Authors: Nazarea Andrews
"So
why are you here?" I ask. "I appreciate the vote of confidence and
shit but it seems a little excessive."
"I
love Peyton. I get her in a way I don't get my brothers. But she doesn't need
to be anywhere near my parents. They won't ever accept what she wants, because
it's not the picture they have in their mind for her. I get where they're
coming from—she's the only daughter and all that shit. But it's bad for her.
And she's self-destructive when shit gets bad. So keep her away. Don't let her
come back to this."
I
stare at him, startled. "You want me to keep Peyton away from her
family?"
"I
don't want you to be the reason Peyton comes back to her family. She won't, not
on her own. But she loves you and you've never had one. She wants to give to
the people she loves, and if she thinks this is something you want, she'll come
home just to give you what you never had. And it'll destroy her, and what you
two have. No one wants that. Well, I don't. She doesn't. You don't. So do her
and yourself a favor and build your life without her family."
"But
you love her."
"I
do. And I'm going to be around, especially when I get out of college and can
cut the apron strings. But in the meantime, I want my sister happy. Do that for
me." He stares at me, and his eye aren't amused or laughing. He's dead
serious. I nod and his lips twitch into a tired smile. "Thanks man.
I--just thanks."
He
hugs me, abruptly, and I go stiff, startled. Behind him, Scott is staring his
eyes huge and laughing. Then he steps back and grins at me. “Take care of
yourself, Rike.”
Chapter 24
:
After
I want to strip
the masks from you,
Until you are as
broken
and
Raw and
Vulnerable.
As you leave me.
(
Rike’s
poems to Peyton)
“I
need you to come home,” he says the next morning. I peer at him over a cup of coffee
and he sits down across from me. He’s dressed in a pair of loose flannel sleep,
pants his chest bare except for ink. And my teeth marks.
I
flush, and look away.
“Why?" I ask and his eyebrows rise.
I
shake my head, "Why now? What's different about now?"
"Lindsay
is being released from the hospital. Scott has talked her into coming home. But
she needs her family. She needs you, just as much as she needs him. It's an all
or nothing kind of thing."
"So,
no pressure, right?" I joke, and he shakes his head.
"No,
Pey
. This is all the pressure. I'm not going to lie
to you about that. Scott and Lindsay are doing worse than we are, and we aren't
even living in the same fucking state since you moved in with Brody. We're
falling apart. I don't know that
Scott’ll
survive
losing Lindsay. I need you to come home, because I can't lose my best friend
and the love of my life. And we don't work without all of us."
I
reach for him, squeezing his hand. "You don't have to talk me into this,
Rike. I'm in this. I know I've been distant. And I'm sorry; I had to be. I had
to figure out who I am."
"I
know. I'm sorry. I want to give you time—" He sighs. Shakes his head.
"No, I don't. I want to take you home, lock you in our room, and fuck you
until you can't remember a time when we weren't together. Until I'm a part of
you, so fucking wrapped up in you that there is no you or me. Just us. That's
what I've wanted since the day you opened your eyes. But I've given you time
and space because I know that what I wanted wasn't what you needed and I love
you too much to force you into something."
"You
aren't," I protest, and he holds up a hand.
"Let
me finish, Peyton," he says.
I
fall silent, stung just a little. He huffs out a breath. "I love you. I
always will. But I'm not going to force you into this because I do. Not when
you can't remember loving me. I love you too much for that. I would walk away
and wait for you to come to me. I would wait for you forever, if I had to. But
Lindsay doesn't have that kind of patience. She never has. We need you to keep
her and our family together. The only person who matters to me the way you do
is Scott." His gaze is pleading and sad when he finally lifts those bright
blue eyes to look at me. "He's my brother and he's falling apart, Peyton.
She's talking about going to her parents’ house. About never coming home. He
can't—he can't lose her."
I
put my coffee down and lean forward, catching his hand in mine. Squeezing it
until his gaze finds mine, so desolate and broken.
I
did this. I left him. He's not seeing Lindsay leaving Scott, and how that will
fall out. He's remembering me leaving him, and how fucking horrible it will be
for his best friend to live through that same nightmare.
I
hate that I've done that to him.
"Ok,
Rike. Let's go home."
Chapter
25
—
:
Before
It
happens a few weeks before Christmas. We’ve been playing for increasingly
busier crowds. More nights spent in bars and venues we’ve never been to than in
Barrie’s. It’s caused a bit of a strain with him, but I’m following Scott’s
lead—this is his dream, and I’ll follow wherever he chooses to chase it.
Ever
since we played “Perfect Girl,” we've been growing. It's opened doors for Scott
as a singer and me as a songwriter that neither of us expected. And the girls
have cheered us along—
Linds
has worked almost as hard
as Scott to find new venues and bands to open for, anything to get more
exposure.
Anytime
I wonder about her and how she feels about Scott, I remember that.
"See
that guy?" she asks now, almost bouncing in her seat. "Black suit,
red tie, looks like Simon Cowell's cuter younger brother?" I crane my head
and see the dude she's talking about. The guy has been on his phone all night
and Scott scowls in his direction. She raps the table sharply with one finger.
"He's with an indie label out of Austin, up scouting talent in Nashville.
I got a friend to pass him your demo."
"When
did we make a demo?" I wonder, and Lindsay flicks me a longsuffering look.
I hold up a hand in surrender.
"So
he's interested in the guys?" Peyton says curiously.
"Yeah.
So do
good
tonight." She leans into Scott,
kissing him before she hops down and scurries for the bar. Peyton follows. They
don't do bars alone, and they know we like a minute alone before we take the
stage.
There
are nerves in Scott's eyes when I look at him, unexpected nerves, and I lean
forward. "Same shit, brother. Sing like we're still at Barrie’s.”
"We
aren't though," he says, blowing out a breath. "This is real."
I
nod. "But it's everything we've been working for. So. Embrace the real
shit, dude.”
“The real shit is risky as hell,” he says.
I
get it.
It's
a risk every time we debut a new song, anytime we do a show anywhere that isn't
Barrie's. There's comfort in the familiar old ruts but…"We get to decide
who and what we are," I say quietly. Then I stand up and go to where the
opening act is winding down, pulling my drumsticks. My koi winks up at me, a
brilliant flare of color that grounds me while we ride the crowd's energy.
Scott
bounds onto the stage a step ahead of me, and I let out a relieved sigh. The
mood has passed and he's ready to perform.
***
"Gentlemen,"
a smooth voice says behind us. It cuts through Peyton's low murmur and
Lindsay's excited chatter as they hug us and we order drinks. The set is over,
just, and we're still surrounded by throbbing noise and the energy of the
music. And the studio exec is staring at us with a smile on his face.
Real
shit is scary as fuck.
"Hey,
man," Scott says, disentangling from Lindsay and shaking the guy's hand.
"Thanks for being here."
"It
was a great set. I had a chance to listen to your demo. I don't think that last
song was on it. What was the name?"
"Chosen,"
I say. Peyton's hand slips in mine and I smile at the dude, a tight, reserved
smile, slipping easily into my role of quiet backup to Scott's cocky devil may
care disregard "And it's new. We debuted it a few weeks ago."
Apparently,
that was after the demo, but whatever.
"I
think my bosses would like it. I'd like to arrange a meeting where you boys can
play some for them and talk about what kind of future you have. Is that
something you think you'd be interested in?"
Scott's
tense and still at my side, and the girls seem far away. So does everything.
Everything we've come from and tried to get past. He's not speaking, and I nod,
for both of us. Taking that step that could change every fucking thing.
"Yeah, dude. That would be fantastic. We'd love to talk."
The
guy grins and slips us a business card and we exchange numbers, scribbling mine
on the back of a cocktail napkin. He promises to call and then he's gone,
slipping into the crowd and swallowed up, carrying the promise of so fucking
much in his back pocket.
I
look at Scott and laugh when I see the stunned look in his eyes. Sometimes,
laughing is the only way to keep from breaking down.
It
breaks the shock that's fallen over him and then he's screaming and I'm
screaming, and the girls are laughing, shrieking as we pull them into the hug,
celebrating everything that could possibly go right. She's got her arms around
my neck, the scent of her hair in my nose, legs wrapped around my waist, and my
best friend is happier than I've ever seen.
The
real shit might be scary as fuck, but it's
hella
worth it.
“I
love you,” she whispers, and my grip on her tightens.
Something
I learned
quick
is that watching us perform turns both
girls on. Sex with Peyton is always good—fucking fantastic—but when I’m coming
off the stage, the girl can’t keep her hand off me. It’s the same as when we
practice at home—they both love it and practice used to get cut short by one of
us making out with one of the girls before someone ended up naked.
“When
you’re rich and famous, you still going to want me?” she murmurs, and even
though she’s teasing, it sends a fission of unease down my spine.
“Always,
Fish. You’re it. My always. You forget me, and walk away and I would love you
still.”
She
pulls back, and stares at me, eyes wide and searching. “Do you think I could
forget you?”
I
shrug. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll remember for both of us, and I’ll make you
remember too.”
She
kisses me then, that deep kiss that I fucking love, the one she controls with
her hands in my hair and teeth nipping at my lips before her tongue tangles
with mine and everything falls away in a wave of sunshine and sugar and
everything that is her.
“Want
you,” she pants when she pulls back.
It’s
all I need to hear. I’m moving before she kisses me again, and I hear Scott
laughing behind me, but it barely registers as I carry her through the bar to a
dark hallway. She squeaks against my throat, her teeth digging in just a little
as I bump into a door and then we’re spilling into a stockroom that’s almost
pitch black, and I’m letting her slide down my body, cupping her ass as she
falls.
I
fucking love her ass in those skin tight jeans she wears when I perform. She’s
got a corset-looking top on over the jeans, baring a smooth sliver of her belly,
and my fingers skim it before I skate lower and cup her, grinding the heel of
my hand into her through the jeans.
“Not
playing fair,” she gasps, and I groan as her hands cup my erection. Stroke and
tug in that way she has—not too hard, but rough. Enough to remind me that she
wants this just as bad as I do.
She
unzips my jeans and drops to her knees, taking me deep in her throat before I
can process, and then I can’t.
The
girl is amazing in bed, but I don’t think I’ll ever get over the sight of her
on her knees, her lips wrapped around my cock. She licks at my shaft, her hand
slipping between my legs to cup my balls and I struggle to keep still. My hand
is on her head, my fingers twisting in her hair and she relents, the suction of
her lips tightening as she slides down, until my dick hits her throat.
“I’m
going to come,” I mutter.
She
pulls back and strokes my dick. “That’s the point.”
“Not
like that.” I say pulling her up. “As much as I like fucking your pretty mouth,
I want your pussy.” Her eyes close and she sways closer. I unsnap her pants and
work a hand into her jeans and the door behind us opens.
It’s
dark. Dark enough that they don’t know we’re here. But I can see her, all wide
eyes and flushed skin.
And
I can see them. For a heartbeat, I consider saying something. But she’s
trembling against me, and I know Scott well enough to know he wouldn’t care.
I
lift an eyebrow and move my fingers, brushing against her clit, and she jolts
against me. I lean into her ear, and whisper, so low, I almost don’t hear it,
“Stay or go?”
She
shudders, and wet warmth is covering my fingers as I slide them into her.
“Stay,”
she breathes against my ear.
I
smile against her skin, shoving my fingers into her, and grinding against her
clit. “Be quiet, perfect girl,” I whisper.
Then
I twist us, so she is against the side wall. In the darkness, we can both see
them.
“Watch,”
I murmur, and she shivers, her eyes on our best friends as Scott drops to his knees,
shoves Lindsay’s skirt up, and covers her with his lips. Peyton’s whole body
shudders, her pussy clenching on my fingers as I lazily finger-fuck her, and I
grin. Lindsay is biting her hand, trying to stay quiet as he licks her cunt,
but it’s not working. Tiny noises are leaking out, these gasping little
whimpers, and his name, and it’s hot as hell.
And
Peyton is so fucking wet. I pull my hand out of her pants and she makes a quiet
mewl of displeasure, her hips rising and falling restlessly as I work her jeans
down to her knees. I glance over at Scott and Peyton. Her head is thrown back,
one leg hooked over his shoulder.
I
lean into Peyton, and lick her once, feeling her body go tight as she bows off
the wall toward me. I grin, and her hands find my hair, pulling me to her.
She’s on tiptoes as I go to work, my tongue sliding through her, nipping at her
clit, searching for the little friction I’m not giving her, and then I do,
pinching her clit lightly as I tongue-fuck her and she’s coming, her pussy clenching
in waves around me.
“Like
that, baby?” I hear, and I freeze as Peyton shudders, thrusting against me,
her
orgasm tripping into another. Lindsay answers Scott in a
low murmur, and I hear him groan before he kisses her.
Fuck
.
Peyton isn’t the only one turned on by this shit.
I
stand quietly, and lift Peyton just a little.
Lindsay
screams as Scott slams into her, her back thudding against the wall, and he
groans again, that noise I’ve heard a million times when we shared women.
Peyton is gasping as I grab her ass and fuck her slow and silently, her eyes
wide and staring at Scott thrusting into Lindsay.
It’s
hot as fuck that she’s getting off on this, but she is. She’s clenching and
coming, these continuous orgasms that fall into each other, and she’s so wet I
can feel it on my balls. I grit my teeth and drop my head into the crook of her
neck, biting her shoulder to keep silent.
“Turn
me,”
Linds
demands suddenly and he laughs, slowing.
He pulls out and she moans, her voice rising to a shriek when he shoves his
fingers into her.
“You’re
demanding,” he mutters, and she whimpers, pushing back against him.
He
slams into her and she shrieks, a noise he cuts off with a curse and a hand
across her mouth, yanking her head back by the hair and hissing, “Quiet,
sweetheart. Or I stop.”
“Don’t
you fucking dare,” she mutters.
Peyton
makes a little huff of air, and I slide a hand between us, toying with her clit
as I fuck her. “You like listening to them, sweetheart? Watching Scott fuck
her. You love it.”
Her
eyes find mine, and I see guilt there—mixed with the glassy desire is
conflicted guilt, and I lean into her, kissing her hard and fast. “I love
everything about you, Fish. Even the dirty girl who plays rough and likes her
sex dangerous. You want him to watch me fuck you?”
Her
body shakes, answering me for her as she shatters into another orgasm, and on
the other side of the room, Lindsay whimpers, a long, drawn out noise as Scott
hisses her name. I look over at them—we both look—and I come as Peyton pulls me
into her, biting my chest hard as she rides out the climax, and we watch them
orgasm.
It’s
hot and dirty, and for a long moment, the room is silent except for the sound
of us breathing. Scott moves first, sliding out of Lindsay, and I swallow my
groan as he reaches between her legs, cleaning her up with his hand before he
brings his fingers to his lips. She watches as he cleans his fingers and Peyton
gasps when Lindsay goes up on tiptoes to kiss him.
Scott’s
head lifts, and I shift Peyton, shielding her before Scott slaps Lindsay’s ass.
“Come on, babe.”
She
grumbles but they put themselves back together and she slips out.
Just
before he does, his gaze darts to us, too knowing and serious.
Then
the door shuts and closes off the noise of the bar. I slip free of Peyton and
she redresses quickly and gives me a curious look. “What was that last thing?”
I
shrug. “Scott’s a kinky bastard.” She arches an eyebrow, and I grin. “Guess I
can’t really point fingers on that account.”