by Apryl Baker
“Why?” Come to think of it, he knew next to nothing about her family. He didn’t even know if she had any brothers or sisters.
“My mom was a junkie, and my dad was a criminal who served time. Would you want to talk about them?”
Hostility rolled off her in waves, but he ignored it. Something nagged at him, but he couldn’t say what. “Your parents were shits. I get that, but was it all bad? I mean, it sounded like your dad looked out for you, at least?”
She laughed, the sound bitter. “My dad only paid attention when he needed something, like his dinner or patching him or his boys up. I was never important to him. Not like my brother.”
“Your brother?”
She nodded, staring out the window. “His name’s Jackson. He’s older than me by a few years. Dad groomed him from birth to be in that damned club of his.”
“Jackson ignore you too?” His poor girl. If he’d only known. Why hadn’t he taken the time to ask these questions before? Because he was an ass.
“No. Jackson always looked out for me. Made sure I got fed and bathed when I was little. Took the brunt of our mom’s abuse. Which pissed my dad off. He never hit either of us. Said his old man beat the shit out of him on a daily basis, and he wouldn’t put his kids through that. Mom more than made up for it, though. Especially when it came to Jackson. I think she was jealous of how much time Dad spent with him.”
He stayed quiet and let her have her space. She’d continue when she was ready. Getting anything out of her was hard, but he’d learned how to do it over the years. Patience was the key with Becca.
They rode in silence for a good hour before she started to speak again. “Things got bad right before I moved out. Dad and Jackson were arrested for running drugs. My dad’s MC, it was into all kinds of illegal activities. It wasn’t the first time Jackson had been picked up either. He had a juvie record, thanks to my dad and his brothers, as he called them.” She spit the word out like it was the foulest-tasting thing she’d ever put in her mouth. “He gets out this October. I’m hoping Jackson will finally walk away from all it, get his life together. He’s young. He doesn’t have to end up like the rest of them.”
“But you don’t think he will?” Dimitri glanced her way when she snorted.
“Not likely. My brother was born and raised into that damn club. He’ll end up dead or in jail again before it’s all said and done. If they’d get out of all the illegal shit, maybe he would stand a chance, but the money’s too good. They’ll never vote out running drugs and guns.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. I’ve tried to talk him out of the club, but he’s a lifer. I just hope he doesn’t die before he turns thirty.”
What could a person say to that? She knew her brother better than he did.
“Jack used to call me ‘little bird.’ Said I was as fragile as a dove. Dad picked up on the nickname when I was five or six. It’s the only thing he ever called me after that.”
“Did he hit your mom a lot?”
“Only when she hit me or Jack. He always told Jack to never hit a woman unless it’s in defense of a child. His only redeeming moral quality. He despised anyone who hit a kid.”
“I’m sorry you grew up with that, babe.”
She shrugged. Dimitri had no idea how truly awful her life had been. She’d grown up in the worst environment with an apathetic father and an abusive, junkie mother. Hard didn’t even begin to describe her and Jackson’s life.
She’d talked to her psychiatrist about it. She’d never thought she deserved it or that it was right in any way, shape, or form. It had surprised the good doctor. She said most victims of abusive homes grew up thinking it was normal or they deserved it. They didn’t have a big brother who continually told them otherwise or treated them with the respect their parents never gave them. She loved her brother so much and thanked God for him daily.
Her home life had contributed to her anxiety, though. How could it not? She never knew what to expect from her mother from one day to the next. She learned to be small, invisible. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. Most days, it didn’t. Her dread at what each day would bring, what each small mistake would cost, made her anxiety grow more and more. She thought it would get better when she left home, but that wasn’t the case. It got worse.
Thoughts of her anxiety brought her back to Southern Book Bash hosted in Charleston, South Carolina. How the hell was she going to get through that? All those people…and so many of them had come specifically to see Dimitri. There were over a hundred and sixty pre-orders. Hell, maybe it was a good thing she’d come with him. There was no way he’d manage to put all those bags together on his own, especially since he’d pitched a tantrum about her not going.
That man. Only Dimitri could look adorable while throwing an all-out fit that would make a three-year-old proud. Stubborn. But then, so was she. They’d had some epic fights over the years. She laughed out loud thinking of the great war of 2013, as she called it. He’d been insistent that Italian food was better than Chinese, which she adored. She still couldn’t remember how it escalated to them not speaking for a whole month. Aside from short emails with information she needed to do his promos, they’d completely gone dark on the communication front.
Dimitri folded first. It was around the time when he thought he might have found a girl who would last longer than five minutes. What was her name…Julie, Jane? Becca could never keep them straight. He’d called her at four in the morning. Even back then, he’d had no sense of time zones. They’d talked for a good six hours. He’d barely talked about what’s-her-name. Their conversations usually steered away from his women and toward things that mattered to them.
She’d fallen in love with him when she was in high school, and that only grew stronger every year. It was easy to love someone from afar, but not so easy to hide feelings when they were less than two feet away. How was she going to get through weeks with him and not end up getting hurt? She knew how he felt about relationships. Hell, all his brothers did, for the most part. Well, not Viktor. Out of all six Kincaid brothers, Viktor treated women well and was always looking for his special someone.
She doubted Dimitri would ever look at her as anything other than a little sister, though. He’d called her his adopted sister for years. She wasn’t his type either. He preferred women who were a little more on the daring side, women who dressed seductively, not ones who were more at home in a pair of sweats and a ragged t-shirt.
“What’s so funny?”
His deep voice startled her out of her own internal musings. “I was thinking about the great war of 2013.”
His laughter filled the small enclosure, and she shivered. God, she loved the sound of his voice, his laugh, everything. It hurt to think about how much she loved him when she knew he’d never return the feelings.
“Italian still trumps Chinese. I never conceded that.”
“I like Italian as much as the next person, but Chinese is my favorite. Recently, I’ve started eating Indian food. Have you had it?”
He shook his head, keeping his eyes on the road. “Nope, never tried it. I’ll stick with American and Italian, thank you. Last time I had Chinese, I was sick for a week. It doesn’t agree with me.”
“You are such a wuss when it comes to trying new food.” She laughed at the disgusted look he threw at her. “You have the stomach of an eighty-year-old man, overly sensitive to foreign spices, and you get the runs faster than if you’d consumed a whole bottle of laxative.”
“Don’t joke about that.”
Oh, crap, she’d forgotten about his blowout at a speaking event he’d gone to last year. Four hours in the hotel bathroom. He’d only gotten through about half of his speech before he’d run off stage. What was it he’d eaten? Something Irish, or was it duck? Tweets and memes of him running still floated around social media occasionally.
She bent over laughing, remembering how his voice squeaked over the phone when he called to con
fess what happened so she could explain it to the host, but God, it had been hilarious. Not so much when she realized he’d called her while sitting on the toilet, but still, she laughed as much then as she was now.
“You are a sick, twisted woman.”
She laughed harder. Dear God, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like this.
“Just you wait, Rebecca Joyce. Payback is always a bitch.”
She’d probably end up with the runs so bad, she wouldn’t leave the bathroom for days, but she didn’t care. Seeing his face flame up was worth it.
“What should I expect at this signing thingy?” She continued to laugh at his very obvious attempt to change the subject.
“Did you read through all the emails the event coordinator sent out?”
“Um, no?”
“What about the ones I sent you?” He had to have read at least hers. She’d sent him dozens on the subject of his summer event tour.
“That would be a no again.”
“Are you serious?” She wanted to smack him but refrained only because he was driving. When they stopped for gas, she just might. Sometimes he really didn’t pay her enough to deal with him.
“It was the last thing on my mind until I got that pop-up reminder that I needed to be at the airport yesterday.”
“And you showed up at my door like a pissed prissy princess demanding she get her own way or she’d have a meltdown.”
“This prissy princess did get her own way.” He flashed her a sassy smile.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“It’s why you love me.”
God’s truth, there. She did love him because of his outrageous behavior.
“Have you ever talked to any of your author friends about their own signings?” She pulled the subject back around to safer subjects. Dwelling too long on her feelings for the man beside her would bring nothing good for either of them.
“Yeah, it’s why I originally wanted to do them.” He reached over and flipped the radio. The station they’d been listening to went to static. “Dammit, why is the only channel that comes in country?”
“There’s nothing wrong with country music.”
“Yes, there is.” He turned the radio off. “It’s all whiny music about losing everything.”
She swatted his hand away and turned it back on. The Jeep was flooded with the sound of Luke Combs’ Hurricane, a song she loved. “Just listen to this. It’s one of my favorites.”
“You like country?” He sounded offended to even have to say the word. Well, Mr. Asshole, let’s see how you like listening to nothing but country the rest of this trip.
“Country music will give you a song for every mood. All you have to do is listen. It tells a story in a way most other music can’t. The lyrics are honest and raw. Yeah, there are some whiny ones, but the bulk of it is beautiful.”
“Where did my Becca go, and who are you?”
She flipped him off. “Don’t be a music racist.”
“Then act like a grownup and listen to decent music.”
“Shut the hell up and pay attention the road.” His thumb inched toward the channel changer on the steering wheel. “Try it, and you’ll be missing a thumb.”
“Can I at least turn it down?”
“Sure, but not so low I can’t hear it.”
Dimitri bit back his smile. He loved riling Becca up. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. Seeing her like this in person was hands down better than laughing at her over the phone or her silly text messages.
“You do realize once we finally get to the hotel, we aren’t getting any sleep?”
“Why’s that?” His mind went to her in the shower, soap running down her shoulders, over her nice, firm ass, down her legs. Her head thrown back, relaxing after a long drive, the heat driving the tension from her muscles. He could make them tense up in a whole different way.
“You’ll be signing a hundred and sixty pre-orders.”
His fantasy screeched to a grinding halt. “What the fuck?”
“It’s why I scheduled to you to arrive a day early. So you’d have time to put together the swag bags, sign all your shit, and then set up your pre-orders. Signings aren’t all rainbows and unicorns, D. They’re a lot of work.”
“And you thought I was gonna do all that by myself?” His brow furrowed in consternation. No way in hell could he have gotten all that done.
“It’s for your fans. So, yeah, I know you would have done all that by yourself. Besides, I figured you’d have your flavor of the week with you and they would have helped out.”
“Nobody touches my shit but you, Becca. You know this. I wouldn’t have let anyone else near it.” He would have done it all and been grouchy as fuck the next day. “What did you order, anyway, and where is it? I didn’t get anything from UPS.”
“I had it all sent to the hotel to be held until you got there. I ordered some keychains, dog tags, charm bracelets, tons of paper swag, totes, and a gift basket I put together at home and mailed out to the hotel myself for the giveaway you donated to.”
“What giveaway?”
“You really didn’t read any of those emails, did you?”
He shrugged, unrepentant. His frustration with his physical therapy had been the only thing he’d focused on for months. He’d even missed his deadline twice for the new novel. Hard to focus on writing a happily-ever-after when he was depressed and angry all the damn time.
“I meant it when I said there was a good chunk of ticket sales from your fans coming to meet you. It says a lot when you have a hundred and sixty people pre-order your books to make sure they get a copy. They’re stoked to see you. Have you looked at your author page or checked out the event group page on Facebook?”
No, he hadn’t. The event had slipped his mind altogether until that reminder in Outlook had shocked the hell out of him and he panicked. He knew his books were popular, but most of his money came from the stock he’d invested in Nikoli’s gaming company. It allowed him to write and not to worry about running out of money. He’d worked damn hard on his success as an author, but he never really paid attention to the actual numbers. His accountant probably did, but knowing that many people wanted his books and were willing to come stand in line to see him? It floored him. Almost as much as seeing Becca’s ass this morning. Almost.
“If all they wanted to was to get a photo with you, they wouldn’t have spent their money on a signed copy of your books. They’d just stop by the table and ask for a photo. Do you understand what I’m saying, Dimitri?”
She wanted him to admit that they were coming because they loved his books and not his looks. He still didn’t buy it. Too many women threw themselves at him first for his looks and then for his money. It would take a lot more than her tossing numbers at him to make him believe his words actually meant something to others.
“Don’t you read your reviews?”
He learned long ago to stay away from reviews because once he started, he read them all, including the spiteful one-star reviews. Best to keep the temptation away. He’d been so excited when the first book he’d ever written was released. He stalked Amazon waiting for the reviews to start rolling in. When the first one and two stars started to trickle in, they’d put him in a corner, licking his wounds while devouring pints of cookies and cream ice cream. He’d spent six hours at the gym trying to work through his anger and frustration and burn off all that ice cream. Now, he just stayed away from reviews.
“No.”
“Well, one of the things we’re doing this weekend is looking at some of them. You need to understand how much people really do love your work.”
One of the things I’d like to do this weekend is bend you over the bed and fuck you so hard, you’ll remember it for a week, he thought darkly as they crossed the Virginia state line.
He listened absently as she gave him the rundown on the weekend’s event from table set-up to photo ops and lunch schedules. She went on about what to expect f
rom the people coming to greet him as they drove through Virginia. The sound of her voice soothed some of his anger. That was why he called her late at night when his depression was about to take him to dark and dangerous places. She always managed to shine a bit of light into the darkness surrounding him, enough to keep him afloat.
They continued to talk about the event, his books, his fans, anything book related for the next several hours. They switched places halfway through Virginia. His legs were killing him, and Becca offered to drive. He’d been hesitant at first, but she’d laughed her ass off, telling him her dad had her driving when she was ten. Another thing he didn’t know about her was that she was mechanically inclined. Cars, trucks, bikes…she could work on them all. Part of growing up with a motorcycle club, he guessed. He had no fucking clue how to work on a car. They went to the garage when they broke, and he picked them up when they were good to go.
The sky eventually bled from a brilliant blue to inky black. He blinked, not realizing he’d fallen asleep to the soulful tones of fucking country music. He turned his head and studied Becca as she drove, her thoughts a million miles away. She seemed peaceful as she hummed along to the radio. Carefree, nothing like the woman who’d piled into the Jeep early this morning. This was the girl he knew from their phone conversations, the girl who laughed at anything and always had him bristling from her teasing. She gave as good as she got from him. He riled her, and she did the same to him.
Fucking her would be so easy. Coming back from that? Knowing he would do it without any intentions of anything but a summer booty call? He’d rip her heart apart, and he’d lose his best friend. Watching her now, he knew he couldn’t let himself be that selfish. Her friendship meant everything to him. He had to resist the temptation that was Rebecca Joyce.
“Where are we?”
Becca jumped at the sound of his voice and glanced over at him before turning back to the road. “Just outside of Charleston. You’ve been asleep for hours.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Because you were exhausted.” He’d been yawning for a good two hours before he passed out. She didn’t mind the quiet either. Spending so much time by oneself tended to make you appreciate the gentle solitude of silence. “Once we get checked in, I’ll take a shower then come by your room and help you get everything ready.”
