“Too late.” He corralled her back against the wall, his arms fencing her in. “I’m your boyfriend, remember? I’m already involved.”
She finally looked at him, and the tension in her face softened into affection. “I know, Ethan, but—”
“No buts.” He tilted her chin up. “Now, what happened between you and your father?”
She chewed her bottom lip and tried to turn away, but every time she did, he guided her attention back to him. After a minute of trying to avoid his question, she said in a quiet voice, “I avoid my father because he’s my trigger.”
The air whooshed out of his lungs, and the angry rigidity in his arms slackened. “Are you planning on taking a hit?”
Her face drew up in disgust. “Absolutely not! I’ve been clean for too long to relapse just from something like this.”
“Then tell me why he’s your trigger.”
She opened her mouth, everything in her body screaming in protest, but he stopped her by placing his index finger on her lips. “You helped me when I was in a bad place. Now it’s my turn.”
That brief glimpse of gratitude bloomed in her eyes, and he knew he’d done the right thing pressing the issue.
She took a deep breath, her toe still tapping its rapid beat, and then grew still as she exhaled. “My mother was a heroin addict, too. She overdosed when I was a baby, so I have no memory of her. But my father did. And it became apparent at a very early age that I was just like her.”
Becca played with one of the tiny beads on her skirt as she continued. “My father thought that if he controlled everything, if he kept me on the straight and narrow, I wouldn’t end up like my mother. What started out as a gesture of concern became smothering. If I walked in a minute past my ridiculously early curfew, I was punished. If I made a B instead of an A, I never heard the end of it. If I had a hair out of place or gained a couple of pounds, I was lectured on how my appearance reflected negatively on the family. By the time I got to my teen years, I lived in constant fear of him finding some fault in me. And he always found something wrong.
“My relief came through a skiing accident. I broke my ankle and got Percocet for the first time. And oh my god, what an epiphany it was. When I was on the meds, I didn’t care about anything. I could be in my father’s company and not suffer the gut-wrenching panic that I’d do something wrong. It was the release I’d been searching for, and for once in my life, I felt peace.”
Ethan’s heart squeezed a little tighter as he listened, knowing all too well what she was talking about.
“I went through the first bottle, then the second, then the third. My ankle healed, but the craving never went away. I started raiding my parents’ and grandparents’ medicine cabinets for more. I faked a back injury. I found contacts at school who could supply me with more Percocet. But when the cost got too high, I was introduced to the cheaper fix from heroin.”
She gave a rueful laugh. “I’d been using for well over a year before Claire noticed the track marks. Daddy had a shit fit when he found out and forced me into rehab, but we both know what happened next.”
He recalled her story of how she almost died before going clean for good.
“The night I overdosed, I was at a charity event like this with my parents. My father criticized my dress for being too revealing, so I retreated to the bathroom and shot up so I could make it through the rest of the evening.” She drew in another deep breath. “The rest is history.”
Part of Ethan physically ached for her. He’d always wondered why someone as privileged as Becca would turn to drugs, but he’d just assumed it had been out of boredom or to fit in with her fellow partiers. “So that’s why you avoid him?”
She nodded and stared at the toes of her now-still shoes. “I realized during my second stint in rehab that I’d be better off not dealing with the constant pressure he put on me, so I cut myself off from him. I have lunch with Claire once in a while, and I talk to my younger brother, Jacob, at least once a week, but I haven’t spoken to my father in almost two years.”
He couldn’t imagine cutting himself off from his family. Yes, his old man had given him a hard time growing up, but he’d also encouraged Ethan’s love of music and stood behind his decision to forgo college and hit the road with the band. And as much as his mother and brothers annoyed him with their constant need to check on him, he knew it was because they cared. He was thankful to have a large family that gave a damn about him.
Now he just had to help Becca realize her family did, too.
“So what’s this about Thanksgiving?” he asked.
“Jacob called a couple of weeks ago and asked me to join the family at our cabin in the Catskills for Thanksgiving. I tried to tell him no, but he wouldn’t back down until I at least said I’d think about it.”
“Sounds like both he and Claire would like for you to be part of the family again.”
“Yeah, but look what a mess I became when I saw my father across the room. Now imagine what would happen if I was sitting at the table with him for an hour or more.”
He cradled her hand in his own and kissed her knuckles before pressing it against the spot in his chest where his heart beat. “I’ll be there with you.”
Her lips parted in surprise. “Really, you don’t have to do that. My family is fucked up, and I’m sure you’d much rather spend Thanksgiving with yours.”
“They’ll understand.” He closed the space between them until their foreheads touched. “Please, Bec, let me help you the way you helped me. I’m not suggesting you have dinner with your father every Friday night, but I think we can get through Thanksgiving dinner together.”
Her eyes glistened with tears, but she managed to blink them back before they fell. She squeezed his hand in return. “Okay, then. Together.”
“Good.” He took a step back and looped her arm through his. “Why don’t we tell Claire she’ll need to set the table for two more guests?”
Becca shook her head and gave him the first smile he’d seen since she’d bumped into her stepmother. “Oh, no. Not tonight. I’ll text her tomorrow. Right now, I just want to forget about my father and enjoy the rest of the evening with you.”
“I can live with that.” They went downstairs and joined Ari at a table, not bringing it up again for the rest of dinner.
Chapter Twelve
“I’m going to be sick.”
“My driving isn’t that horrible,” Ethan teased as he drove the rented Mercedes G-class SUV along the snow-covered country road.
She only wished she could blame it on being in a car for the last two hours. The closer they got to her father’s cabin, the tighter the knots in her stomach squeezed. In a couple of miles, she’d be ready to hurl.
As though he knew what she was worried about, he reached over and wrapped his hand around hers. “It’ll be okay, Becca. We can get through this.”
Not her. We. For some strange reason, he was in this for the long haul, and her heart did a little flop. Every other guy she’d dated had been so terrified of her father, they’d take off at the first sign of his presence. But Ethan had not only agreed to come to the Catskills for Thanksgiving dinner, but for the whole weekend. She just hoped that he wouldn’t come to his senses halfway through and say, “Forget this.”
“Let’s find something to distract you,” he suggested.
Yeah, something besides how good it would feel to shoot up and block out this whole weekend.
“Um, how did your last recording session go?”
“Really well.” He grinned, his eyes never leaving the road. The snow fell heavier as the SUV wound up the mountainside.
“Care to expand on that?”
“I played with some new riffs, and it added a whole new level to the song.”
They hit a patch of ice under the snow, and the rear end of the SUV fishtailed. Becca gripped the door handle and clamped her jaw shut, so scared that if she opened her mouth, she’d puke. When her pulse returned to normal, she asked, “
How so?”
“It created more depth.” He slowed the car down as the incline grew steeper. “It’s strange doing this solo album. On one hand, I still miss collaborating with Ty and the other guys, but on the other hand, it’s so freeing. I’m finally getting to make music I like, to record the songs that speak to me.”
“Any chance I can hear a demo soon?”
He shook his head, just as he had every other time she’d asked. “Not until it’s ready.”
“And when will that be? When you launch it on iTunes?”
He laughed. “No, Bec, I’ll let you hear it before then. I’m just still trying to sound it out, if you know what I mean. Sort of like how you don’t let your editor see your rough notes for a story. You wait until you think it’s polished before turning it in. I feel the same way about my music.”
The GPS dinged, and he slowed down to a crawl. “Is this where I turn?”
She nodded, the queasiness reviving tenfold.
The car passed the metal gates that marked the beginning of her family’s property and inched up the narrow lane through firs that bowed down under the weight of the snow. She’d almost talked Ethan out of going this morning when the weather report called for a winter storm in the Catskills, but he’d shrugged it off by telling her he grew up in Chicago and could handle the snow. The trees cleared to reveal the sprawling Arts and Crafts style home surrounded by three smaller bungalows.
Ethan let out a low whistle. “I thought you said it was a cabin. Unless, of course, you were referring to one of those smaller ones there.”
She gave him a playful shove and found herself chuckling. “You should see the beach house in the Hamptons.”
“I have no room to talk. You should see my family’s ‘cabin’ on Geneva Lake. It had to accommodate all nine of us growing up.”
“This was actually one of my great-grandfather’s first hotels. When the area fell out of fashion in the seventies, we turned it into a vacation home.”
Ethan parked the SUV behind the other cars and turned to her. “Ready?”
“No,” she whimpered. She doubted she’d ever be ready to deal with her father.
“Come on, Bec, you’re strong enough to get through this. I’ll be on my best behavior and charm the socks off them.”
She wished she could agree with him. She wasn’t sure which one of them her father would attack first. At least Ethan had toned the rocker look down for the weekend. The cream-colored fisherman’s sweater he wore looked like something from an L.L. Bean catalog—perfect for a rustic weekend in the mountains. It covered his tattoos, and even though he hadn’t shaved this morning, his stubble appeared neatly groomed.
But he wore his favorite boots, much to her delight. She was grateful he was willing to fit in with her preppy family, but still retain part of himself.
She gathered her courage along with her weekend bag and nodded. “Let’s go.”
The warm scents of roasted turkey and maple-glazed sweet potatoes greeted her when she opened the front door. She breathed it in and focused on how tasty the meal would be instead of how torturous. “Hello?”
Mrs. Cordero, her parents’ housekeeper, appeared in the foyer with outstretched arms. “Rebecca, you made it.” She pulled her into a vicious hug that expelled the air from her lungs. “How are you, mai?”
Becca unraveled her scarf while she caught her breath. “Good, and you?”
“I can’t complain.” She took Becca’s coat and turned to Ethan. “And who is this? ¡Estás bueno!”
Ethan grinned at the middle-aged Puerto Rican woman batting her eyelashes at him and flirted right back. “You first, bonita.”
Mrs. Cordero’s plump cheeks reddened. She pulled Becca aside and whispered, “I like him already. You should keep him.”
Becca chuckled. “I think I might.”
It was becoming easier and easier to fall in love with Ethan Kelly. She couldn’t help but grin like a goofy, lovestruck teenager whenever she thought of him. He could be moody and reserved at times, but he was always there when she needed him. Thoughtful and intelligent, he knew how to soothe her soul when it was troubled and how to make her body writhe with pleasure. But most important, he made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world whenever he looked at her.
“Ethan, this is Mrs. Cordero. She’s been with my family as long as I can remember. Mami, this is my boyfriend, Ethan.”
His chest puffed up when she introduced him. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Cordero.”
“Oh, yes, I like him.” She giggled behind her hand before waving for them to follow her. “You’re just in time for dinner.”
Mrs. Cordero ran the vacation home the same way she did her parents’ home in Manhattan—with well-ordered discipline tempered by her jovial mood. It was no surprise at all to find her orchestrating the holiday dinner down to the precise second Becca’s father requested. When they arrived in the oversized dining room, two maids were already placing the appetizers in front of the guests. She left Becca and Ethan to give the maids a few more orders in Spanish before chasing them back into the kitchen ahead of her.
The warm, affectionate welcome of the housekeeper contrasted sharply with the cool, dissecting one she received from her family. Her father sat at the head of the table, his hard blue-green gaze picking her apart before shifting to Ethan. The rest of the family—aunts, uncles, cousins—sat quietly in the seats as though they were waiting for permission to eat.
Claire stood from her place on the opposite end of the table and gave Becca a slight hug. “Becca, I’m so glad you and your boyfriend made it. We were getting worried.”
“Yes, you’re three minutes late, Rebecca,” her father said in a steely voice. “You and your guest are holding up dinner.”
Two faults already, and I haven’t even sat down. She forced a genteel smile on her face and followed Claire to the two empty seats at the table.
Thankfully, Ethan spoke up. “Sorry about that, Mr. Shore. The roads were getting a bit dodgy with all the snow, and I wanted to be extra careful with Becca in the car.”
Claire tilted her head in a silent “Aw,” but her father remained unmoved. He stabbed his fork into the corn fritters, his attention completely fixed on Ethan. “So are you normally a reckless driver when my daughter’s with you?”
Oh, shit! I can just see Daddy losing it when Ethan tells him about his motorcycle.
But Ethan remained unfazed by her father’s accusation. “Not at all. In fact, I don’t even own a car. Don’t need one in the city.”
“So you’re subjecting her to riding in subways?”
Becca curled her fingers around her fork and bit back the snarky response that sat poised on her tongue. If her father hadn’t cut her off, she wouldn’t be riding in subways to begin with.
“If she wants to.” Ethan dug into his fritter and finished chewing before continuing. “I’ve been known to spring for a cab when she doesn’t.”
His nonchalant handling of her father’s interrogation amazed her, but she wondered how much longer he’d be able to keep it up. She’d seen him snap when pushed too far, and she didn’t want that to happen here. “Ethan is every bit a gentleman,” she told her father and prayed that would be the end of it.
But just to be safe, she sent a silent plea to her brother to help her out.
Jacob gave her the slightest of nods. “So, Ethan, how long have you been dating my sister?”
“Since around Rosh Hashanah.” He turned to her, desire flaring in his eyes. “It’s been a great two months.”
Her cheeks grew warm, and she couldn’t help but smile. “Agreed.”
“You’re Jewish?” Jacob continued.
“No, I’m not, but Becca was kind enough to invite me to dinner for the holiday and explain some of the customs to me.”
Her father’s nostrils flared, and he opened his mouth, but Claire cut him off before he could speak. “And what did you think of them?”
“They were sweet—literall
y and figuratively.”
His joke made her uncle laugh, and the rest of the dinner guests eased into the meal.
Everyone, that was, except Becca and her father.
She kept her head low, her attention focused on her plate so she wouldn’t make some gaffe at the table. While Claire directed the conversation around what Jacob and her cousins were doing, Becca’s father continued to openly glare at Ethan like he was some gigolo who’d defiled his daughter.
They made it safely through the pear and walnut salad and the butternut squash bisque, but when the main course came out, Ethan pushed up the sleeves of his sweater to reveal his tattooed arms.
Her father’s eyes bugged out. It was just the opportunity he was looking for to resume his interrogation. “So, Ethan, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a musician,” he replied before stuffing a forkful of turkey in his mouth.
Becca closed her eyes and prayed her father would stop, even though she knew better. Ethan’s occupation had rekindled her father’s opinion that she was nothing more than a fuck-up and added fuel to the fire.
“Musician, huh?” Her father arched one brow, his fork still hovering over his plate. “Isn’t that just another term for ‘unemployed’?”
“Daddy!” She’d had enough of this. “Will you just stop?”
Ethan placed his hand over hers, calming her. “It’s okay, Bec. I’m used to people assuming that.” Then he turned to her father. “I was in a band, but we broke up, and I’m pursuing a solo effort now.”
“Which means you’re between jobs.” Her father sliced his meat with more force than necessary. “I bet you think you’re lucky to have found my daughter.”
“I’m thankful for every day I’ve known her,” he replied, giving her a smile that made her insides turn to goo.
Every female at the table appeared to be affected in a similar fashion, but her father continued to massacre his meal, his eyes never looking up from his plate. He gripped the knife like he wanted to stab someone, not cut the tender turkey breast.
A Seductive Melody (The Kelly Brothers Book 5) Page 12
