Had she really lost her best friend through all of this?
A sob escaped her lips, and she squeezed her eyes shut, pushing a flood of tears down her cheeks.
Charlie sucked in a breath. “Hey, look at me.”
She did, caught off guard by his smile. What could he possibly smile about when she stood before him a broken shell of herself?
He swiped at her cheeks, took a quick look around, then lowered his head conspiratorially. “You know what you need?”
A wakeup call. She shook her head.
“A dip in that ol’ pond over there. A Mills’ style baptism to cure what ails ya.”
Tamryn tilted her head and gazed out at the moon’s reflection on the surface of the pond. “It’s kinda cold for a swim—”
“Bullshit. The Tammy I know would already be naked and racing me to the edge.”
Memories of summers spent sneaking through the fence to skinny-dip until Old Man Mills caught them rushed back to the forefront of her mind. Carefree and wild…when had she lost that part of herself?
“There’s nothing that a midnight swim can’t fix,” Charlie whispered.
That might have been true when they were teens, but she doubted that was the case now. With a sigh, she stepped back from Charlie. “Last one in’s a rotten egg!” She ducked past him, taking advantage of his momentary shock to get the upper hand and beat him into the water. Sprinting toward the water’s edge without looking back, she stripped down to nothing but a bra and panties, leaving a trail of discarded clothing in her wake. As she reached the shore, she leapt into the air. Just as she broke the surface, her brain registered the giant splash to her left.
Damn that Charlie Morris! He always had been faster than grass through a goose!
“Goddammit.” Jake paced through The Bar, across the dancefloor, around the pool table, from one end to the other, over and over. He’d never felt so foolish in all his twenty-six years.
He’d accused his best friend of something awful, punched some kid who was obviously just being a good friend to TB when Lord knows he wasn’t, and pushed the person he cared about most in the world even further away from him.
“What the hell is wrong with me?”
He needed to run. Or punch things. Or both. Maybe a long ride on the bike.
Or a good fuck.
No, that was the last thing he should do. No more random lays until he figured this shit out.
He stripped off his shirt, slipped on his running shoes, did some jumping jacks for warm up, then strode into the cool, dark night.
After a three mile run, as dawn’s violet glow began to peek over the mountain ridge in the east, Jake’s desire to punch things had dwindled, but his agony and restlessness hadn’t waned.
Gripping the large wooden door of the barn, he slid it open across the dirt, early morning light shining on his baby. “Hey, girl,” he whispered, stepping inside the barn and tapping the seat of his dad’s ‘48 Panhead.
He examined his half-face helmet for unwanted critters, tapped on it and shook it a few times for good measure—never could be too sure—then placed it on his head and tightened the strap. As the adrenaline from his run slowly dissipated, goose bumps rose on his exposed skin as a cool breeze brushed past. He opened the door to his pickup, smiling when he found his red plaid Pendleton wadded up behind the seat. He shook it out, pulled it on forgoing the buttons, and climbed onto his bike.
The bike purred beneath him, rumbling low and steady as she warmed up. A peacefulness settled into his bones, his muscles relaxing, ready for the ride he so needed. No better way to clear his head than a ride. Or a good pull of whiskey. Or a woman.
Hell, it was a woman who got him here in the first place and it was too damn early for whiskey. It had been far too long since he’d taken his bike out for a ride. He released the brake and pulled out into The Bar’s dirt lot, then onto the main road, his flannel shirt flapping like a flag behind him as the sun slowly lit the sky.
With the wind on his face and the roar of the engine, he rode straight through town, passing the Dixie with a scowl, the hardware store, Randy’s old house, the cemetery where two of the most important men he’d known lay resting, past the high school, the Tastee Freeze, and Syd’s coffee shop—the only place with a sign of life at this ungodly hour. He rode right through town, aimlessly letting the road guide him, the wind take him…
Straight to Franklin Mill’s place, long ago deserted by the Mill family and only recently rented out.
To Charlie fucking Morris.
He pulled to a stop beside that kid’s dirt bike, his heart beating fast. He hadn’t planned on coming here; at least, he didn’t think so. Clearly, his subconscious had another agenda.
But what now?
Jake looked back in the direction he came, gauging the sun’s ascent over the eastern mountains, guessing it was barely six o’clock. What a schmuck; he couldn’t just stroll up and knock on the door at the butt crack of dawn.
He sighed, listening to the low rumble of his bike, and wishing TB would just walk outside, make this easier on him.
But, what the hell would he say to her?
Chapter
Eighteen
The reverberating idle of a motorcycle stirred Tamryn from a light, restless sleep, drawing her swollen eyes open to the soft, grayish-purple glow of morning light. She rubbed her eyes, glancing at the clock on the DVR; who was making so much noise before even six A.M.?
She listened to the purr of the bike’s engine. Had Charlie planned on going somewhere early this morning? She searched her sleep-addled brain, but couldn’t remember him telling her anything like that.
She groaned, sitting up on the couch as Charlie’s bedroom door opened and he stomped down the hallway.
Oh. Not Charlie then.
Tamryn’s tired eyes widened and she sat up straighter. “Is someone stealing your bike?”
Charlie threw a glare over his shoulder. “That ain’t my bike.” His scowl registered in her mind just as the low, rhythmic rumble finally rang familiar bells.
All at once, her heart soared and her stomach slammed into the floor. She jumped up, dropping her blanket, bringing her fingertips to her lips. He’d come. Fighting a smile, Tamryn stepped around the coffee table, bumping her shin in her haste, then rushed to the door.
Charlie blocked her way, a frown pulling at his full lips, eyebrows drawn down over dark brown eyes. “Don’t go out there. I’ll handle him.”
She sighed, shaking her head, then placed a hand on his arm. “Please let me by. I have to at least hear him out. I owe him that much.”
“Why? What could you possibly owe him?” He threw a hand up. “What has he ever done for you?”
Tamryn smiled a sad smile. “More than you’ll ever know, Charlie. I’m sorry; I know it’s difficult since you’ve been gone for so long, but Jake…well, he’s family.” So much more than family.
Charlie scoffed. “Family? Is this what family does to each other? I’m pretty sure he sent you crying to my house in the middle of the night—twice, now, I might add—and now you’re crashing on my couch. Or is it not the way it looks?”
His smirk made her blood boil. She nodded at the door. “Excuse me, please.”
“Fine. Hear him out.” Charlie raised his hands and stepped aside. “But I’ll be right inside if he tries anything.”
Tamryn took a deep breath, opening the door as the engine cut off. She stepped outside, eyes downcast, shut the door behind her, then swallowed and looked up.
Her heart stuttered in her chest.
Jake climbed off his bike, flannel shirt unbuttoned over a bare chest and low-slung sweatpants, dark hair standing up and falling in all different directions… disheveled had never been so sexy. She inhaled a shaky breath, then stepped to the edge of the porch.
He looked good enough to eat, and she’d be wise to hightail it right back inside.
Jake’s gaze held hers hard and steady as he strode toward her, slowly, tentative
ly. She stepped down to the third step, but stopped. He could meet her in the middle.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice almost too loud in the serenity of early country morning.
His ice-blue eyes stared straight to her core. “Come home.”
Her breath faltered. “Jake…”
“You don’t belong here, with him. You belong with me.” His lip curled as he looked past her to the house. “Does soldier boy even know how to take care of you?”
She exhaled a long sigh. Until Jake realized she wasn’t looking for someone to take care of her, they’d continue this back and forth, never truly getting anywhere but right back where they started. He’d always be the white knight and she’d always be the damsel he had to save, protect, whatever. A relationship—of any nature—wouldn’t work for them if he couldn’t see past the little girl she once was.
Tamryn blinked long and hard, drawing in a deep breath. “I don’t need to be taken care of, Jake.” Her voice cracked, tears threatening, their presence always so close, so near to breaking free these days, so at the ready.
Jake shook his head. “My words aren’t coming out right, TB. That’s not what I mean.”
“Then tell me what you mean.”
“Can I come up there?”
A floorboard creaked just inside the door.
“Probably not a good idea. I don’t want you to wake the guys.”
Jake’s jaw hardened, but he gave a curt nod. “Come down here, then, please?”
She squared her shoulders, a war battling inside her. She sucked in a breath as her heart won over her head, and she stepped the rest of the way down the stairs, closing the distance between them too quickly to change her mind. Close enough to smell him now, she inhaled his familiar, earthy scent. Her stomach fluttered around in her torso like a rum-soaked butterfly. She opened eyes she didn’t remember closing, meeting a stare she didn’t remember missing quite this much.
“Hey,” he whispered.
“Hey.”
“I miss you.”
She smiled. “I miss you too, Jake.”
“Then it’s a deal? You’ll come home?” He smiled, his right cheek dimpling.
“I wish it was that easy, but I don’t think you get it. Still, after all this time, you don’t get it. I’m not a little kid anymore. I’m not just someone’s little sister. I don’t need you, or Reed, or anyone else for that matter”—she shot a quick glance back at the house where Charlie probably listened at the window—“looking out for me or taking care of me. I’m a grown woman now. I can take care of myself. I have dreams, and goals, and I want you to…” She paused, really considering her words, what she truly wanted from Jake. “I need you to see me, Jake.”
“I do. I do see you, TB.”
She didn’t correct him, didn’t remind him—again—that she didn’t go by TB anymore, that TB had died with Colby, with her youth, her innocence. With that wild and carefree version of herself she’d had a brief glimpse of last night.
That was the before version of herself. Before she lost her brother and the world lost a bit of its luster.
“If you truly saw me, Jake, we wouldn’t be here.” She took a step back, the hardest step she’d ever made.
He matched her step, then followed with another so they were just inches apart.
She looked up into mournful blue eyes.
“I see you, God, do I see you.” He reached for her chin, cupping it gently and running his thumb over her lip, pulling it gently from her teeth. He licked his lips, leaned down, and brushed them against hers, once, twice, so softly that she wondered if this was all a dream. Her heart pounded in her chest, cheeks burning and legs tingling, threatening to go out on her.
“Please come home to me, TB.”
“That’s not my home.” The home where he’d tuck her back into her bed and close the door to bang someone else next door either tomorrow or next week. She clenched her eyes shut, willing the tickle of tears away, then stepped out of his grasp. “I’m not sure it ever really was. I’m sorry, Jake.” She turned before opening her eyes, then ran back up the steps and into the house.
“Oh, but this is!” Jake shouted after her.
Charlie stood just inside the door, but she didn’t stop, didn’t allow him to console her and feed his hope any further. She refused to allow him the satisfaction of seeing her in tears once more over stupid Jake and her stupid feelings for him. She didn’t need any I told you so right now. She passed him and didn’t stop until she was safely inside the bathroom, door closed and locked behind her.
She plopped to the floor, slid her fingers into her hair, gripping roots, forehead on palms, and cried for Jake Johnson again.
Jake couldn’t move. He wanted to, oh how he wanted to, but his feet remained firmly in the dirt. He wanted to run after her, but didn’t. Wanted to call her name, but couldn’t find his voice. Wanted to bang down the door, but couldn’t remember how.
He’d finally done it, finally gone after her, and she’d shot him down. He shook his head, or, maybe it had been shaking all along, and tried to rectify what he’d hoped—expected—would happen with what actually happened.
“She doesn’t love you,” he whispered, so softly the breeze took the words away. He was a right fool. His chest burned. Constricted, throbbing…he recognized the feeling. He’d felt this raw, consuming ache before. First with Colby, then with Pop. He knew heartbreak all too well, it was the familiarity and torment of an ex-lover that wouldn’t release him.
The door to the old Mills’ place creaked open, and Jake’s heart sprang to life again. He looked up, hope blossoming in his heart—
That Charlie punk stepped outside, arms crossed over his bare chest.
Jake’s hope plummeted with each of Charlie’s footfalls as he made his way to the driveway, stopping a few feet from Jake.
“She doesn’t want to be with you, Johnson. Take a hint.”
Jake shook his head. “That’s none of your business.”
Charlie stood taller, dropping his hands to his side. “No? Sure seems like my business.”
Jake smirked. If it was a competition this kid wanted, Jake would give it to him, and judging by the flowering of purple and yellow on his cheek and the dark spot beneath his eye, Jake was already ahead in the game. He stood taller, towering over Charlie, and wider than him by a good two inches on either side, easy. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “Look, kid, I get that you had a thing for TB back in high school, but that’s in the past. Time to move on.”
The kid glanced back at the house, then met Jake’s gaze once more, a smile pulling at his smug mouth. “Sound advice. You should take it.”
Jake squinted, then glanced past Charlie to the house. “I’m not giving up on that girl.”
“My girl.”
“What?” Jake’s muscles went rigid; his fingers twitched, so he clenched his fists as he brought his eyes back to Charlie’s. Was it possible to strangle a person with their own dog tags?
Jake wanted to find out.
“Why do you think she’s staying here, bro, the good food?” He chuckled. “Nah. We’re back together. I’ve been tryin’ for a couple weeks now, but after last night, well”—Charlie grinned—“I guess I should thank you.”
Jake deflated, his shoulders falling with his hope, his heart. He shook his head, but the kid’s words made sense, and, one by one, each painful piece of the puzzle clicked into place. The way TB said goodbye to him right after Charlie reappeared in her life. The way she’d rushed straight over here when she moved out of Jake’s house. The fact that even now, when Jake asked her to come home, she refused, running back into Charlie’s house instead of into Jake’s arms.
Arms that ached to hold her even still.
Jake’s eyebrows drew down over his eyes as he met the kid’s gaze once more. I waited too long.
Charlie smiled, then winked. “Have a good day, man. I’m gonna hop back into bed, if you know what I mean.”
Jake leaned forward, but caught himself, clenching his jaw and his fists.
Charlie raised an eyebrow and chuckled, then turned and strode inside, his shoulders shaking at Jake’s expense.
Jake’s blood flowed hot, like lava burning through his veins. With twitching fingers and a shattered heart, he climbed back onto his bike and rode away from the girl he loved, once and for all.
He’d never been anyone’s joke, and the thought of TB and Charlie laughing at what a fool he’d just made of himself cut like a motherfucker.
Tearing into The Bar, Jake went straight for the whiskey, but not just any bottle. He strode behind the two rows of shelves where he kept his bar stock, slipping into the tiny office he rarely used. Beside the desk on a small, wall-mounted shelf sat a picture of him and Colby, sitting on the back of Jake’s pickup, tailgate down, feet up, fishing poles in hand. Jake’s arm around Colby’s shoulder, the two of them almost looked like brothers.
Hell, they’d felt like brothers.
Jake reached beside the picture for the bottle of Tam o’Shanter, gripping the neck and wiping the layer of dust off with the hem of his flannel shirt. A high school graduation gift from the old man, Jake had eventually tucked the bottle away, saving it to celebrate Colby’s safe return from Afghanistan.
He smirked. “Well, that’s not going to happen, is it, friend?” Heart in his throat, Jake opened the bottle, inhaled a deep, whiff, hints of oak and spice tickling his senses. His eyelids drooped as his mouth watered, then he raised the bottle to the photograph. “Cheers, brother. Here’s to really muckin’ things up.”
He brought the bottle to his lips and took a long pull, the amber liquid burning his throat in the best possible way, heating his chest as it descended. He closed his eyes, allowing the flavor to consume him, chocolatey, spicy, hints of ginger on the finish…
Whiskey Burned (Flawed Heroes Book 2) Page 11
