by Emery Rose
Sweet Chaos
Emery Rose
Copyright © 2020 Emery Rose
All rights reserved.
Cover design: Najla Qamber, Qamber Designs & Media
Editing: Ellie McLove, My Brother’s Editor
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.
This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are fictitious or have been used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
For my mom who always told me I could. Love you longtime. xoxo
Playlist
“Circles” – Post Malone
“Venice Bitch” – Lana Del Rey
“Wicked Games” – Parra For Cava
“The Middle” – ZEDD
“Only” – NF, Sasha Sloan
“Be Someone” – CamelPhat, Jake Bugg
“If You Want Love” – NF
“Need You Now” – Dean Lewis
“Do I Wanna Know” – Arctic Monkeys
“Girls Like U” – Blackbear
“I Have Questions” – Camila Cabello
“when the party’s over” – Lewis Capaldi cover
“Falling” – Trevor Daniel
Contents
1. Scarlett
2. Scarlett
3. Scarlett
4. Dylan
5. Scarlett
6. Dylan
7. Scarlett
8. Dylan
9. Scarlett
10. Dylan
11. Scarlett
12. Scarlett
13. Dylan
14. Scarlett
15. Scarlett
16. Dylan
17. Scarlett
18. Scarlett
19. Dylan
20. Dylan
21. Scarlett
22. Scarlett
23. Dylan
24. Dylan
25. Scarlett
26. Dylan
27. Scarlett
28. Scarlett
29. Dylan
30. Scarlett
31. Scarlett
32. Dylan
33. Scarlett
34. Dylan
35. Scarlett
Epilogue
Also by Emery Rose
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Scarlett
“Thou shalt not covet thy sister’s secret boyfriend.” – Scarlett Woods, 11
Ten Years Ago
A loud crash followed by a string of muttered curses drew my attention to the open window. Scrambling off my bed, I crept soundlessly across my plush white rug and stared down at the boy sprawled across my bedroom floor. He wasn’t really a boy. Not a man yet either. A guy, I guess. My gaze flitted to the window, trying to figure out how he’d gotten in. Trees bordered the property at the side of our house, but he would have had to take a flying leap from one of the branches to get into my window. A thrill shot through me at his daring stunt. If he’d missed, he would have fallen two stories.
Crazy boy. My lips tugged into a smile I couldn’t hide.
I knew he was here for Sienna, not for me. He cleaned our pool, and his name was Dylan St. Clair. He was Sienna’s best friend Remy’s twin brother and had a bad reputation. Although I didn’t know exactly why or what he’d done to earn it. I’d overheard my mom talking about him with her friend, Amanda Hart while they were poolside, sipping chilled chardonnay and eating low-cal crackers that tasted like cardboard and birdseed. Ollie and I were cannonballing into the pool, but I’d paused to listen when I sensed they were talking about him.
“He’s not the kind of boy you want hanging around your daughter. He looks like trouble. If he gets anywhere near Sienna, I would put a stop to it immediately.”
“Simon would never allow it.” My mom sighed loudly. “We miss having Tristan around. I’m still hoping they’ll get back together.”
“They were perfect for each other.”
The boy on my floor got to his feet and my gaze drifted upward, over the black T-shirt molded to his lean muscles—I knew there were muscles under his T-shirt because I’d seen him shirtless, sweating in the hot SoCal sunshine, his body slick with sweat as he pulled Sienna into a kiss that had scorched my eyeballs and made me feel… I wasn’t sure what to call how it made me feel.
My eyes raised to his. He blinked a few times, trying to bring me into focus. I was close enough to smell his sweat and his soap and the scent of sweet smoke that wasn’t from cigarettes. A black and purple bruise mottled the skin stretched over his right cheekbone and there was a gash above his eye that split his eyebrow in two.
I looked down at the cuts and bruises on his knuckles then back up at his face. He was watching me with a mixture of amusement and something else I couldn’t identify. His tongue swept across his cut lip and he narrowed his eyes, running a hand through his dark as midnight hair. Like him, his hair was a beautiful mess. It went every which way like he’d been running his fingers through it over and over.
I cleared my throat, wanting to break the silence. “Wrong window, Romeo.”
One corner of his mouth tilted up. Not really a smile. A half-smile, half-smirk kind of thing. “Hey Starlet,” he said in that low, husky voice of his.
“It’s Scarlett.” Secretly, I preferred his nickname for me. It made me feel special.
He smirked. “I know. Did I scare you?” he asked, his voice softer, his eyes searching mine for signs of fear.
I raised my eyebrows, ignoring the butterflies swarming my belly and the warmth that spread through my whole body. “Do I look scared?”
The corner of his mouth tilted higher. “No. But you should. A strange guy just crashed into your bedroom.”
His eyes roamed my room, taking in the décor. I had no say in it. My room was painted pale pink, stenciled ivy trailing up the walls, my canopy bed cocooned in pale pink gauze, all in keeping with the fairytale princess vibe Mom was going for. Or, rather, the interior designer she’d hired to transform my bedroom and every room in this house into some kind of fantasy world. His eyes settled on my face again.
“You gonna make me go back out the way I came?”
I grinned, liking the sound of that. “I should, really. Just for fun.”
He chuckled. “You’re gonna be a real ballbuster when you get older, aren’t you?”
“If that means I won’t take crap from anyone, then yes. Sign me up for the Ballbuster Academy. I’ll be head of the class.” I gave him a two-fingered mock salute.
He was laughing now. He was laughing so hard it split his lip again. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, catching the blood.
I sighed and handed him a box of tissues from my bedside table. They had pink flowers on them. He waved them off.
“I’m good.”
“If you say so.” I set the box back on my bedside table and crossed my arms over my chest, waiting for his next move.
He jerked his chin at me. “Why are you still awake?”
“Why are you crashing into our house at midnight?”
“Why didn’t you scream? You should have.”
He seemed upset that I hadn’t acted the way I should have. That I hadn’t freaked out when he’d crashed into my room. But I craved adventure, the thrill of the unknown, and loved to flirt with danger. And this boy standing in front of me, he was dangerous in a delicious, forbidden way. My whole body vibrated from his nearness. “I don
’t always do things I should. Answer my question,” I said boldly.
He cocked his head and studied my face. “Can you keep a secret?”
I mentally rolled my eyes. My house was full of secrets and I kept them all. “Yeah, sure.”
“Sienna doesn’t want anyone to know about us.”
“Why not?” I asked as if I didn’t already know the answer. Sienna acted tough but when push came to shove, she always caved to my father’s wishes and demands. Six years older than me, she was the chosen one, my dad’s favorite, and with that came more responsibility. Like the heir and the spare.
I’d once overheard my parents arguing. My father had called me an accident. “You can’t patch up the gaping wounds of a marriage with a Band-Aid.” Those were his words. My mother hadn’t even denied it. If she had, I couldn’t hear her words because she’d been crying and begging him not to leave her. He hadn’t left, although I’d often wished that he had. Why hang on so tightly to someone who doesn’t love you anymore? It just seemed so stupid to me.
Dylan laughed but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Do I look like the kind of guy you’d bring home to meet the parents?”
I studied his black combat boots. The leather was cracked and worn, the laces undone. His black jeans were ripped at the knees and there was a rip in the collar of his gray T-shirt. My eyes returned to his face. His cheekbones were sharp, and his dark eyelashes were so thick and long he could almost be called pretty if it weren’t for the firm, square jaw that was so cut, the edge so clean he always gave the impression of being angry. Underneath the cuts and bruises, he was a thing of beauty. I knew because I’d been watching him for weeks without him knowing it. My best friend Ollie accused me of being obsessed, and I knew it annoyed him, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. I found Dylan St. Clair fascinating. Like a wild animal, a big sleek cat, being held in captivity. Shivers of excitement ran up and down my spine. The same feeling I got whenever I did something that I knew would get me into trouble.
Dylan was watching me, waiting for an answer, his eyes narrowed as if daring me to contradict him.
“I would.” I lifted my chin. “I would march you right through the front door and seat you next to me at the dining room table for our family dinners. And I would tell my parents that you’re my boyfriend and if they didn’t like it they could… they could go suck on a lemon.”
Lame, Scarlett. Suck on a lemon? Really?
His eyes widened a little in surprise and I stood taller, feeling proud of myself for throwing him off his game. For giving him an answer he hadn’t expected. “You would, huh?” He sounded amused. Mocking me, like he didn’t believe me. It made me feel all prickly.
I held his gaze, my jaw clenched as I gritted out the word that for some reason felt important. “Yes.”
I wanted him to know I’d meant what I said. “I would. I swear on my life I would.” I crossed my heart, a solemn oath that I didn’t take lightly.
His amusement faded, and his eyes turned serious. They were blue and gray swirled together and looked like the sea during a storm. “You’re too young to make promises like that. Never make a promise you can’t keep,” he said harshly, the softness in his voice gone and his words coming out in an angry growl.
I bristled, his words cutting me to the core. I’d just told him the truth. Swore on my life and crossed my heart on it. And he’d dismissed my words like I was just a dumb kid who didn’t know any better.
Screw. Him.
“Don’t tell anyone I was here,” he commanded.
“I’m not a snitch.” I flopped down on my bed, returning to what I was doing before the boy with stormy eyes crashed into my bedroom and made my stomach all fluttery. I uncapped my Sharpie and concentrated on the design I was making on the back of my white denim jacket. Mom would have a fit, but I thought the skull wearing a wreath of tropical flowers was cool, a definite improvement on the boring white jacket.
“Sienna’s room is across the hall.” I pointed to the door without lifting my head to look at him. I wasn’t even sure why I was being so nice or helping him out. I hated him for making me feel like a stupid kid. Sienna always did the same thing, kicking me out of her space and not letting me anywhere near her friends. Not that I wanted to hang out with her anyway.
His footsteps were soundless, and I lifted my head in time to see his hands gripping the windowsill from the outside. I didn’t want to act like I cared but my feet carried me to the window just the same and I watched him drop from the second-floor to the grass below. He landed on his feet, in a crouched position, and then his shadowy form was swallowed up in the darkness as he retreated. I was still hanging out my open window, straining my eyes for a glimpse of him when I saw a flame flicker. Craning my neck, I followed the cherry glow of his cigarette along the side of the house until I lost sight of it.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I held my hand over my racing heart. Was this what love felt like? Did it make you feel all mixed up and confused? Angry and happy and sad all at once? Ollie didn’t make me feel like this. None of the other boys at school did either. I opened my eyes and turned from the window, my gaze drawn to the drops of blood, dark red against my white carpet. He’d left his mark and then he’d stolen away like a thief in the night. Even then I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time he destroyed something of mine.
Dylan St. Clair was chaos. And chaos always left a trail of destruction in its wake. I just never expected it to be my heart he destroyed.
Scarlett
Now
“I don’t understand why you have to make everything so unpleasant. If you would just do as your father asks, and stop being so contrary, life would be easier.” My mother sounded tired. Weary from an age-old battle with her youngest daughter. The family rebel. The black sheep. By now this conversation had played out so many times it sounded like a broken record.
We were sitting in the ‘great room’ but not even the double-height ceilings prevented it from feeling claustrophobic. It was stuffy and pretentious, filled with Chinese antiques and chinoiserie. I stared at the angry red dragons painted on the ceramic lamp that sat on a black lacquer table next to the jade green silk sofa. No wonder my mom suffered from anxiety attacks.
“Why can’t you be more like your sister?”
If I had a dollar for every time she asked me that, I would be a millionaire. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t hate Sienna. She was my sister so, by default, I loved her. But Sienna and I were night and day, and I would never be like her.
My mother cast a disapproving eye over my outfit—leopard print leggings with rips in the knees, and an old band tee under a hand-painted denim jacket (my design) that said Kiss Kiss Bang Bang with a cartoon-style blonde bombshell in red boxing gloves delivering a right hook. Boom!
“You dress like a hobo and you’re working at a surf shop. For an ex-con. With all the opportunities you’ve been given in your life, is that all you aspire to?”
First of all, I loved my job as a surfboard artist. Second of all, it was unfair to reduce Shane Wilder to the label of ex-con. He was a good guy. A loving husband. A soon-to-be-father. A cool boss. An ex-pro surfer. A million wonderful things. And the most wonderful of all was the way he and Remy loved each other. Couple goals right there. Nothing like this sham of a marriage my parents had. Furthermore, Tristan Hart’s death had not been Shane’s fault. Tristan had deserved to be punched for what he did to Remy. It was horrible luck and, yeah okay, tragic that Tristan had fallen and hit his head on the rock fountain by the Harts’ swimming pool. But still, it was an accident.
And as for dressing like a hobo, well, you can’t please everyone. I’d given up trying years ago.
“I love my job and I’m happy.” I ripped off one of the silk tassels from the red velvet chair I was sitting on. Oops. I hid the evidence under my seat cushion. “Shouldn’t that count for something?”
My mother sniffed. I wanted her to be happy too. But to do that, she would have to leave my father and she woul
dn’t. She was scared of being alone, of having to start over. She stayed for the money. She stayed because, for reasons I couldn’t fathom, she still loved him.
At fifty-four, my mother was still beautiful. Thanks to her plastic surgeon and Botox, she didn’t look a day over forty. Except for her hands. Hands don’t lie.
The diamond on her finger sparkled in the pool of light from the hideous dragon lamp as she took a sip of her chardonnay. Her nude nails matched the Louboutins on her feet and she wore winter white, not a strand of blonde hair out of place.
“I don’t understand why you have to take everything to the extreme.”
I really wish she’d find a new topic to discuss. My mother’s world had shrunk to the size of these four walls. She needed a job or a hobby, something to occupy her time other than obsessing over her looks, her wardrobe, and my father.
“Guess that’s how I roll.”
She sighed and checked her phone for about the hundredth time since I’d arrived bearing gifts, a silk scarf she’d never wear and a bouquet of flowers that didn’t match her new decor. My father had promised to take her for a birthday dinner tonight. The reservation was for seven. The clock on the mantel, guarded by two foo dogs, told me it was now seven-thirty. He was late, and I suspected he wouldn’t show up at all.
“Let’s order in,” I said, clapping my hands together. “Just the two of us. We can watch a movie.”
