Clarity

by Nicole Dykes

  Clarity

  nicole dykes

  Copyright © 2020 by nicole dykes

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Playlist

  Prologue

  1. Rhys

  2. Blair

  3. Blair

  4. Rhys

  5. Blair

  6. Rhys

  7. Blair

  8. Rhys

  9. Rhys

  10. Blair

  11. Blair

  12. Rhys

  13. Rhys

  14. Rhys

  15. Blair

  16. Rhys

  17. Blair

  18. Rhys

  19. Rhys

  20. Rhys

  21. Blair

  22. Rhys

  23. Blair

  24. Rhys

  25. Blair

  26. Rhys

  27. Rhys

  28. Blair

  29. Rhys

  30. Rhys

  31. Blair

  32. Rhys

  33. Blair

  34. Rhys

  35. Blair

  36. Rhys

  37. Blair

  38. Rhys

  39. Blair

  40. Rhys

  41. Blair

  42. Rhys

  43. Rhys

  44. Blair

  Bonus Chapter

  Note From the author

  This book is dedicated to anyone who feels so lost they don’t believe they can ever come back. Have faith. Take a deep breath. Soon everything will become clear.

  Also, to anyone who ever felt damaged by someone else’s cruelness, remember every child is precious and should be treated that way. Embrace the good and keep going forward, don’t let the bad win.

  Push

  Matchbox Twenty

  River

  Bishop Briggs

  Yoü And I

  Lady Gaga

  Die Wild

  Dia Frampton

  Tired Of You

  The Exies

  I’m With You

  Avril Lavigne

  Into The Fire

  Thirteen Senses

  Paralyzer

  Finger Eleven

  I Love Me

  Demi Lovato

  July

  Noah Cyrus

  Young

  Livingston

  Some Kind of Disaster

  All Time Low

  My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark

  Fall Out Boy

  Stubborn Love

  The Lumineers

  Lost Boy

  Ruth B.

  Jar of Hearts

  Christina Perri

  Goodbyes (ft. Young Thug)

  Post Malone

  No Rain

  Blind Melon

  What’s Up?

  4 Non Blondes

  I Don’t Believe You

  Pink

  New Slang

  The Shins

  Hallelujah

  Pentatonix

  Runaway Train

  Soul Asylum

  You Found Me

  The Fray

  Half A Man

  Dean Lewis

  ***I don’t own the rights to any of these songs, but I listened to them as I wrote this book. They all have a deep connection to Blair and Rhys for me.

  PROLOGUE

  7 years ago

  “It was a dream,” I gasp into the night air. “It was a dream.”

  I try to catch my breath.

  It. Was. A. Dream.

  I can’t breathe. I can’t fucking breathe.

  I sink down to the sidewalk, the cement digging into my knees, clawing at my collar as I try to catch my breath.

  I want it to be a dream, but the sickening feeling inside tells me it wasn’t just a nightmare.

  It was my life. My reality. My bleak existence.

  I look back at the rundown apartment building I've been staying in, stealing shit and hustling with my friend Sean to get rent money even though we’re both still in high school.

  I had to get out of there. I’m not even safe in my own bed, no matter where the bed is located.

  And now, I can’t fucking breathe.

  I need a fix. I need to go numb and not remember. Because when I remember, I can’t breathe. I can’t function.

  I reach into the pocket of my sweats, pulling out the cellphone I lifted from some yuppie who didn’t need it.

  I should call Sean or Quinn.

  Fuck. Quinn. She hates when I use. Maybe I could get lost in her, but the high doesn’t last nearly as long as the drugs.

  No. I can’t call her. I’ve hurt her enough. She’s my best friend and my occasional girlfriend. We all grew up together. Sean, Quinn, me . . . and Logan, but that fucker left us behind for a better life.

  A better man would be happy for him, but I’m not. I hate him. I despise him for becoming what we all hate. The rich and privileged. Above the law. They can buy their way out of anything. They can have anything they want. And now my best friend since long before we reached puberty is living with them.

  I call my dealer, giving him my location and hang up. I sit on the cement, feeling the hardness and the cold. I’m only wearing a thin t-shirt in November, but I don’t care about the cold. I grew up in the cold. I was raised in black numbness.

  I don’t want to think about waking up in my bed covered in sweat only moments ago. I don’t want to think about how badly my body needs a hit. I can’t think about a better time because there wasn’t one.

  I just want it all to stop.

  I wake up and stretch my arms which are tired from hours of lifting and punching the bag at the gym last night after my shift at the tattoo studio.

  It’s a good tired, one I like.

  I push the covers off and stand up, looking around my studio apartment located above the tattoo shop where I work. I’m grateful for this place, but I need my boss, Chris, to start accepting rent from me. I’ve been working for him for well over a year, and that’s when he said he would start taking my rent check.

  And although when he took me in, I was fresh out of rehab and broke as fuck, I've saved a decent amount now. But the guy loves to baby me, which pisses me off because I know he doesn’t treat anyone else like that.

  Technically, Chris Adamson is one of the privileged. He grew up in a wealthy family. But he made his own way, started a little tattoo shop that grew. And the man has talent. I’m lucky to have learned from the best.

  I see my phone—one I bought and pay for with my paycheck—and swipe to see a text from Sean.

  Your ass better be at the fuckin’ party.

  I grunt after I read it. Text back a quick “K” that I know will piss him off and toss it to the bed. Of course I'm going to be there.

  My best friend. The man who never left my side since we were little kids is moving all the way to New York City tomorrow. Fucking traitor.

  But he’s a photographer, a true artist who has the opportunity to be great. And I will not hold him back.

  I take a quick shower, get dressed, and go down the shop just as Chris is unlocking it. He smiles when he sees me. “Always the first one here.”

  I shrug my bulky shoulders. “I live upstairs.”

  He starts his normal routine of getting the shop ready for customers, and I go to my station. I just want to be left alone. That’s what I always want and what I try my best to portray to all my co-workers, but they never play by my rules.

  Case in point, Chris is sitting on my stool before I'm even done
setting up. “I need to talk to you, kid.”

  Kid. He always calls me “kid,” but I suppose twenty-three is a kid to a guy in his forties. “You firing me already?”

  He grins. “No, but you do have to leave.”

  I stare at him, unsure about what the fuck is going on. “What are you talking about?”

  He hands me something, but I don’t look down at it. “I need you to move to St. Louis for me.”

  “St. Louis? What the fuck are you talking about?” I look down at the paper and see the word “DEED” at the top. “What is this?”

  “Your own shop. It’s a shithole, but I think you can do a lot with it.”

  What? I look down at the paper, seeing my name on the deed. Why? “No fucking way.”

  “Yes fucking way. You’ve earned it, kid.”

  “No. I haven’t. And I don’t need your pity shop.”

  He laughs because Chris has no problem laughing about anything. “When Logan first came to me and asked me to give you a job, I was skeptical like anyone would be. But you’ve stayed clean. You’ve done your job, and you have fucking talent.”

  It’s bad enough I only have this job because when Logan took my girl, Quinn, and my balls, he made it even worse by asking his Uncle Chris to give me a job as a consolation prize. “I can’t take this. Give it to Jay.”

  Jay, Ty, and Frankie are all artists who also work here and have long before me. They’re like family.

  “That fucker is never leaving here. Ty, Frankie, and he are now all my partners in this shop. But I want to open another shop. It’s yours, but I'm a silent partner.”

  “The money.”

  “Just take it. Go. Be free, little bird.”

  Even though I’m thankful to him, and he’s done a ton of shit for me, I still can’t resist holding up my middle finger.

  And the fucker just laughs.

  I find myself watching Jay, Frankie, Ty, and him laugh often. I wonder how it comes so easy to them. How they can laugh about almost anything.

  I don’t laugh.

  I rarely smile.

  I’ve never seen a reason to.

  “When?”

  “I know we have a bigass party to attend tomorrow.” Of course, it couldn’t just be me and Sean to send Sean off. No, we have to include all Logan’s bigass family at a fancy country club. Because that’s who we are now. “So, how about the day after that?”

  “That’s fast.”

  “The shop has an apartment above it too. It’s the exact same setup, Rhys. It’s ready to go.” He laughs. “Okay, that’s a lie. It needs some work, but I have all the faith in the world in you, kid.”

  That should feel good, but it doesn’t. I don’t want anyone depending on me. Ever.

  “I’ll pay you back.”

  He laughs. Again. So fucking easy. “No shit. It’s coming out of the profits. I’m not worried.”

  “You really shouldn’t put this much faith in me.”

  “Rhys.” He looks like he wants to pat me on the head or the shoulder, but he knows better. I hate to be touched. And he respects that, his icy blue eyes locking on mine and making me uncomfortable. “You gotta start believing in the good in you. We see it.”

  I shrug. “Don’t.”

  He stands up. “I’m gonna miss you, but I'll stop by. St. Louis isn’t too far.”

  “Three hours.”

  He nods and goes back to the front, going about his day like he didn’t just hand me, a twenty-three-year-old, punk kid, ex-addict a shop of his own.

  I didn’t know people like him existed when I was growing up.

  I still have a hard time believing they do.

  I stare at the tattoo on my wrist, a cloud with a lightning bolt coming out of it. I trace over it and smile, thinking about Logan’s words to me.

  “You just need a man strong enough to weather the storm who needs a badass bitch to go through it with him.”

  That was the day I asked him to give me a tattoo. He wouldn’t because he didn’t love me. He was always in love with Quinn and, like every other man I knew, he was just using me. Until he found her again.

  It’s fine. Quinn is cool, and we actually all still stay in touch. Quinn has become someone I go to often to just chat about nothing and everything.

  And then I think about the man who actually gave me this tattoo. I feel the bitterness rise in my throat, thinking about our last interaction. Then I turn to look at the man, snoring and fast asleep next to me.

  Red hair. I don’t remember that.

  Whatever.

  As slowly as I can, I slip off the bed and start to look around the room—which smells like gym socks and pizza—for my clothes. No more college bars.

  I’m twenty-three. I need to be looking for older men, but I refuse to fully embrace my daddy issues.

  I find my skirt, and quickly slip it on, searching for my top. I finally find it on top of the dresser, but it catches on a baseball bobble head which crashes to the ground, waking the stranger who sits upright, looking at me groggily. “Are you leaving?”

  I pull the tank over my bare breasts and nod. “Yeah. I need to get to work.”

  He runs his fingers through his hair, his arm muscles flexing as he does. Not bad. Not great.

  Not nearly as sculpted and hard as the arms I want to hold me.

  “Don’t you work for your father?”

  “Yes.” I remember telling him that over drinks at the bar last night before we came back here for lame, at the very best mediocre, sex.

  “So, can’t you tell him you’re going to be late?” He looks down at his lap, and I see the tent he’s making in the sheet. “I could definitely go for another round after seeing your tits in the sunlight.”

  I nearly gag, hating that this fucker has seen me naked and touched my body. But no regrets. I can’t start allowing that. I don’t want any part of round two and would love to just get the fuck out of here, which is exactly what I'm going to do.

  “I could, but not for a skinny, little five-inch dick.”

  I reach for the door and pull it open. I hear him mumble, “Bitch,” but I don’t care. I'm already out of his room and out the front door.

  Besides, I've been called worse.

  I look around. Shit. Of course, my car is still at the bar. I reach into my pocket for my cellphone. Normally I would just call my best friend, Melody, but I'm sure she’s busy packing, considering she’s moving to New York with Sean tomorrow.

  I quickly order an Uber and sit on the curb to wait. Looking down at my phone, I see a message from Mel about the party tomorrow, making sure I'll be there.

  I wouldn’t miss it for the world even though the thought makes my stomach twist into knots.

  I know it’s a big party, but that’s not what bothers me.

  Rhys will be there to send Sean off.

  And it’s a party, just like the one tomorrow, where it all began.

  Where we began, even if neither of us knew it.

  Two years ago

  That party was boring as fuck. Growing up at country club parties, it just doesn’t thrill me. Not to mention watching my best friend lust after a total prick who’s going to hurt her.

  When I first went to Rhys earlier tonight at the Christmas Eve party, my only intention was to find Sean and threaten him for hitting on Melody and messing with her head.

  But there was something about this boy, who’s definitely all man, something different. Dirty. Sexy. Angry.

  He’s definitely a change from the men I've been fucking since Logan tossed me aside.

  I thought Logan might be different. He was raised in foster care on the other side of the tracks, so to speak, but he was in love with a girl from his past.

  Oh well, Rhys seems like he can occupy my time just fine for the night. I toss my keys on the foyer table as Rhys stalks in behind me, closing the door.

  Perhaps I should be a little afraid of him—I mean, the man is massive—but I'm not. I have zero fear as I turn around to f
ace him, ready to fuck him. I approach quickly, placing my hands on his shoulders ready to kiss him, but he flinches.

  And I don’t mean slightly. I mean full-on flinches like I burned him with my hands. He steps back out of my grasp and stares at me, horror in his eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” I stare at the beautiful man dressed in a tux that clings to him but still seems completely wrong. His thick brown hair is gelled. His cheekbones are high, cut, and sharp like glass. His eyes burn with hatred in them, an all-consuming hate, and I'm not sure where it’s directed. His lips are bright red and full. Sexy. And I want to taste them.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  I raise one eyebrow in his direction, placing a hand on my hip as I watch him. Is he fucking with me? “So . . . you thought I was bringing you back to my house so we could what? Watch TV? Talk about our hopes and dreams?”

  He grunts, his voice hoarse, deep, and serious, “I don’t fucking talk either.”

  “Great.” I try not to roll my eyes because he looks homicidal now, but seriously? What the fuck? “So, no talking and no touching. This sounds like a great night.” My voice is dripping with sarcasm, and I don’t care.

  I think back to our conversation at the party right before we left to drive here.

  “You wanna get out of here?” I’d asked. I mean, hey, he was hot and broody.

  “Didn’t you just threaten me? And my friend?” he’d asked. And yes, yes. I’d done that, and I’d do it again. Sean better not hurt my friend.