inside him to go around.

  When she returned to the small food court, he was pacing by the window, talking on the phone in a low, indiscernible voice. Hand in his pocket, big body tensed and ready. He was so huge, a warrior in denim and tight cotton.

  What had happened to him to make him so guarded with everyone? It had probably been a series of events, rather than one as it had been with her. She wasn’t guarded, but she should’ve been. Instead she chased new experiences and people, trying desperately to fill the holes created by her mom leaving.

  Everything went back to that one day so many years ago. She’d spiraled from there, and she’d tried so many times to get back on the right path. But maybe her mistake was in thinking she’d ever succeed. She’d probably be fighting this same battle every day for the rest of her life.

  Her victory was being around to fight.

  She walked over to him and he quickly ended the call, pocketing his phone. That gave her pause, but not that much. He was a secretive fucker, but she knew he wasn’t making dates to hook up with some other chick. That wasn’t his MO.

  Though they still hadn’t sealed the deal, she knew she could trust him that way. He would never disrespect her like that.

  He might be gone like a thief in the night when she rolled over, but she’d know it was over before he was on to the next.

  She frowned. Hmm, amazing what she could convince herself was a positive quality.

  “Well?”

  She blinked at him. “Well, what?”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “I did.”

  “And?”

  “I’m pulling a you. Playing it close to the vest.” She glanced back at their now cleaned-off table. “Where’s my Coke? I wasn’t finished with it.”

  He produced it from behind him on the windowsill. “It’s yours. Bitten straw and all.”

  She accepted it and fought down a flush as she took a sip. “You pay far too much attention.”

  So did she, when they were back on the road and yet again he was driving like a lunatic, much as he had the other day on the way to Teagan’s. Except this time they had no reason to be rushing that much. Unless his secretiveness this time had a purpose beyond just his usual desire to share absolutely nothing.

  “So you used to race.”

  He cut her a look. “That again?”

  “It’s fairly obvious. I used to watch NASCAR. It was a thing of mine, actually.”

  “Of course it was,” he muttered.

  “You have that kind of focus they do. Above-average skill. Little regard for your passengers’ lives.”

  “If I wanted you dead, I’d be outside the SUV.”

  “Such a charmer. I bet you have to beat the ladies off with those sticks you carry everywhere.” She sighed. “Since I’ve seen the activity around your bunk, that’s sadly true.”

  “Including yourself?”

  “If you reference my sucking your dick again, it’ll be the last memory you ever have of it being called into service.”

 
; He choked out a laugh. “Yeah.”

  “Yeah what?”

  “Yeah, I used to race. Long time ago.” He tightened his hand around the wheel until his knuckles whitened.

  “Professionally?” She already knew the answer, but she wanted him to say it.

  “Yeah. Then…not.”

  “Illegal?”

  He jerked a shoulder. “Whatever term you wanna use.”

  “Illegal works. What did you race in?”

  “Had a few different rides. A Chevelle. A GTO. A Stingray. Some others.”

  “What year Stingray?”

  “’66.”

  “Oh man. What color?”

  “Blue.”

  “No way. Not the Lynndale.”

  He wiggled his fingers. “Yeah. You know about Stingrays?”

  “My dad had one. Way back when. Sold it after my mom left. It was his baby.” That coincidence was too large as far as she was concerned. “You still have it?”

  “Of course I have it,” he said, clearly affronted. “What kind of person do you think I am?”

  She changed the station, mainly to keep from giggling. He was so adorable when he was serious.

  And thank God he couldn’t hear her thoughts, because she’d have to kick her own ass.

  “You still drive it?” she asked, sneakily putting it back on the Christmas station he’d switched away from as soon as they got back in the SUV.

  “When I can.”

  “Where’s it stored?”

  “At my garage in Santa Clarita. Why is that on again?”

  “Because I like it.” She placed her hand on his big thigh, absorbing the clench of his muscles. “Are you tense because you’re sharing about yourself, the Christmas music, or because you think I’m gonna do a groin grab? And wait a second, did you say garage? Yours?”

  He rolled right over her last question. “A little from column A and B.”

  “Nothing from, ahem, column C?”

  “We’re almost to my grandmother’s. You probably shouldn’t be jerking me off when we pull in.” It was dark, but she could just make out the heavy-lidded look he gave her. “But later works.”

  She didn’t know which point of what he’d just said to pull apart first. “Your grandmother—wait, wait just a second.” She glanced up, gripping his thigh with her nails as she craned her neck to try to read a passing sign. “Turnbull. We’re going to Turnbull?” She couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. “Oh my God, I love Happy Acres.”

  “This doesn’t surprise me. Gram loves Christmas music as much as you do.”

  “Gram. Lila’s mother. You call her Gram, but you hate Lila. What’s wrong with this picture?”

  “I don’t hate Lila.”

  “You don’t like her.”

  “When she married my dad, I saw her as the reason my parents split up. What do you expect?”

  “That you’re a grown man now and should know that no relationship that’s strong can break up because of a third party.” She pulled her hand off his lap and rested it in her own. Just as well, because even leaning that much had made her injured arm tingle.

  “Goodbye, handjob. Hello, awkward silence.”

  “I wasn’t giving you a handjob anyway. You will be reciprocating before we go down that road again.”

  He cocked a brow. “You’re pretty pushy, Crandall.”

  “Like you aren’t, Mr. We’re-Leaving-Right-Now.” She stared straight ahead. “I love Lila. She’s the closest I’ve ever had to a real sister.” And she owed her a few return texts.

  She’d send them as soon as they were settled in, or else Li would probably be on a plane to New York by morning.

  “Bully for you.”

  “If you have a problem with her, you probably will have a problem with me.”

  He gave her another of those ridiculously sexy heavy-lidded glances. “Haven’t seemed to so far.”

  “Your father did a real number on her.”

  “You think I don’t know that? Not like it’s surprising. He does a number on everyone he knows. Including his sons.” He flicked the station.

  She flicked it back. “So you two have something in common then.”

  “Yeah, we both have the hots for people with the last name Crandall. What is it with you and this stuff?”

  She had to take a breath before she could speak. “You have the hots for me?”

  “I’ve said it about sixteen times.”

  “Not quite so plainly.”

  “Only if you haven’t been listening. Anyway. What’s up with you and this shit?”

  “Last time my mom came to a school event was at Christmas. I was the star, and Nicky was one of the three wise men. She acted as if we were the most amazing kids ever.” She smiled and rubbed her fingers over the hole in the knee of her jeans. “It’s my last good memory of her, so Christmas makes me happy.”

  He was quiet for several minutes. “The star is a role? I thought it was an inanimate object.”

  Somehow the question made her laugh. “I was a special star.”

  He flicked her a sidelong look. “Hmm.” He tapped the wheel with his thumb. “Where’d your mom go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Just bailed on you?”

  “Yes.” She stared unseeingly out the window. “My dad never stopped waiting for her to come home. He died waiting.”

  He cleared his throat. “When I woke you up and carried you in the shower, you were dreaming about him.”

  “I still do it a lot. He died a few years ago.”

  “Did he—fuck, there’s no easy way to ask this, so I’m going to do it straight. Did he abuse you?”

  “What?” She started to laugh until she realized he was deadly serious. “No. God, no. My father never laid a hand on me. Not in anger, and not otherwise either.”

  Mal let out a long breath. “Good.”

  “You thought that—Jesus, what was I saying? Or doing? I’d been high the night before.”

  “Believe me, I remember. You were saying ‘Daddy, don’t’ and I thought—”

  “You thought he hit me. Or molested me,” she said dully. “No. Never. He didn’t pay much attention to me after Mama was gone, but he never hurt me like that. If I was telling him no, it was probably because I was asking him not to drink. Or smoke up. At the beginning, I tried to get him to stop. Then I…” She shut her eyes. “Then I joined him.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Twelve. Maybe thirteen. I don’t really remember.”

  He swore and her eyes opened again. “Yet you still love that guy?”

  “He was my father,” she said simply. “His mistakes didn’t change that. God knows I keep hoping someone can love me even with mine.”

  “Not the fucking same. Never the same. You wouldn’t fucking do that to your own kid. You’d lay down your life for yours.”

  His vehemence made her reach for her Coke and take a deep drink. “He was miserable without her. The man he was after she left was different. My daddy—my real daddy—wouldn’t have done that, but her leaving broke him. Broke all of us.”

  “Giving anyone enough power to break you is dangerous.”

  “Never loving anyone enough for it to matter is so much worse.” She swallowed the last of her drink. “We’re almost there,” she said, noting the familiar exit coming up.

  He didn’t reply right away. “You know Grams.”

  “I do. She’s wonderful. So’s Fred.”

  “Yeah, they are.” He exhaled loudly enough she glanced at him. “They’re going to ask questions about why I brought you. Make assumptions.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. Because I’ve never brought anyone there before.”

  Her heart started beating faster. “Is it you bringing me so much as we’re going together?”

  “Well, yeah, we know that, but grandparents. They assume stuff.”

  “Like we’re a couple.”

  “Probably, yeah.”

&nb
sp; “So we’ll tell them we aren’t.” She smiled. “But they’re grandparents, so they won’t believe us.”

  “Pretty much. But I’m gonna have to leave you for a bit. I’ll be back as fast as I can,” he said when she started to protest. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

  “Why? Why do I have to trust you when you tell me virtually nothing?”

  “Because I’ve never given you reason not to,” he said, and she couldn’t argue there. Even with his silences and his lack of information, down deep she felt safe with him in a way she felt with very few others.

  “If you’ve got shit to do here that has nothing to do with me, that’s fine. But I don’t get that feeling.” She ran her fingertips up and down her seatbelt, wanting out of the damn restrictive thing. Her shoulder definitely did. “I get the feeling it has something to do with me or the band, and you’re sheltering me again and I don’t know why.”

  “Maybe I want to give you the break no one else ever has,” he said quietly. “Take some of the burdens away instead of piling them up until you buckle.”

  She didn’t know what burdens he could be talking about. Something to do with the band or the accident, certainly, but what? She didn’t have the slightest clue.

  “I’m not weak.”

  “I know you aren’t. You wouldn’t be sitting here right now if you were. You would’ve checked out years ago.”

  “It’s not your responsibility to—”

  “You just told me not caring about someone enough to matter is worse than risking everything. Was that just words?”

  “Loving,” she whispered. “I said not loving.”

  He didn’t say anything, and she clenched her knee to keep her hands from shaking. This was all too much. One minute they were having fun, then they were falling into their familiar routine of sniping over little stuff, and then there was this big thing happening between them.

  Where the hell had it come from? Had it been there all along, like an iceberg she’d deliberately steered around the past couple of years, knowing it would be what took her down? He’d obviously hidden his interest in her or whatever the hell it was, but it wasn’t one-sided.

  And it hadn’t started because he’d saved her life.