Beneath the Stars

by Emily McIntire

  Our caseworker took us to our first home, said there would be other kids to play with. It was a normal-looking house in a normal-looking suburb outside of Nashville, a married couple with two other foster kids and a thirteen-year-old son of their own. They were nice enough, if not a little distant. Left us to our own devices most of the time.

  But their son was a fucking prick. He loved to prey on the vulnerable, and he saw it in Lily from the jump. Linda said we needed to be on our best behavior, and I thought she meant if we were, maybe mom would come back sooner, so I really tried to ignore this kid. But one afternoon I heard Lily cry and went outside to see he had ripped her bunny out of her hands and shredded it in front of her. My fist was in his face before he knew what hit him. Punk ass bitch.

  I guess his dad didn’t think much of an eight-year-old who could beat his teenage son’s ass and decided to teach me a lesson. Busted me up so good I still have the scar through my eyebrow.

  We were with that family for a little over a year, and he taught me a lot of “lessons” during that time. But the only thing I learned was bullies hit harder when you cry. They get off on the pain. So I taught myself how to lock it up tight and took the beatings with a smile on my face, knowing that as long as his attention was on me, it wasn’t on Lily.

  On the plus side, he never bothered her again.

  26

  Alina

  “Your brother’s comin’ home.”

  I blink across the table at Daddy. He says it so casually, like Eli visits all the time. My fork is halfway to my mouth, but I place it back down without indulging. “I’m sorry?”

  “Elliot’s comin’ home. Popped the question to that girlfriend of his. She wants to meet the family, see where he grew up. Look at a couple places to get hitched.”

  My mouth is gaping. Did I fall asleep and wake up in some alternate universe? I would swear Daddy’s three sheets to the wind already, but he’s not slurring yet, so I know that isn’t the case. “Eli’s gettin’ married?”

  Daddy nods, shoveling forkfuls of dinner into his mouth.

  “Here?”

  “Yes, here. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe ‘cause he hasn’t been home to see us since Mama died?” The words rush out, and I curse my lack of filter. Dang it.

  Daddy’s eyes darken. I flinch from the sound of his fork clattering to the plate. His chair scrapes back as he walks to the cupboard next to the sink, taking out his trusty friend Jack and refilling his glass. His third since dinner started.

  “Daddy, don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

  “Enough of what? Speak plain words, girl. I don’t have time for your riddles.”

  “You know what. Mama wouldn’t want this for you.”

  He spins around, leaning his back against the counter as he brings the tumbler to his lips and takes a big gulp. “I try to share the good news that Elliot’s comin’ back around, and all you wanna talk about is your mama? Well, guess what, Alina, she’s dead. She ain’t comin’ back. We were drivin’ to your recital when we lost her forever. You better find it in you to forgive your brother. You can’t blame him for not wantin’ to be around when you’re the reason his mama is gone.”

  I focus on my breathing. In and out. He doesn’t mean it. It’s not your fault.

  I blink back the tears and murmur, “I just worry about you.”

  He grunts, his nose already back in his glass, taunting me with his disregard.

  And so it goes.

  I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about Eli coming home. I’m mad he told Daddy first and didn’t think to include me. I stomp outside, pulling up his name on my phone, pressing send before I can second guess myself.

  “Hey, Lee.”

  “Married, Eli? Really?”

  I hear his heavy breath on the line. “Pops told you?”

  “Yes, Daddy told me. What the heck, you can’t call and tell me yourself? Gotta send the town drunk to do your dirty work?”

  “Don’t call him things like that.”

  “Well, it’s the truth, Eli. Not that you’d know about it.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Don’t get me started on what’s fair.” Pure, hot anger blazes at his careless words. Must be nice out in Florida, with his fancy girl, and his fancy life. “You gonna tell me about your girl? Sarah, right?”

  “Yeah, Sarah. And there’s not much to tell.”

  I snort. “Not much to tell? You sure do sound real crazy over her.”

  He sighs. “Crazy’s the last thing I’d want to feel. You’ll meet her soon, we’ll be down there in three weeks.”

  “Three weeks?”

  “Pops didn’t tell you that part?”

  “Daddy doesn’t tell me much these days, Eli.”

  I lean against the wall and temper the rage, telling myself it will be nice to have him back in town.

  Once I get home, I draw a bath, my knotted muscles whining for relief. Dipping in the water is instant relaxation, and I lean back, submerging in the water. My fingers brush against my breast, making me suck in a breath at how sensitive they feel. I repeat the motion and my nipples tighten. A spike of pleasure shoots straight to my core as I lightly tease my areola. It feels good.

  I continue the soft touch, closing my eyes as I remember the feel of Chase’s touch from the other day. I imagine his calloused fingers replacing mine to brush against my delicate flesh. A moan slips out as another burst of pleasure runs through me at the thought. My hand leaves my chest, sliding down, tickling my skin as I slip under the water and between my folds.

  I ghost my middle finger over my clit and suck in a breath. I swipe over it again, pressing down lightly, biting my lip at the sensation. I pretend it’s Chase’s thick finger rubbing. Teasing. Sliding inside.

  My core clenches, the muscles fluttering.

  I press my palm down, rotating it, water sloshing as my hips push forward for more friction.

  My breathing picks up as I picture Chase behind me, his hard chest against my back, his corded muscles wrapped around my waist while he holds me in place and plays me with his fingers. Whispers dirty words in my ear. I want his hands all over me. His arms surrounding me, his tongue tasting me. His thickness inside me.

  “Come for me baby, show me how good it feels.”

  My back arches at the memory of his voice, and I lose my breath. The wave of my climax washes over my body, my center pulsing as white-hot bliss surges through my veins.

  I lay still, hand between my legs, chest heaving, and my ears numb. Reason slowly filters back to me. I just masturbated to thoughts of Chase.

  I think I might be sick.

  My bath is ruined from my complete lack of self-control, so I drain it and slip into my coziest pajamas, curling under the blankets. I set my alarm so I don’t miss brunch with Becca in the morning and send up a quick prayer that Chase won’t be in my dreams.

  God doesn’t listen.

  The next morning, I pull into the parking lot of the diner. I haven’t talked to Becca since last week’s Saturday brunch, even though she’s been blowing up my phone. Avoidance—I’ve realized—is my go-to when it comes to telling my friends about Chase. But she’d kill me if I didn’t show up today, and I don’t think I can keep it in anymore. I’m no good with secrets.

  She texts me as soon as I park.

  Becca: Hello, is anybody there? Should I even bother waiting for you today? You’ve gone radio silent… wonder why that is?

  Me: Parking now! Just been busy.

  I rush inside. Becca’s glaring down at her phone, sitting at our usual spot in the back corner. I slide in the booth across from her, a smile plastered on my face.

  “Hey, girl.”

  She purses her lips as she gives me the once-over. “She lives.”

  I wave her off. “I’m sorry, Becca. You know it’s been crazy with the new job and all.”

  “Mmhm.” She sips from a mimosa and eyes me over the rim. “How is
the new job?”

  “It’s alright. My boss is kind of a ballbuster, but it’s nothin’ I can’t handle. I was lookin’ forward to all the cute little kids in their leotards, but she’s havin’ renovations done, so there’s nobody there except for me most days.”

  “Mmmm. Sounds thrillin’. An introvert’s paradise.”

  I giggle. “I don’t mind it.”

  The conversations from the tables around us fill up the silence. I fidget, taking a deep breath and vomiting out the words. “Chase is back.”

  She raises a brow. “I know.”

  I groan, throwing my head into my hands. “Dang it. How’d you know about that already?”

  “Ran into him the other day. He let it slip you knew he was back.”

  Guilt crawls around in my chest. “I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

  She watches me for a few seconds, her eyes growing hazy before she snaps back into focus. “I get it, I guess. We all have secrets. How’d you find out he was back anyway?”

  “Ugh, that’s the worst part. He’s the contractor doin’ the reno at the studio. Caught me totally off guard when I walked in on my first day, and he was just standin’ there.”

  “What?” She laughs. “That’s some twisted sort of luck. I bet Jax lost his shit when you told him.”

  My head drops. The napkin I’m tearing apart becomes the most interesting thing in the world.

  “Alina… tell me you’ve told Jax.”

  “I swear, I’m gonna call him tonight.”

  “Girl, you better.”

  “Oh, and you’ll never guess what else.”

  “Does it have to do with you, Logan, and a bottle of lube?” She grins.

  I roll my eyes. “No, you deviant. Eli’s comin’ home.”

  She jerks. “What?”

  “You heard me. Daddy dropped the bomb on me last night at dinner.”

  “What?”

  I nod and make a face. “I know. Get this, he’s gettin’ married.”

  “What?”

  “Are you broken?” I joke. “Is that all you can say?”

  Her arm wraps around her stomach, the color draining from her face.

  My brows furrow. “Hey, are you okay?”

  She shakes her head, her fiery curls whipping around her face. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just suddenly don’t feel too well. Those damn mimosas.” She musters up a hint of a smile. “I’ll be okay, nothin’ good food and some water won’t fix.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  She winks, taking a chunk of bread from the basket in the center of our table and starts rambling about her high schoolers. I relax, knowing the Chase conversation is tabled, for now.

  When I call Jax later that night, he doesn’t answer.

  27

  Chase

  It’s Monday and the results finally came back from the lab. Luckily, asbestos is not a problem. Thank fuck. I’m more than ready to get the ball rolling with this project. Anxious to prove to the guys on my team I’m more than just Sam’s son. That I actually know what the hell I’m doing. It’s already past four p.m., but I tell Jack I’m planning to head over and work through the evening. I want to catch up on lost time. He decides to join me and manages to grab a couple of other guys willing to put in some extra hours.

  By the end of the night, we’ve made some nice progress, so I tell the guys to stop at the local bar on the way back for a round, on me. The bar’s a little outdated, dark, and dingy with sticky tables, but for a group of guys who are coming off a job site, a cold beer and a few apps are all we need to be happy.

  We’re shooting the shit, winding down from the day when one of the younger kids on the crew, Matt, leans back and groans. “Man, there are no girls in this place. I was hopin’ I’d be able to find one and show her a good time before I head back home. Guess I’ll have to call one of my weekend ladies, see if she’s down for a Monday night special.” He wiggles his brows.

  Jack chuckles. “Son, who you tryin’ to impress? No one at this table gives a damn about your made-up girlfriends. Save the imagination for later when you’re entertainin’ your hand.”

  I grin into my beer. Jack is the oldest one here—around Sam’s age. There’s a good dynamic he has going with his crew. It makes me confident in my decision to uproot my life and come back to run this company.

  “Oh, shit. Look at this guy.” Matt laughs, gesturing toward the bar. My gaze follows where he’s pointing. The bartender is leaned over the bar top, jaw set, and hands tensed. The man he’s talking to has his back to us, but it’s clear to see he’s smashed. He sways in place on his stool, stumbling as he moves to stand.

  “I bet that guy’s in here every night embarrassin’ himself,” Matt sneers. “Why the hell do people let themselves get sloppy like that? It’s pathetic.”

  My head whips in his direction. “Shut the fuck up.”

  Poking fun at a possible drinking problem is not the way to stay on my good side. I’ve seen what addictions can do—felt the judgment from people who don’t understand. I won’t sit back and let ignorant comments slide.

  Raised voices bring my attention back to the altercation at the bar. “I don’t give a shit! I’m a goddamn… I’m a payin’ customer and I’m payin’ for another… I want a damn drink.” The man flails as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet, slapping it on the bar top. His back is still toward us, but something about him pulls my stomach, jostling the contents and making me feel a little ill. He seems familiar.

  The bartender throws his hands up and walks away, picking up the phone.

  I scan the area, wondering if anyone else is paying attention. There are a few scattered people along the bar who spare him a glance, almost like they’re used to his outbursts. At the tables surrounding the bar though, people are gawking. Some have their hands over their mouths, stifling laughter—mocking the man who clearly can’t handle his drink. Others glance over with disgust. My temper flares. Just like Matt, they judge him. Profiling him as a disgrace. An embarrassment. Too busy on their pedestals to take a fucking second and see the despair pouring out of him. Too good to walk a mile in his shoes.

  My eyes swing back toward him as he quiets and tries to sit down. He loses his balance and falls, the smack of his body making me wince as it hits the concrete floor. Shit. Laughter filters through the air as he lays still, sprawled out on the ground. I jump from my seat to help him. He attempts to roll over and stand but struggles to regain his balance. I’m only a few feet away when he looks up. My stomach cannonballs and my steps falter.

  Mr. Carson? What the fuck?

  I hurry to him and squat down, reaching out my hand. He grabs it, hoisting himself into a sitting position. When he stands up, I stay close. He’s rocking in place, and I’m not sure if he’s going to fall again. Finally, he manages to sit on his barstool.

  I sit next to him, exhaling heavily as I take him in. He looks haggard. His skin is pallid. Dark circles mar his eyes, and blood vessels highlight the deep frown lines taking over his face. This is not the man I once knew.

  I clear my throat, searching through my shock to find something to say. Maybe I should offer to take him home? He’s in no condition to be here.

  “Mr. Carson?”

  He grumbles, his head bobbing, nothing but an empty glass in front of him.

  “Mr. Carson,” I repeat.

  His head snaps up as he searches for my voice, his eyes glassy and unfocused as they settle on me. “What’s it to ya?”

  “Remember me? It’s Chase. I’m Sam’s son.”

  “I know… who you are, boy.” His words are so slurred it’s hard to understand what he’s saying.

  The bartender walks over and places a glass of water down. “Craig, drink this, and for the love of God stay calm, okay? I don’t wanna throw you out, but there’s only so much I can let slide.”

  The bartender seems familiar with him. What’s he doing all the way in Sweetwater?

  I lean toward him. “Do you nee
d a ride, Mr. Carson? I came with a couple of guys from work, but I don’t mind leaving early.”

  He ignores me, but the bartender’s eyes glance my way. “He’s got a ride. I’ve just called ‘em. But if you two know each other, I’m sure he could use the company. Somethin’ to keep him occupied.” He shoots me a pleading look, and I jerk my chin. I don’t mind distracting him until his ride shows up.

  Mr. Carson fumbles toward the water glass, lifting it up to take a sip and scoffing when it’s not the liquor he wants.

  “How ya been, Mr. Carson? It’s been a long time.”

  He looks at me, his frown lines deepening. “You back… you come here for my Alina?”

  I force a chuckle through the sudden tightness of my throat. “No, sir. I’m pretty confident your daughter wants nothing to do with me.”

  He mumbles. I’m not sure, but it sounds like he says I can have her. As if she’s his to give. Like he doesn’t want her. But that’s fucking crazy because if there’s a man who cherishes his daughter more than Mr. Carson, I’ve yet to find him.

  “Daddy.”

  My heart beats double time in my chest. Of course, she’s his ride.

  Goldi’s voice comes closer as she repeats herself. My gut pinches knowing she’ll hate that I’m here for this. But it’s too late, she’s already next to him, staring at me with wide eyes.

  “Chase?” she gasps.

  I attempt a smile. “Hey, Alina. I was just keeping your old man company for a bit. Catching up.”

  She looks back and forth between us as she chews on her lip, color flushing high on her cheeks. She puts her hand on his arm. “Daddy, come on. Let’s go home.”

  He twists in his seat, smacking her away. She stumbles back.