The Rebel: A Bad Boy Romance

by Aria Ford

  I managed to do them quite successfully. I went off to the boardroom feeling confident. As I did so, it occurred to me that it was meeting Bethany that had made me more confident. I let myself smile, remembering her sweet face, before I carefully erased it from my mind. That was not for me.

  The meeting went off well. I left quietly satisfied with myself. I worked until five thirty and then drove home. I reached my block of flats and decided I couldn’t go in.

  The whole place is going to make me think of her. And I want to forget her. It was a one-off. It’s back to reality now. I drove past and found myself heading to the gym. As I drove there, my mind chased itself around in crazy circles.

  Your mom left because of you. She couldn’t put up with the conflict. You were the son your father never wanted. He always said he didn’t want kids and that was why he and Mom split.

  Somehow, the sweet, smiling face of Bethany and the haunted, ravaged one of Mom blurred together. I got out, changed and hit the treadmill, trying to run out the frustration and the hurt.

  “Kyle!” the voice of my trainer broke my focus. The images broke, replaced with his frown.

  I stopped running and leaned forward, exhausted.

  “Hell, man,” Glenn, my trainer, frowned. “What’re you doing? You know you’re supposed to be taking it easy on those hamstrings.”

  I shook my head wearily. “Sorry, Glenn,” I sighed. “Just got distracted.”

  I had already run five miles. He shook his head. “Take it easy, huh,” he said with a concerned frown. “Something worrying you at work or something?”

  I shook my head. “No, Glenn, it’s nothing. Truly. Just me and my stupid mind.”

  Glenn frowned but said nothing. He knew me better than anyone. And knew that, when I was locked in this place of self-loathing, it was better just to walk away.

  I worked out until seven and then went home. At least, when I got into the apartment, I was too tired and hungry and distracted to think about Bethany or remember the time we’d spent together. I showered, made dinner and then collapsed wearily onto the couch.

  I checked my phone hopefully, but she hadn’t sent a message. Well, nor had I. I was a real ass. I could at least have checked she was home safe.

  No, Kyle. I shook my head and made myself return the phone to its place carefully. Our worlds didn’t fit together and she was going back to Miami soon. Better by far just to let her go. And let myself forget.

  Chapter 11: Bethany

  .I heard Mom come in at around six thirty as she was returning from an afternoon coffee. I was at my desk upstairs, busy writing my conceptualization for the new collection. I didn’t look up. I knew I was burying myself in my work on purpose, trying not to think. As distractions went, it worked.

  “Sweetie?” Mom called.

  “I’m busy, Mom,” I called down with a sigh. I didn’t want my focus broken now.

  “Okay,” she called up cheerfully. “Rodney’s coming over.”

  “Oh?” I felt my heart lift a little. Rodney always cheered my outlook up. “Will he stay for dinner?”

  “That’s his idea.”

  “Great.”

  I set to work feeling a little more cheerful. All day, since waking up with Kyle beside me, I had been drifting in a peaceful, wistful place. My body still throbbed and ached with the sweet sense of him inside me. If I closed my eyes, I could almost see his body as he pushed into me, his skin sheened with sweat.

  I shook my head to clear it and focused on the report. I was almost done. I had been really productive today—probably because of the sweet peaceful feeling of waking up with him.

  I heard the door slam again and someone greet Mom. Then ask for me.

  “Rodney,” I called, hastily saving the document I was working on. “I’m coming now.”

  I checked my face in the mirror, grabbed my jacket and my phone and hurried downstairs. I had been checking intermittently for texts, just in case I heard from Kyle. I was hopeful in that.

  He could at least check I made it home alright.

  I knew it was silly. I mean, he had no obligation to me. But, really, I had felt a special closeness to him—a closeness that I had never felt with anyone, now that I thought about it—and it had looked, to me at least, like he shared that closeness.

  Come on, Bethany. You’re too imaginative. It was good sex—he enjoyed it and so did you. You’re too old to be moping around waiting for him to get in touch.

  I lectured myself briskly as I walked down the stairs. Rodney was standing at the bottom with a grin on his face, a bunch of sunflowers in his hand.

  “Bee!” he grinned. “So good to see you. Now. Are we going out or staying here?”

  “I’m cooking now,” Mom said briskly. “I’m making curry—your favorite. And thank you,” she added as he passed her the sunflowers with casual affection. “I love them.”

  He beamed. “I know they’re your favorite. Bee! How’re you doing?”

  I raised a brow. “Not too bad,” I said evenly. “I managed to get quite a lot of work done today.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Bethany Arabella, you are supposed to be on holiday for this week.”

  I sighed. I wished he hadn’t reminded me. It was Tuesday and I only had a few more days with them. And in San Diego. With Kyle here.

  “That’s true,” I observed lightly. “But sometimes the best time to do creative work is on holiday. I’m doing quite well with it.”

  “Oh?” Mom asked with interest. “Well, I love hearing about your work. Both of your work, now that you mention it. How was your day, Rodney?” she asked, putting the flowers on the kitchen table, which she’d already thoughtfully laid in anticipation of supper.

  Rodney chuckled wearily. “Not bad,” he said. “Tough boss, though.”

  “Boss?” I frowned, interested despite myself. “Not Kyle?”

  “Him too,” Rodney shook his head. “Really driven guy.”

  “Oh?” I frowned. That was something I had noticed about Kyle. The way he reined himself in. That, and the minimalist style. He was a man who kept a tight rein on himself. It was a weird quality—one that sat ill at ease with his reputation as a playboy.

  I pressed my lips into a grim line, thinking that it was silly of me to have read the tabloids about him. What would they know? If they portrayed him as a player, well, they had to sell copies.

  Rodney at least knows him. His opinion matters more.

  “Yeah,” Rodney was saying, rolling his shoulders as he took off his coat and settled himself at the kitchen table. “He’s one of those guys that can be kind of hard to work with. He pushes himself hard and he expects everyone else to be as driven and hardworking as he is. Tough guy.”

  “I can imagine,” I said dryly, trying to ignore the clenching of my tummy when someone mentioned Kyle Beckham.

  “He seemed a bit cold when we met him,” Mom commented, setting out plates with a familiar-sounding clatter. “I thought he was stuck-up.”

  “No, Mom,” I said, instantly on the defensive. “I think he’s shy. I thought he was a nice guy, myself.”

  The kitchen filled with a weird silence. They looked at me, frowns on their faces. I felt my cheeks heat with instant embarrassment.

  “I mean,” I said, backtracking, “he got talking with me and it seemed like it just took something to break the ice. He was a friendly guy—or he seemed that way to me, anyhow.”

  Rodney raised a brow. “He is a friendly guy. I like him. But, Bee…” he trailed off, frowning.

  “What?” I was defensive. Why was he looking at me like that?

  Mom was at the counter, dishing out curry and not looking behind her. Rodney rolled his eyes meaningfully in her direction, making a wide-eyed gesture. “Talk later, huh?”

  I frowned. “Okay…”

  “Guys! Here we are! Finally, ready.”

  Mom turned around with a big smile and set plates down before us, getting her own and sitting at the head of the table. I smiled at
her. It felt so good, here in the peaceful familiar space of her kitchen, with a peaceful, familiar meal laid out in front of us. I lifted my fork and tasted it, closing my eyes as a wave of nostalgia hit me. I was ten years old, suddenly, just coming back from track, tired and happy and excited. Mom and Dad were at the table, and little Rodney was toddling around on the floor. I swallowed hard, trying to suppress the sudden flood of happy thoughts.

  “I’m so blessed to have you both here,” Mom said, echoing my mood.

  “Me too, Mom,” I said, reaching out and taking her hand. Whatever else happened, I felt so lucky to have this closeness. These people I trusted.

  Trust. That’s the thing that Kyle doesn’t have. That hesitation, that aloofness. He didn’t trust.

  That was a revelation. I looked across at Rodney, who was eating with evident relish. I frowned.

  What was it he wanted to tell me about Kyle? I was suddenly impatient, wanting to hear all about it.

  The meal wore on. I enjoyed the discussion and the reminiscing, but there was a need in me to talk to Rodney alone. Eventually, after dessert of peach crumble and washing up the dishes, we had a moment alone in the study upstairs. Rodney was busy on some last-minute work in need of checking sent by a colleague. I followed him up, coffee clasped between my hands.

  “Bee,” he grinned. “Sorry to be rude. This damn thing… Blake wants to know where the thing is crashing. I hate C sharp. Why does he program in it?” He swore. I chuckled.

  “Sorry to hear it,” I said. “Is it a bad time?”

  “No, Bee!” He turned around, looking instantly apologetic. “It’s never a bad time to talk to you. I hardly see you. Sit down.”

  I smiled and watched as he went through reams of white lettering in a console, the thing looking like a crazy shopping list that didn’t make sense to me.

  “Yes!” He grinned. “There it is. He should really put the brackets where a person can see them…then he would have noticed he has one too few here. Got it!”

  I felt his happiness as he debugged the thing, and we leaned back, waiting for it to compile and work. While we waited, I framed a way to ask the question or to get the topic of Kyle to come up naturally.

  “I’m glad this is done,” Rodney said. “Like I said…tough boss.”

  I smiled. “Rodney, you said you wanted to tell me something?” I ventured. “About Kyle?”

  He turned to face me. He was frowning. “You liked him, yeah?”

  I felt instantly defensive. “Well, I did like him,” I said, quickly. “He’s a nice guy. Shouldn’t I like him?” I felt a sudden panic. What was it about him that I didn’t know? Was Rodney warning me? Or was he just feeling weird because I paid too much attention to his boss? Probably that.

  He shushed me gently. “Sorry, Bee,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just…be careful, okay?”

  “Careful?” I frowned. “Rodney, if this is about compromising your reputation, I assure you that no one’ll think you’re getting advanced because of me. I mean, how could they? You’re great.”

  He shook his head, looking shocked. “Bee! No! I wasn’t worried about me. Hell! I’m so sorry.”

  I frowned. “What, then?” I asked. “What do you want to tell me, Rodney?” I sighed. “Better just to come out with it. Far better to know.”

  “It’s nothing bad,” he demurred quickly. “Not really. Just…the guy’s difficult, okay. Wounded.”

  “Wounded?” That interested me. I had picked up that impression during our talks together. To have it confirmed was exciting. And scary. I leaned forward with interest, wanting to hear more.

  “Yeah,” Rodney nodded. “Listen, I’m telling you this because I trust you not to repeat it to anyone—when he told me, he trusted I wouldn’t spread it around.”

  I felt as if he’d slapped me. “You trying to say I’d betray his trust?” I was really hurt. I never tell secrets someone confides in me—it’s something that’s a huge source of pride to me. I don’t do it.

  “No, Bee,” Rodney looked upset. “You’re really touchy today. Did I do something that upset you?”

  I shook my head wearily. “No, Rodney. Just a long day. I’m sorry if I’m demanding. You can trust me not to tell,” I added softly.

  “I know I can,” Rodney said. “Well, Kyle had a tough past. Not that I know all of it, mind you. I know his parents are separated and he never sees his mom. I also know he…well, he did some stuff in his past he’s not proud of. That much I do know. Left school early. That kind of thing. I know he didn’t go to college. He feels really bad about it.”

  I stared. “Really?” Oddly, the first thing that came into my head was relief. That explained why he sometimes got so quiet and defensive! The second thing was tenderness. “Poor guy.”

  My brother nodded. “I can’t remember why he let me in on that secret. But it is a secret. He’s ashamed of it.”

  I nodded. “I understand.” I paused. I remembered how aloof and quiet he had seemed on that night when we met. When he found out what I did as my work he seemed to suddenly go quiet. I had interpreted it as scorn, which was why it had surprised me when later he had asked me out and then shown interest in my work. Now I understood it a bit more. He felt awkward about his own lack in the education department.

  “I guess it must be challenging sometimes,” Rodney agreed. “I wonder sometimes about him.”

  “You mean,” I paused. “What happened to him?”

  “Yeah,” Rodney nodded firmly. “I mean, his background is super wealthy. There was no way he couldn’t have gone to college, if he’d decided to go.”

  “Well, you said he quit school early,” I said, frowning. “And that he did stuff he was ashamed of in his youth. Was he a rebel, maybe?” I smiled in spite of myself, imagining a teenage Kyle.

  Rodney just shrugged. “Maybe,” he said.

  I was fairly sure we’d hit on something there. He was stubborn, Kyle. And he didn’t feel comfortable when he was out of his depth or was made to feel stupid. He would have been just the kind of kid, I reckoned slowly, to become a rebel. A harsh authority would have driven him to push against it.

  “I think he probably quit school to defy his dad,” I said.

  I almost sensed something there—some kind of friction between him and his father. Something he’d said during one of our conversations came back to me. Something about his dad.

  “Well, possibly,” Rodney shrugged uneasily. “I dunno. I just wanted to tell you he has… rough edges. I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”

  I looked into his eyes. Brown and concerned, they looked back at me. I sighed.

  “Rodney, why do you think I’m going to be hurt? I hardly know the guy!”

  I hadn’t told anyone about last night and I wasn’t planning on doing so. It was my special secret.

  He sighed. “Bee, I know you. I know him. I saw you enjoying that discussion with him and I haven’t seen you so alive with anyone before.”

  I closed my eyes a moment. “I did enjoy it,” I admitted slowly. “But, Rodney, I’ll be okay. I’m a thirty-two-year-old, and I have had my share of difficult relationships. I am not about to let a guy hurt me. Not again.”

  Rodney sighed. “I know, I do.” He shook his head and patted my shoulder gently. “And I know it’s not my place to tell you anything. I just felt bad.”

  “Bad?”

  “I screwed up, inviting him to the family thing. I thought he was a fun guy and that he could do with relaxing a bit. I was dumb to just invite him—I always act before thinking properly.”

  I stared at him. “Rodney, no! I was glad you brought him along. Fine, I was surprised at first, but after a while I did enjoy having him there. And don’t ever say you should think more. You think just as much as you need to.”

  Rodney chuckled. “I dunno, Bee. Maybe.” He shrugged.

  I squeezed his shoulder. “I know so. Look at that,” I added, pointing at the screen, where the code was still running. “Yo
u debugged that great!”

  He laughed. “People aren’t code, though,” he sighed. “I think it would be easier if they were, sometimes.” He laced his fingers together, distressed.

  “Well,” I frowned, thinking about it. “People aren’t that different than code. It’s not usually something big that’s wrong with someone. It’s the little things—the little betrayals and hurts, the little needs that are overlooked inside of us—that we carry. Like that missing bracket thingy, a small thing that were never there cause the most trouble.”

  Rodney stared at me. “Wow,” he said at length. “That’s true, Bee.”

  I blushed. I didn’t know where that had come from, but something inside me recognized it as the absolute truth. It was the little missing things that hurt the most.

  Like trust.

  That was the key. It was what Kyle had lost, what I had lost. I knew that like I’d never known anything before. If we could learn to trust again, it would change everything in our lives.

  I just had no idea at this moment in time if either of us were ever going to learn to trust again.

  “So?” Rodney asked gently.

  “So?” I frowned. I reached over and touched his hand. He turned his at the wrist to grip my fingers, firm and warm and reassuring.

  “So, you’ll be okay?” he asked.