The Beckett Boys- The Complete Series Box Set

by Olivia Chase

  I won’t do that.

  Asher pulls back, brushes the backs of his knuckles against my cheek. “How about we go inside and get the party started?” he says with a wink. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a little bit of fun.” He pauses, and his voice drops. “And then after, I’m going to hike up that sexy fucking skirt and eat your pussy again.”

  I tremble at the promise in his words, knowing that he means exactly what he says.

  Asher

  “Dude!” A hand claps me on the back as soon as I get inside. “Glad to see you made it, fucker.” It’s Scott, who played ball with me in high school and is the host of the party. The room is filled with people in a variety of costumes, drinking beer, the music cranked loud and bass thudding everywhere. Scott’s family is pretty rich, so the house is massive and filled with white furniture.

  “Thanks for the invite,” I tell him.

  “Go help yourself to anything you want in the kitchen. There’s beer, liquor, pizza.” Someone calls Scott’s name, and he says, “Shit, gotta go. See ya around!”

  Whitney stays by my side. Rock Bridge isn’t a large town—pretty much everyone here knows each other. But she and I ran in different crowds in school. This was my group of friends, the jocks. The partiers.

  “Let’s get a drink,” I tell her, taking her hand and guiding her through the clusterfuck of people. It takes a while to get there, because every foot or so, someone is stopping me and trying to gab away.

  In the kitchen, a couple is making out against the fridge. I see coolers on the floor overflowing with ice and beer bottles. I grab two bottles and crack them open, then hand Whitney one.

  “There are a lot of people here,” she observes wryly. “I didn’t know we had this many people in Rock Bridge total.”

  I keep finding my gaze drawn back to her. It’s so funny that we both dressed alike. Funny and strange and cool. Makes me feel like there’s something real here. I have a rush of emotion for her and try to swallow it down. Not here, not right now. I need more time to deal with everything. Tonight is all about relaxing and not thinking about anything serious.

  I take a swig of beer. Someone jostles me from behind, and I shoot the guy a glare. He holds his hands up with a drunken laugh.

  “Wanna go outside?” I ask Whitney.

  “God, yes,” she says with a relieved sag of her shoulders. “This is a little bit much for me, to be honest.”

  We head out the back door, a cool breeze hitting me as soon as we step out. There are people mingling in the yard, but not nearly as many. More room to walk around. Stars are emerging overhead as the sky nears full darkness.

  Whitney tilts her head up and sucks in an audible breath. “It’s gorgeous out here. Crisp and clear. Fall is my favorite season.”

  I can’t tear my gaze away from her profile. The glow from the house makes her skin warm and golden, and her long lashes flutter against the tops of her cheeks as she smiles. She’s fucking gorgeous. “I remember,” I murmur to her.

  She opens her eyes and fixes her gaze on me. I can see her cheeks pinking. “Duh. Sorry. Of course you already know that. I’m sure I said it enough over the years.”

  A sudden need for her courses through my blood. My cock rises. “I see you have a lot of skin covered up,” I say darkly, giving her a knowing grin.

  She gives a husky laugh. “Thank God for long-sleeved costumes. And for fall. No one is questioning why I have everything covered up.” Her eyes dance, and I step closer, remembering the night earlier this week where we had that insanely hot sex.

  Her submitting to me, letting me bind her legs and wrists, take her. So rough, so dirty, so fucking good.

  “—surprised to see you here,” someone behind me is saying, interrupting my thoughts. I turn around and see Davis, a fellow ball player from high school, holding a red cup in his hand, eyeing me with bold interest.

  I never liked him. Arrogant, overly aggressive, with a big mouth. He wasn’t a good team player, either, too worried about making the big catches and impressing people. “And yet I’m not surprised to see you at all.” Of course he’d show up at the party. There are people around to show off in front of.

  He quirks a brow and widens his eyes in an innocent manner. “Is it true your mom showed up out of nowhere a few days ago? Word around town is that she was in prison or something for like twenty years. Maybe I should go pay her a visit, huh? She’s probably wound up after twenty years, I could help her let off some steam.” Davis laughs and looks around to see if anyone heard his sick joke.

  Before I realize what I’m doing, my fist is flying toward his face and smashing into his nose.

  “Fuck!” Davis screams, dropping his cup and reaching to his face.

  I pull back to hit him again when Whitney grabs my arm. I shake her off and shoot her a glare. This fucker deserves to be hit again.

  “Stop it!” she cries out, glaring at me.

  I try to control my breathing, though my rage has flared up and is surging out of control. I’m almost shaking with suppressed anger. “Get the fuck out of my face, Davis, before I start smashing your ugly nose up again.”

  Davis stands up, blood streaming out of his nose. “You’re a fucking idiot, just like your whole criminal family.”

  I move to punch him again when he dodges, then socks me in the stomach. The wind is knocked out of me, and another punch lands on my mouth. I feel my lip split open, and blood fills my tongue.

  I tackle Davis to the ground as we punch each other, grunting and grabbing and trying to take control of the fight. I can hear people around us, gathering in a circle, but I have no fucks to give about that. All that pent-up anger I’ve been carrying for days—hell, for weeks—finally has an outlet. Beating the shit out of this arrogant fuck.

  Davis delivers a hard blow to my ear that sets it ringing. I punch him in the kidney, and when he gasps and freezes from the pain, I slam his mouth with my fist, watching in satisfaction as more blood covers his face.

  Fucker.

  Large hands grasp my shoulders and pull me off him as a couple of guys yank me away. “I’m not done beating this asshole up,” I gasp, scrambling to get out of their grip.

  “Knock it off,” Scott says sharply on my right. He’s clenching my arm. “You need to go, Asher. I don’t want any fighting here.”

  I manage to shake him off and glare, panting. Now that the adrenaline is starting to wear off, pain flares all over me, my mouth, my side, my ear. My knuckles throb with my pulse, which is frantic and erratic. I bite back a groan.

  Whitney comes up beside me and takes my arm. “Let’s go,” she says evenly.

  I let her lead me out of the yard and back into the house, the crowd parting for us. We’re silent as we emerge through the front door and walk down the sidewalk toward my car.

  Whitney holds her hand out. “Give me the keys.” There’s a vibration of anger in her voice now. Her eyes are narrow slits.

  “I can drive,” I say stubbornly. My fist is pulsing harder, my knuckles raw. Fuck, I punched Davis good. Feels like I hit a brick wall or something.

  “I’m not arguing about this. Give me the keys.” There’s a sharpness in her tone now that makes my irritation flare back up.

  “Whatever.” I dig with my good hand into my pocket and drop them in her hand. When she clicks the lock, I settle into the passenger seat.

  The ride back to my place is stilted, with neither of us talking to each other. Thankfully, Jax and Brooklyn are out, so I don’t have to answer questions from them about why I’m so ragged-looking. Whitney keys the door and goes inside, and I follow. She heads right for the kitchen, running water from the faucet and grabbing a few paper towels to dampen.

  I drop into a seat at the table when she walks over to me. The paper towel touches my eyebrow, and I rear back from the shock of cold and resurgence of pain on my face. There’s blood clumped on the paper towel. I didn’t even know that my eyebrow had been split. Fucking Davis.

&nbs
p; Whitney eases up on her ministrations, her eyes softening as she dabs at my injuries. I force myself to sit still. When she gets a fresh damp paper towel and reaches for my hand, she sighs. “God, honey, you look like you punched a two-ton truck.” Her touch is gentle over my bruised knuckles. “I know why you did it, but this is a bad way to handle your feelings about your mom.”

  “Doesn’t matter how I feel about her. No one runs their fucking mouth about my family,” I say.

  Whitney sighs and tosses the paper towel on the table. “You’re so damn stubborn, Asher!”

  “Of course I am,” I retort. “I’m a Beckett. We’re idiots, didn’t you know? Our mother went to prison, and our father died, and—”

  Whitney’s mouth covers mine, and the words die on my tongue. Her lips brush over me, careful to avoid the split on the side. She cups my face and locks her eyes with mine. I can see all her emotions shimmering in them. “I worry about you, bottling everything up, never really dealing with things,” she whispers against my lips. “All the stuff we haven’t talked about just keeps brewing in you, getting stronger and stronger.”

  I reach over with my good hand and touch her fingers, press her palm to my cheek. “I’m not good enough for you.”

  “Don’t say that.” Her whisper is harsh, and she rests her forehead against mine, her eyes fluttering closed.

  But it’s the truth. Deep down, I know that. I’ve always known that. I don’t deal with my emotions well. I run from problems or ignore them and hope they’ll go away.

  “What…what are we?” Whitney asks, pulling back from me and sitting on the chair adjacent to mine. She rests her hands on her lap.

  I look down at my knuckles. Fuck. Been waiting for this to come up. I’m kinda surprised it took this long, actually. “What do you mean?” I ask dumbly. I know exactly what she means.

  “I mean, are we in a relationship?”

  “I’m not seeing anyone else, Whitney.” I try not to sigh. But I don’t want to talk about this. Not now. Not when I still have so much anger seething deep down in me, ready to burst out again.

  Not to mention the claw of fear knifing at my stomach.

  “Okay, but that doesn’t tell me anything except that I’m the only girl you’re having sex with.”

  I look up at her, into her eyes, which are flat and hard on mine. “What do you want, Whitney? Flowers, promises, meaningless words?”

  Her nostrils flare, and she reaches for a clean paper towel, wiping the zombie makeup off her face. Her skin is left bare and pink from the scrubbing. “I want to know what you’re feeling. I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”

  “I’m feeling everything!” I tell her. “And that’s the problem. I can’t deal with all of this.”

  “Well, we need to deal with it, because in two months, I’m moving away to go to college.” She crosses her arms over her chest.

  “Then we deal with it in two months,” I say, which I know is a stupid fucking thing to tell her, because she stands up and presses her hands to her hips.

  “No, I’m not waiting two months to find out how you feel about me, because I—” She stops.

  “Because you what?” I stand too and glare down at her.

  “Because I love you, you idiot!” Her chest rises and falls with her pants.

  I’m knocked back on my heels. I just stare at her for a long moment and the silence stretches between us.

  Fuck. There it is. I’m simultaneously feeling a sharp surge of discomfort at her confession and something else warmer. Something I don’t fucking know how to handle. How did everything get so complicated?

  I came back here to be with her, to take her, and instead, I’m neck-deep in emotions I didn’t expect.

  Whitney tears her gaze away from me and stares at her shoes. Her arms drop to her sides. “I can’t wait two months for you to get your shit together and figure out what you want. I have plans for myself.”

  “Plans that don’t include me.” My chest stings, and I swallow, keep my jaw tightly clenched. “You’re going away, Whitney.”

  “Asher, you can’t deal with shit this way. I can’t plan a future with someone who thinks yelling and drinking and fighting is the way to handle his problems.” Her gaze lifts to meet mine, and there’s a deep sadness in her eyes. “Or running away.”

  “Come on,” I tell her, that edge of anger in my words. “Seriously? I’m not going to keep apologizing for something I did in the past.”

  “I’m not asking you to. But it’s something you keep doing even now. You have to stop running and you have to face things and deal with them. I can’t live with someone who’s like my dad.”

  “Dysfunctional. Fucked up. Aggressive.” I fling the words at her, accusations. Yet the words are aimed at myself, because deep down I know she’s right. I’m a fuckup.

  Whitney deserves better than me. I said it earlier and she tried to brush it off, but it’s true. I’m no good for her. For anyone. I’m a fucking mess, an idiot who thinks he’s handling his shit. But instead of handling it, I’m making everything worse.

  Whitney loves me, though I don’t deserve it. I’m so fucking cowardly I can’t even say it back, because once I do, I’ll have to be ready to make decisions and actually figure out my completely screwed up life.

  Shame punches me square in the gut.

  “You should go,” I tell her evenly. “I’ll call you a cab or an Uber ride.”

  No matter what Whitney might feel about me right now, I know that she deserves better than this. I look at my swollen hand and feel the burning stinging pain from the punches I took earlier.

  The way I look and feel right now is exactly what I am—a big, angry guy who can’t deal with real life and real emotions.

  Whitney sees it all in my face.

  Her eyes go flat and her face falls. She grabs her phone from her pocket and taps her fingers across the screen. “No need. My mom is coming to pick me up.” She turns from me and opens the door.

  I watch her walk away from me. My chest is a tangle of knots; I can’t seem to speak. I’m a fucking hypocrite. A worthless piece of shit.

  The door clicks behind her, and I walk to the fridge and crack open a beer. Press the cold bottle against the injuries on my face. I’m numb now, but I can feel the pain deep below the surface, waiting to push back up and overwhelm me. I take a deep swig and try to forget everything.

  It takes a few days for the bruises to start to fade from my face. Jax has busted my balls every morning about my “makeover,” to which I flipped him the bird.

  Thank God for Outlaws, which has kept me occupied when I’m awake. All the shitty things we haven’t done around the bar have filled my time when we’re not open—the cleaning, filing, and so on.

  I’ve been avoiding Whitney. Avoiding everyone. Just trying to get by and bide my time until I figure everything out. Hell, until I figure anything out.

  Yesterday, Jax and Smith met up with Mom at the diner. I stayed at the bar. I’m still not ready to face her. I can’t bear to look into her eyes and wonder how the hell she managed to walk away from us for this long. She cheated us out of a relationship. Because of her pride.

  Because she didn’t want to face what she’d done.

  I look down at the bar tap in my hand and give a small laugh. I can recognize the irony in that statement—since my ego and pride are keeping me from Whitney, and I’m afraid to face what I need to face in my own life.

  But that’s different. Me staying away is better for Whitney.

  Whitney should never be with a fuckup like me.

  “I’d hate to see the other guy,” a sultry voice says from in front of me. I lift my gaze and see a blonde with bold red lipstick giving me a wry smile. She nods at my injuries. “You probably put him in the hospital, didn’t you.”

  I shake my head and smile. “Not quite, but he would have deserved it.” I heard that Davis’s nose is broken and he looks like he got ran over by a train. Fucker. “What can I get ya?”

/>   She raises a brow. “Whatcha got for me?”

  There’s more to this conversation than beer. It’s clear she’s flirting with me. She’s my usual type—bold, thin, with plump lips and huge tits and eyes that promise me a good time.

  She’s not doing anything for me. I don’t feel a fucking thing.

  It’s almost strange how little I feel in response to her suggestive expressions and comments.

  I point to the taps. “We have these, and some bottles too. The chalkboard behind me tells our current bottle offerings.”

  She draws her lower lip between her teeth. “There isn’t anything special off the list that you have for me?”

  I see a regular down the bar flagging me down. I grab a mug and fill it with his favorite beer. “Not right now, no, sorry.” I give her an apologetic smile and shuffle to the end of the bar to serve him.

  Despite it being November, the bar is warm—probably because of the crowd in here. I need some fucking fresh air. I wave at Jax from across the room to ask him to take over the bar for a few minutes. He nods, and I head to the front door. Lean against the chilly brick and suck in refreshingly cold oxygen.

  My gaze flits around, and then I stop in place when I see who’s parked on his motorcycle across the street. Staring at the bar.

  What the fuck? I shift away from the wall and stalk through the parking lot toward my cousin Hale. What is he doing here?

  He revs his motorcycle, shoots me the finger, then zooms off before I can reach him.

  What a dick move.

  I watch him go, glaring at his back. There’s no love lost between our two families. But they usually stay away from Outlaws, since that’s our turf. What the fuck is he lurking here for?

  I try to shake off the unsettled feeling in my chest. It doesn’t matter. He’s gone now.

  I head back into the bar, my mind shifting to think about everything else going on in my life. The clusterfuck with Whitney. My mom’s reappearance. My lack of a concrete focus on my future.