Authors: Nazarea Andrews
“And
these are yours,” I say softly.
She
shakes her head. “You and Scott and
Linds
are my
family. Not them. But. You’ll see.”
I
reach for her hand and squeeze it gently in my own. “I just want to know where
you come from, Fish.”
She
make a choked little noise that worries me, but we’re pulling up to the
steakhouse.
She takes a deep breath as
the valet approaches, and I glance at her.
“Come
on,” she says. “Let’s get it over with.”
She
shoves the door open and slides down without waiting for me, and I follow suit,
taking the valet ticket and slipping it into my pocket while following her
inside.
“Party
for Senator Collins,” she says to the hostess. The girl nods, snapping to
attention as she leads us deeper into the restaurant.
They’re
sitting at a table in a back corner, surrounded by other empty tables. A man in
a black suit eyes me as we approach, but doesn’t try to stop us.
Peyton’s
shoulders are back, and her smile is stiff as she pauses, hands on the back of
the chair. “Mom. Dad. Good to see you.”
The
senator is a tall man with broad shoulders, sharp eyes, and
Pey’s
freckles. Her mother is softer, curvy with a wide-eyed innocent smile that
screams fake, and a power suit that would make Hilary Clinton jealous. And
they’re watching Peyton with something like disgust in their eyes. Shock.
That’s what it is.
“Well.
That is certainly a different look, sweetheart.”
Peyton
touches her hair and gives a smile. “Like it, Ma?”
“Not
particularly,” comes the stiff reply.
“Pity,”
Peyton coos, sugar sweet and I swallow a laugh. She tucks her hand into my arm
and tugs me forward a step or two. “I’d like to introduce you to my boyfriend,
Rike Johnson.”
Their
eyes swing to me, and the younger dude lets out a startled laugh. “Damn,
Tay
. Did you pick him to piss them off?”
“Fuck
off, Brody,” she says lazily, and for the first time since we arrived, a real
grin tugs at her lips as she flicks a glance at her brother. He laughs, a soft
noise that reminds me of her, and some of the tension eases from her shoulders.
She pulls a chair out and sits, and motions for me to do the same, putting me
between her and her brother, away from her parents.
Who
are still staring at me like I’m a devil bent on pillaging their daughter’s
virtue.
“Nice
to meet you,” I say with a small smile.
They
stare, and the senator blinks once, then focuses on his daughter. “What the
hell is this?”
“My
boyfriend.”
“No.”
He doesn’t even argue. Just a flat no, like she should care about what this
prick has to say.
“Do
you think we can order drinks before we start in on how
Pey
has fucked up her life?” she says, and my heart hurts. She doesn’t ever change
her tone. It’s classic defensive Peyton.
A
puzzle piece of the enigmatic girl slides into place. I glance at her, at the
pleasant smile, and I get it, suddenly.
“What
the hell are you trying to prove with this?” Collins hisses.
“I’m
not trying to prove anything. It was never about that.” She turn to me. “What
do you want to drink?”
A
very petty part of me wants to ask for a beer just to fuck with her folks, but
her big eyes are pleading and desperate, and I remember suddenly that she is
only here because I threw a bitch fit this morning.
“The
Talbot pinot noir,” I say, flashing a quick smile at the hovering waitress. She
gets the rest of the orders, and scurries away.
The
senator is looking at me instead of his daughter now, which has to be an
improvement. I push up my sleeves and his eyes tighten at the sight of the
colorful tattoos tracing up my left arm. I meet the hostile smile with my own.
“Good to meet you, sir. Peyton has told me a lot about you.”
“Note
that he didn’t say it was good shit, Dad,” Brody says.
“Well,
I do try to avoid lying. My mama raised me well,” Peyton deadpans and Brody
laughs, shaking his head.
“We
didn’t realize you were dating, Peyton,” Mary Anne says.
She
leans back, and I feel her hand on my back, a steady pressure. I don’t know if
it’s for me or her, but it’s soothing. “We’ve been together for over six
months. And before you ask—I’m not hiding shit. I’m living my life. You haven’t
bothered to ask or visit, so excuse me if you aren’t up to date on who and what
is important in my life.”
“You
made it clear when you left for UT that you didn’t want us involved in your
life,” Mary Anne says stiffly.
“And
you’ve always been so fucking
good
at listening to
what I want, right? That’s why Dad first ran for office. Because you totally
listened when I said I didn’t want anything to do with his political circus.”
Mary
Anne makes a dismissive noise and waves a hand at Collins. “You deal with her.
You’re the one who thinks her being at the benefit is a good idea.”
“She
lives here. How the hell will it look if she lives here and doesn’t show up to
support the campaign?” Collins says evenly.
“Give
it up, Dad. I’m not coming to the fundraiser. I’m done doing the political
daughter shit. I’m here, now. As your daughter to let you meet Rike. Now do you
want to focus on that or should we go?”
The
senator and Peyton glare at each other for a long tense moment, and then he
huffs. “Will you consider it?”
“Will
you drop it if I say yes?” He nods and she shrugs. “Sure. I’ll consider it.”
Brody
snorts and I turn my attention on Peyton’s younger brother.
He’s
got the same red hair, just a few shades darker, a wide grin, and mischievous
eyes that are instantly likable. He’s the only one in her family she ever talks
about. She likes her young, wild brother. I think he’s the only reason she ever
goes home—even on her abbreviated visits.
“Tell
me about yourself. What do your parents do?” Collins says as the waitress puts
our drinks down. She takes our order and then scurries away and I have to face
the question.
I
shrug. “My mother was addicted to crack. We bounced around with her pimp for a
while. She overdosed when I was six and I landed in the system. My father—well,
he’s never been part of the picture.”
He
blinks at me, and I stare, my face blank.
No
one is ever completely comfortable with me dropping the info like that. And
this guy—he doesn’t want me anywhere near his daughter to start with.
“Were
you adopted, then?” Mary Anne asks.
“Nope.
I was in and out of group homes and foster families until I aged out. Spent six
months in juvie when I was fourteen for assault. When I turned eighteen, my
best friend and I had a little bit of money saved up, so we got a place and
that was that.”
She
looks startled, and I smile. “Not exactly the pretty picture you wanted,
right?”
“How
serious is this?” Collins asks, his gaze on Peyton. He’s gone back to
pretending I don’t exist.
“We
just moved in together, Dad. Pretty fucking serious.”
“You
know he’s using you, right? For your trust fund.”
“Fuck,
Dad,” Brody sighs.
“What’s
shocking, Dad? The fact that someone wants me or the fact that I’m not playing
the dutiful daughter?” she snaps.
“I
don’t need your daughter’s money, Senator. Frankly, I’ve tried to convince her
to quit using it to pay for rent. I make more than enough to support us both.
I’m with her because I love her.”
“Excuse
me if I choose to not trust a violent felon,” he says coldly.
“That’s
what everyone focuses on. My violent crimes. Peyton asked, you know. Why. The
why is more important than the what, and I’d do it again. Every fucking time.”
The
table is quiet and then Brody asks softly, “Why?”
“His
best friend. Scott was being abused. He’d kept it quiet for a while, and pulled
the attention from the other kid in the house. He made himself a target to
protect them, and kept it from Rike because he knew how Rike would react.”
I close my eyes, and lean back. Let her tell the
story.
“One
afternoon, Rike shows up at the foster home. They haven’t seen each other in
months—just emails to keep in touch and to make sure the other is safe. They’re
all each other has, right? So he shows up at this foster home. It was a bad
time—Scott was home with the bastard while the other kids were out and he’d
managed to piss the guy off, not that it’s hard, you know. And Rike walks in on
him beating the shit out of Scott. Scott’s covered in blood and piss, barely
fucking conscious, and Rike—well, he’s smart. He knows it’s been happening for
a while. He can read bruises like most people can read the paper. And he lost
it. Attacked the guy with a glass bottle he found on the table. By the time
they got Rike off the dude, he’d carved his face up and beaten him to a pulp.
The guy spent a month in the hospital before he was tossed in jail. Rike should
have gotten a fucking medal. Instead, he got six months and probation, and
wasn’t allowed near Scott for two years.”
The
longest two years of our life. We did what they said—mostly because I wouldn’t
risk Scott being moved to another county. We made it work. And by then, we were
so close to aging out, freedom was almost something we could taste.
We
rode it out, waited until we aged out and put it behind us, as much we could.
It’s
hard to forget something that put scars on your soul and body.
“Maybe,
Dad, you should find out why you’re judging someone before you decide to write
them off,” she says softly.
“You
haven’t given us a lot of reason to trust your judgement,
Pey
,”
he counters.
“Enough,”
Brody snaps. He glances between his sister and father, scowling. “We didn’t
meet here to fight. Dad, do you think you could manage to get through dinner
without judging every decision she makes? You don’t have to like it, but she’s
not tied to the campaign, so it’s not hurting you and she’s happy. That does
matter a little bit.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. Turns to me, and forces a
small smile. “So, aside from beating up abusers, what do you do with yourself,
Rike?”
I
eye him but he doesn’t look like he’s trying to find a way to trip me up. He
looks curious and patient and hopeful. He’s throwing me a bone.
“I’m
a songwriter,” I say, flashing a smile. “And I’m apprenticing with a local
tattoo artist.”
Brody’s
eyes widen and a smile twitches his lips. As her mother starts in on the
problems with dating a degenerate, Brody shakes his head. “Good luck, man.”
Chapter 22
:
After
Never anyone's only.
She said that, drunk and sad and
I wanted to scream.
My first thought is yours.
my
smile and
Dreams and pleasure. I see you in every
sunrise
and teardrop and
birdsong.
Not my only.
Only
my everything
.
(
Rike’s
poems to
Peyton)
He
almost dumps me into the truck. His truck. “What are you even doing here?” I
demand, and he slams the door in my face. I huff a sigh, twisting in my seat to
stare at him as he climbs in the truck.
“What
are you doing here?” I demand again, and he leans across the console, catching
me by the back of the next and kissing me. It’s hot and hungry and forceful.
There is no soft request; it’s a demand.
It
always has been with him.
I
bite his lip and his hand clenches in my hair, jerking just a little, riding a
delicious line of pain, his tongue in my mouth, twisting and stroking.
“I
should spank your ass for that shit. You can’t go there alone. They’re horrible
for you. Promise me, Peyton?”
He
never uses my full name, and it shocks me enough that I nod. He sighs, and sits
back. “I’m not fucking you in my truck in your parent’s driveway. I love you
too much for that. So put your seatbelt on and let’s go, because I do need to
fuck you. Soon.”
Why
the hell does that blunt, crude admission turn me on so fucking much?
I
pull on my seatbelt, and he squeals out of my parent’s driveway.
“You
don’t like them,” I say after a few minutes.
His
gaze turns to me, pure disbelief, and I swallow hard. “No fucking shit,
Pey
.”
He
drives for about five minutes, and then jerks the truck off the road, onto a
dirt road that serves as a driveway to an old, little used farm. “What are we
doing?” I ask, nervously.
“Your
brother’s house is thirty minutes from here, and my hotel is farther than that.
And I can’t wait that long to fuck you,” he says matter-of-factly, stopping the
truck. He glances at me, the look hot and invasive. “You look fucking amazing,
Fish.”
Then
he’s out of the truck and I have just a few seconds to decide. If this is what I
want. If Rike is who I want. Then the door pops open, and his hands are on my
legs, pulling me around to face him. He nudges them open and settles against
me, hugging me. His shoulders relax as he clings to me. “I’ve missed you, Fish.
So fucking much.”
I
don’t know how to respond to that. Except… “I miss you too,” I confess quietly.
The truth. How can I miss someone I barely know, someone who shouldn’t matter
to me? But should or not, he does.
He
matters so much.
Rike
looks up at me, his blue eyes hungry. “I want you. But it’s your choice. It’s
always been your choice.” Something crosses his eyes and he smirks at me, a
crooked little boy grin. “Stay or go?” he murmurs.
A
shudder runs through me, and my body goes soft and pliant, my panties wet. I’ve
heard him say that before and it was hot.
“Stay,”
I whisper.
His
eyes flare and then he’s pulling me down, and I slide down his body, against
this thick erection. He groans and I smile, just barely resisting the urge to
wrap my legs around his waist and grind against him.
Instead,
I keep sliding down, until I’m on my knees. “Peyton,” he says hoarsely.
I
unzip his pants, and my hands are on him. Stroking over the silky skin. His
dick kicks in my hand and I giggle, sliding his pants and boxers aide. He has two
tattoos, trailing down that sexy v that makes my mouth water. A pair of dragons
in mid-flight. I lean down and kiss one, my tongue licking over it, and he
grunts, thrusting a little. I pull back and he curses. “Don’t tease, baby. Let
me fuck your pretty little mouth.”
My
hand comes up and cups his balls, tugging gently, and he grunts. I lick over
the matching dragon. “Dirty girl. You fucking love this. Want me to beg?
Because I’m begging. Do it, babe. Suck my dick.” I take his cock deep, my lips
tight around him and his head falls back, hissing, “Fuck, yes, baby.”
I
whimper as his hands find my hair, and he thrusts gently. “Love that dick,
don’t you, dirty girl?”
I
keep one hand on his cock, and slip the other one down, pulling up my skirt and
slipping a hand between my legs.
“Yes,”
he groans. “Fuck yes, touch yourself,
Pey
. You’re
wet, aren’t you? So wet. I could fuck you so easy right now, babe.”
I
scream, shuddering as I come, a combination of the dirty, raspy words, and my
fingers, and the fucking crazy high of controlling his pleasure. His hands are
on me, jerking me up and I scream again as he buries himself in my pussy.
“Fuck,
yes,” he groans, pulling back and slamming into me again. He shifts me against
the truck, slides a hand between my ass and the door and pulls me into him,
meeting each furious thrust. Each one sets off another tiny orgasm, until there
is nothing but sensation, and pleasure, and his body and mine.
***
We
fuck again when we get to the hotel, against the door while he chants my name
like a prayer and plays my body like an instrument. After, I cuddle next to him
on the bed, his fingers toying in my hair.
“I
want you to come home,” he says into the silence.
I
squeeze my eyes closed. I knew it was coming, but still—to hear it said so
bluntly is like running headlong into a brick wall. I shift, so I’m lying
across his chest. The koi on his arm stares up at me through the shield of
seaweed and coral, and I study it.
“I
love that one,” I say. He chuckles, and I prop myself up, glaring at him.
“What?”
“You
should. It’s yours.” My mouth falls open and he laughs again. “Why the hell
does that surprise you? Half my ink is because of you.”
“Tell
me,” I demand.
He
pushes off the bed, and stands naked next to me. I make a small hum of
appreciation and Rike laughs again. “Stop. Focus.”
With
some effort—and a good deal of reluctance—I force my attention from the more
interesting bits of his anatomy to the ink he’s pointing at.
I’m
a patchwork across his body. The pinup girl on his ribcage with her head turned
away, and long red hair. The script wrapped around his right wrist. The
matching swallows on his back. And the koi, the brilliant tattoo that’s
captivated me since I woke up in the hospital.
“Why
do you call me Fish?” I ask, tracing it.
“People
say there’s plenty of fish in the sea. I say, fuck you, she was my sea.”
My
breath catches and I glance up at hm. Let my lips curve into a tiny smile.
“Doesn’t take mean I’m Sea?”
He
shifts, covering me and sliding into me in one move that makes
my
laugh catch in my throat. Turn into a broken groan.
“Fish
sounds better,” he whispers, watching me.
I
whimper, and he smiles, a smile so fucking beautiful and sad it makes me want
to cry. Moves in me, slow and sweet, his lips on my neck and shoulders and
lips, whispering sweet,
dirty
words of love while he
makes love to me, until I gasp, my body arching against him as I come apart.
When
he comes, a few seconds later, he whispers, so softly, “I love you, Fish.”
Chapter
23
:
Before
The
girls are out. Peyton wanted tequila, and after the few hours we spent with her
parents, I don’t blame her much. I want some painkillers and my bed.
“Was
it bad?”
“I
won’t make her visit her parents again; let’s put it that way,” I say,
scrubbing a hand over my face.
Scotty’s
quiet for a long minute, and I frown, glancing up at him. “Ever wonder if we
were lucky? Our parents were awful, but at least we didn’t get stuck with them.
We got free.”
“Being
put in the system isn’t free, Scott. It’s just in a fucking broken system.”
He
nods. “Yeah. I know. But we’re out now. And at least in the system we found
some family. Maybe not the one we were born with, but family that you choose is
just as important. Maybe more, in a way.”
I
stare at him. “Where the actual fuck is this coming from?”
He
shrugs. “
Dunno
. I guess now that we have the
girls—we’re our own family. We created something for ourselves that we never
had. What would we do if we lost that? If the girls walked away or decided that
we aren’t good enough as we are?”
I
think about Peyton, and her fierce anger with her father, the way she defended
me and refused to let him and Mary Anne tear me apart. I think of Lindsay and
her good-natured teasing, the way she fights with Scott while pulling him
closer. I think of how they both vanished, giving me and him the time to
process shit, and how she put together that fucking perfect room, the way
they’ve slipped so effortlessly into our lives, and made it their own.
How
Linds
will work to get us gigs. How Peyton is so
quick to encourage me and Scott to try new things, shit that will make us
better. Happier.
“They
wouldn’t do that,” I say hoarsely. Because now I’m thinking about it, and the
idea of losing them, even for a little while, is fucking terrifying.
Lindsay
isn’t mine. She won’t ever be, and I don’t want her. But the four of us—we’re a
fucking family. And I hate even the thought of losing that. I glance at my best
friend, the brother I never had. “They wouldn’t.”
“No,
brother,” he says gently. “They wouldn’t.”
I
stand abruptly and go into my room, grabbing the sketch I did this morning. I
extend it to him silently, and his eyes widen. “Yeah?” he says, his gaze
flicking up to me.
“I
want it to be the anchor piece for my right sleeve.”
A
smile turns his lips, and he nods. “I like it, dude. It’s appropriate and she’d
love it. Not that you’re going to tell her.”
I
grin, “Not ‘til it’s done anyway.”
“Secretive
bastard,” he accuses, and I nod.
There’s
a knock on the door, and he arches an eyebrow at me silently. We haven’t been
here long enough that anyone knows where we’re at. Staci does, and so does
Barrie, but only because that’s work. “Did the girls forget their keys?” I ask,
walking to the door.
“No.
Linds
wanted to stop and get hers bedazzled or some
shit,” he snorts.
I
laugh and open the door.
Brody
is standing there, his eyes darting around as he hunches forward, his hands
tucked into his pockets. He’s looking around like he thinks he might be shanked
for being here and I have to swallow my laugh. Because I like her brother, and
he doesn’t know that this is actually a really good neighborhood, as our price
range goes.
Poor
kid would have a heart attack if he knew where his sister had been slumming
before we moved here.
“What
are you doing here?” I ask, staring at him.
“Uh,
hello, future brother-in-law, yes I would love to come in.” From the couch,
Scott snorts a laugh, and puts aside his guitar to stand and come to the door.
"Who
are you?" he asks without preamble.
"Brody.
And you’re Scott. Where is Peyton?"
"She
went to get alcohol."
Brody laughs. "Dad has that effect on folks, and
especially on her."
I
nod, and Scott heaves a sigh, grabbing my arm and pulling me aside while Brody
steps into the apartment and closes the door behind him.
"What
are you doing here, man?" Scott asks.
"You
love my sister," he says, looking at me.
I
nod, and he grins. "Good. You’re good for her. Peyton is different from
the rest of us. She's creative and spontaneous and wild. I thought for a long
time that she killed that when she played the good little political daughter,
but she didn't. And then--she told you about the eating disorder? About
rehab?"
I
nod and my gut clenches. Because I'll run to the farthest ends of the earth to
keep her away from these people. To make sure that she never becomes the shell
of the girl she was then.
"It
changed her, man. Fucked her up for a long time. She had a hard time letting
people in after that. And she quit playing the part, got deeper into her own
head and creativity—but I haven't seen the girl I grew up with in years, not
the way I saw her tonight. I want you to know that." He shifts and grins.
"I saw my sister again, man. And you made that happen. You are bringing her
out of her shell. So I don't really give a fuck who you are or what you do or
what fucked up past you have hiding. I respect what you did." His gaze
darts to Scott, and then back to me, and my best friend shifts.