Hearts Divided

by Masters, Ellie

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Bash shoves Noodles back. “You’re just as ripe as me. And yes, I’m ready. We’re stopping so I can take a damn shower, and of course, I gotta get Duke.”

  “That’s kind of weird,” Noodles says. “Who brings a dog to a wedding?”

  “Well, at least he didn’t make the damn dog his best man.” Ash stretches out and leans his head back.

  “Dude, at least I asked you to be my best man. You just up and got married without saying a word.”

  Bent chuckles.

  “Oh, you’re no better. At least we all knew you and Piper were going to get married. You think you could’ve called us when you drove to Niagara, though. We would’ve flown in. You should all be grateful I want you there at all.”

  “Grateful?” Spike gives a snort. “I’m feeling something right now. Not sure if grateful fits that bill.”

  “At least he can skip on washing his hair.” Sweat soaks into Bent’s curls, turning his hair into a matted mess. “I have to wash mine.”

  “You better not make me late,” Bash replies. “If you shaved those girly curls, like me, you wouldn’t take so long in the shower.”

  “Hey, don’t mock the curls, cue-ball,” Bent replies. “And do you even know what kind of hair you have? Or even what color? You could be truly bald for all the rest of us know.”

  Ash tilts his head back and laughs. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “What?” Bash looks to his best friend.

  “Us.” He gestures between them. “When’s the last time we all just hung out?”

  “Yeah,” Bash says, “I guess it’s been awhile.”

  Ash leans forward and shoves his hand out between them. “To my brothers of different mothers. We may not share blood, but we share something much deeper.”

  “Def.” Bent places his hand on top of Ash’s.

  “For sure.” Noodles joins his on top.

  “To the best guys I’ve ever known.” Spike grips Noodles’s hand. “We’ve certainly been through our share of ups and downs. To more ups and less downs.”

  Bash looks at his friends. “Now this is truth.” He places his hand on top of Spike and they all kind of stare at one another until it gets weird. Then with laughs, they draw back their hands.

  “For the record,” Ash says, “I wish you’d been there when I tied the knot.”

  Bash punches him. “Liar! You wouldn’t want it any other way. Nobody is upset by anything. Not you and not Bent.”

  “Yeah, but now you’re setting a precedent,” Spike mumbles.

  “How’s that?” Bash says.

  “Well, Ash and Bent got hitched in Niagara. Now you’re tying the knot in Vegas. Doesn’t anyone care about long engagements and traditional weddings? Like in real churches? Surrounded by tons and tons of obnoxious friends and family you can fight with?”

  “Aw,” Bent teases. “You’re a romantic. Who knew you had a soft spot in that spikey heart for weddings?”

  “Ass.” Spike gives Bent the middle finger.

  Noodles gives Spike a long appraising look. “Is there something you want to tell us?”

  “Fuck off.” Spike crosses his arms and leans back, defensive.

  “Whatever.” Noodles closes his eyes.

  They spend the rest of the trip to the hotel in silence. Security is tight with the Angel Fire crew. One slip leaking the band’s whereabouts is automatic grounds for dismissal. When they pull up to a service entrance, they’re relieved to see the place vacant.

  They tumble out of the car and ride up the elevator in silence. Usually, Forest rents a penthouse with bedrooms for them all, but he’s arranged to give Bash the privacy he needs for his wedding night. Forest booked out three floors of the hotel. The guys will hang out on the middle floor. Security and the crew will fill out the third floor. The penthouse belongs solely to him and Holly.

  He says goodbye to the guys. They’ll meet up in an hour and head to the chapel, until then he’s taking a shower and getting ready for the most important night of his life. The card key cycles the lock to the penthouse and he steps inside, then pulls up short at the sight of a stunning redhead lounging on his couch.

  “How the fuck did you get in here?”

  36

  Bash

  The girl glances up, cocks her head, and gives a slow languid blink like there’s nothing wrong with her camping out in his penthouse. Bash holds the door open and points outside. “Get off my couch and get your ass outside.”

  “You’re not kicking me out.” Smooth and sultry, her voice is designed to drive men wild, but there’s the slightest hint of hesitation.

  Her body is lithe and nubile, with long, toned legs crossed at the ankles, and a micro-mini skirt which tempts him with a dark-triangular tease of what might lie beneath. Perky breasts lift from her chest, and her plump cleavage draws his eyes to the tight top which barely holds her tits in check. Luscious lips, slathered in cherry-red lipstick, form a determined red line.

  Beddable. Fuckable. Entirely too young.

  “I’m sure as shit not letting you stay.”

  “I’m a little nervous about this, even if I’ve been looking forward to it my entire life.”

  “Look, I don’t know what you think is going to happen, but I’m not interested in fucking you.”

  “Eww!” Her pert nose wrinkles in distaste. “That’s so gross.”

  He lurches forward, shocked by her response. “Excuse me?” He’s never experienced such open revulsion.

  She stands and flips her silken hair over her shoulder. “I’m not here for…that.” Her lips twist in disgust. “And seriously, super gross.”

  “Then why the fuck are you here?”

  “Surprise!” She hesitates, then flashes a smile. “I’m your daughter.”

  The entire room spins as her words sink in. He releases the door and it slams shut, sealing him inside with a crazy chick. Her words fall on his ears like harsh cymbals with a fingernail-on-the-chalkboard, scratchy dissonance.

  He snaps his mouth shut. “What the fuck did you just say?”

  She points to her chest. “Me. Daughter.” Her finger redirects and aims like a bullseye to his chest. “You. Father.”

  Her caveman impression is not appreciated.

  “You’re fucking high.” He’s heard lots of stories over the years, but this one takes the cake. “And I’m not into that kind of daddy-daughter crap.”

  “Oh. My. God. Seriously? Could you be more gross? I’m not interested in jumping into bed with you. That’s grosser than gross, and before you deny it, I really am your daughter.”

  “Not possible.” He staggers against the wall.

  With dramatic flair, she puts her finger to the pulse point on her neck. After a second, she gives a nod. “Well, I’m alive because you and my mom fucked. I guess she didn’t think you were gross.”

  “How?” He’s freakishly religious about protection. Always has been, except for one time, but that can’t be.

  “Are you seriously asking me to explain the birds and the bees to you?”

  “Not a fan of your sarcasm, young lady.”

  “Don’t young lady me. You don’t have that right.”

  “Well, you’re claiming I’m your dad, so that fucking gives me the right.”

  “First off, I’m not claiming anything. I’m stating a fact. And second, I’m not looking for a father figure. I’ve done well enough without one all my life.”

  “The fuck…”

  “You don’t say.” She walks to the bar and pulls out a beer. “With your mouth, you’d fill up the swear jar in less than a minute.” With a practiced flick, the top is off the beer and she takes a swig. “God, I needed that.”

  “Put that down.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re underage.”

  “Are you’re going to stop me? Look, I’ve had a beer before.” She takes a swig and gives him a smirk.

  A daughter?

  There’s only one wom
an he ever had sex with where he didn’t use protection. Not that condoms are one hundred percent effective. Still, he needs to ask.

  “Who’s your mother?”

  “Seriously?”

  He grinds his teeth together and demands a name. “I’ve slept with a lot of women.”

  Her eyes widen and she places her beer down on the counter carefully. “You don’t know?”

  “Do I look like I do?” Although he knows.

  That sense of familiarity is all too plain now, and he’s not sure why it didn’t click earlier. But it doesn’t make sense. If Valerie got pregnant, why did she leave? Didn’t she know he would have dropped everything to take care of her and their child?

  He has a kid.

  He’s a dad.

  It’s too surreal.

  Angel’s brows scrunch together and she shakes her head. “You really didn’t know?” Her eyes turn glassy as they fill with tears. “She told me you knew. All this time I thought you didn’t want me.”

  “She lied.” He’s going to kill Valerie. The urge to connect with his daughter rises within him. There’s also a fierce protectiveness he doesn’t understand.

  “Mom said you left.”

  “I would have never left.”

  “But she was pregnant and your career…”

  He sees what happened now, the choice Valerie stole from him. Anger rises. Valerie had no right. “Put that beer down. You’re too young to drink.”

  “You don’t have the right to tell me what to do.”

  “Maybe, maybe not, but you’d be surprised what I can do. Does your mother even know you’re here?”

  The blood drains from her face and she grips the beer.

  “Yeah, didn’t think so.” He runs his hand over his bare head. “Shit.” He glances at his watch. Less than an hour to get ready.

  Offensive body odor mingles with the reek of nervous sweat. A tug at his tee-shirt reminds him he needs a shower. He pulls the shirt over his head, wads it into a ball, and throws it to the ground.

  “You need to leave.”

  “You’re kicking me out? After I just told you—”

  “You’re underage, in my hotel room, and your mother doesn’t know you’re here. Sure as shit I’m throwing you out.”

  “But—I don’t have anywhere to go,” she says with a pathetic whine.

  “How about home? We can sort this all out later. Right now, I have someplace to be.”

  Tears spill from her eyes. Angel deserves more than his abrupt dismissal. He’s not sure what to do, but he approaches her and tries to ease the sting of his words.

  “Look,” he says, “we’ll talk, but I’m not leaving my fiancée at the altar. Holly doesn’t deserve that.”

  “What about me? What do I deserve?”

  Now that is a good question. Forest will have his ass for not checking out the girl’s story, getting paternity tests, and confirming the truth. He doesn’t need the damn paternity test, because he knows. But the timing couldn’t be worse.

  “Can’t I just stay here?” She places the beer on the counter.

  He can’t let her stay. “You need to go home.”

  Her gaze darts to the ground. “I can’t.”

  “Look, I can arrange a car to take you and we’ll find time to sort through all of this, but I need to get going.” There’s barely any time left for a shower.

  Tears brim in her eyes. He’s a sucker for tears, but tries to not let them sway him. He needs to get rid of this girl, change, and find Holly. This shouldn’t be a game changer for their plans, but Holly deserves to know a bomb literally went off in his life.

  And Valerie?

  Angel’s tears have him reaching out and pulling her into his arms. She folds into his embrace, wraps her arms around his waist, and tucks her head beneath his chin. He holds his daughter for the very first time and she’s bawling her eyes out. Valerie stole seventeen years of memories and moments like this. He missed this girl’s entire life.

  He smooths her hair, trying to soothe her pain, but Angel’s cries fill the room. He puts his finger beneath her chin and lifts until he’s looking down on the most beautiful slice of perfection he’s ever seen.

  Her eyes brim with a profound sadness. In their depths, an echo of Valerie stares back at him. That’s when he sees the resemblance—not of Valerie, although the girl is achingly reminiscent of her—what he sees cuts deep to his gut. Her pert nose turns up the same way his did when he was a kid. Her strawberry-blonde hair is the perfect mix of Valerie’s blazing red and his blond. He leans down to kiss her forehead, brushing his lips lightly over the space between her eyes. She clutches at him, pulling herself tight against his chest, and he loses himself in the intimacy of the embrace.

  The door to his room bursts open. Ash, Spike, Bent, and Noodles spill through the doorway with boisterous laughter. The mile-wide grin on Ash’s face morphs from joy to fury between one step and the next. His brows draw together and his smile slides into a straight line of fury.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Ash stumbles to a halt, his entire focus centers on Angel.

  37

  Bash

  Bash tugs Angel tight to his chest, and then realizes exactly what this looks like.

  Spike, Bent and Noodles come to similar, sudden stops. Their expressions mirror Ash’s, changing from excitement to anger in the blink of an eye.

  Bent points an accusing finger at Bash. “Of all the nights, you chose to fuck a groupie now?”

  Spike crosses his arms. “At least I know why you wouldn’t let me throw you a bachelor party. Any other chicks up here, shit head?” He glances toward the bedroom.

  Noodles shakes his head and stares at his toes. “This is low, dude, even for you. Holly doesn’t deserve this shit.”

  Ash turns his dark, accusatory glare from Angel to Bash and his fingers curl into fists. “This is beyond low, Bash. What the fuck are you thinking screwing around before…” He shakes his head. “Shit, this is fucked.”

  Bash moves Angel behind him, protecting her from the angry accusations of his friends. He holds up a hand. “This isn’t what you think.”

  “Not what we think?” Ash waves at Bash’s bare chest. “Looks pretty clear what’s going on. Fucker.” He launches himself at Bash. For a man with an incredible voice, Ash is more comfortable with his fists when he’s angry.

  Bash barely shoves Angel away before Ash clocks him in the face. Angel screams as he falls beneath a flurry of fists. Ash doesn’t hold back and pummels Bash’s face. His fists split skin and crack on bone. Bash doesn’t fight back, but holds his arms and hands in front of his face in a desperate attempt to block the fists raining down on him. He tries to knee Ash, but Ash straddles his hips and lets the blows fall.

  “Stop it! Stop it! You’re hurting him.” Angel’s cries echo through the room.

  Someone lifts Ash off Bash. His vision is blurry and the tissue around his eyes is starting to swell.

  “What the ever-loving fuck is going on?” Forest’s bellow brings silence, except for the whimpers coming from Bash’s left.

  “Let me go!” Ash twists to get free, but Forest holds Ash by his pants.

  Bash rolls to the side with a groan, trying to find Angel. “Angel,” he croaks, “are you all right?”

  She crawls to his side. “Oh my God, your face.” All he can see is a blur of strawberry blonde.

  “Any of you ass-wipes want to tell me what the fuck is going on?” Forest’s low rumble demands a response, only nobody answers him.

  Bash winces as he blinks tears from his rapidly swelling eye. The coppery taint of blood coats his tongue. “Fucker, you split my lip.” He feels at his face, grimacing at a cut over his cheekbone and the tenderness of his eye.

  “You deserve more than a split lip, shit face.” Ash spits.

  “Ass-wipe.”

  “Will the two of you shut the fuck up?” Forest towers over Bash and stretches out a hand to help him off the floor. “You look like shit.�
��

  Bash takes Forest’s hand and staggers on his feet. Angel rushes to his side and folds beneath his arm. His vision blurs in his left eye and his right is nearly swollen shut. “Angel, can you get me some ice from the bar?” He stumbles to the couch and falls back in the over-stuffed cushions. “Dude, you fucked up my face.”

  “I’m not done,” Ash says with a sneer.

  Bash blinks and takes in Spike, Bent, and Noodles. “Thanks for the help. Not.”

  “You deserve every bit of that,” Noodles says. “I’m calling Holly.”

  Forest raises a hand. “How about we hold up for a second and sort shit out.”

  “What’s there to sort out?” Ash wipes the blood from his knuckles on his jeans. “Bash is fucking a groupie on his wedding night.”

  Angel returns to Bash’s side. “Here.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Is that true?” Forest steps close, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at Angel. “Who are you, young lady?”

  “Shit,” Spike says, “is she even legal?”

  “I’m seventeen,” she counters.

  “For kindergarten, maybe,” Spike shoots back. “He’s old enough to be your dad.”

  “Twisted fuck,” Bent says with a growl. “We have one rule with the groupies! Legal or leave ‘em.”

  “You’re all so gross.” Angel gives a delicate huff and a dramatic eye roll. “We didn’t do anything.”

  “Sure as shit looks like it,” Spike says.

  “Gross.” She holds ice to Bash’s face and he gasps at the sudden chill. “And for the record, he’s my dad.”

  There’s no response.

  “Well, that got their attention,” Bash says to Angel.

  “Excuse me,” Forest rumbles, “but that’s no idle accusation to be waving around. We need to verify—”

  Ash steps forward and looks between Bash and Angel. “Bash…what the fuck is this?”

  He shrugs. “You really should start that with an ‘I’m sorry I fucked your face up on the night of your Goddamn wedding.’ Shit, Ash, did you have to turn my face into hamburger?”

  “Shut up and answer my question. What the fuck is going on here?”