Fused (Lost in Oblivion #4.5) (5 page)

His authoritative tone made her narrow her eyes. She didn’t know who she was looking at anymore. She’d blinked and he’d become a man, with large hands and huge feet and kind eyes. Always kind eyes. But now he commanded easily, and he had a band, for God’s sake. The one thing he’d always resisted, not wanting to play in the same “contaminated pool” as his father, as he’d called it, though he’d loved music since he was young. He’d been content to love it for its own sake. By himself, for his own enjoyment.

Had that changed?

Once she’d downed half the glass, she set it down—still no coaster, dammit—and drummed her fingers on the edge of the coffee table, waiting for him to speak.

“I came by to see you one day, and he was on his way out to a limo parked outside. He just had that look about him, and he’d obviously just left your place.”

“You can say his name,” Lila said, surprised how quickly she forgot her own embarrassment when it came to diffusing Michael’s obvious anger. And something else, something she couldn’t define. “His name is Nick. And what look are you talking about?”

“You can say his name, but I’m not going to. He’s just a cocky hothead as far as I’m concerned, and he’s not good enough for you. So I asked Jerzee to do some digging.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I guess I thought if I showed you the pictures, you’d realize that anyone could see what was going on.”

“Anyone like your father.”

“Yeah. But I never intended to tell him. God, are you kidding me? You know how I feel about my dad.”

Yeah, she did, and she felt bad about it. For years, she’d worried that her opinion had subtly rubbed off on his son, though she’d tried hard not to influence Michael in any way.

Michael’s older brother certainly didn’t care about her opinion. Malachi didn’t care about her either. Never had, never would. To him, she was just the tramp who’d stole Martin from his mother.

“The photos were a stupid move, I see that now. I feel like a dick.” Michael shut his eyes. “It was just about showing them to you and getting Jerzee off my back with the band shit. I figured if you got a reminder of how public all of this was, you’d stop it. No one else was supposed to get the photos, but Jerzee and I got into it pretty good and he decided to send them to you to see if he could shake you down for some cash.” Michael shook his head and finally met her gaze. “I could’ve killed the jerk. Almost did too.”

As difficult as all of this was to hear, she was still stuck on an earlier point. “Michael, what look did Nick have that day he went out to the limo?”

He glanced away, but not fast enough for her to miss the emotion that shifted through his gaze. “The just-been-fucked look. I’m sorry, but I know it well. I’ve had it often enough myself.”

She didn’t speak. What could she say? Michael was a grown man and not her biological child, and she’d asked him for the truth.

No point in arguing with the facts. Nick had just been fucked the day he’d taken the limo from her apartment to the radio station interviews. Nothing she could say would diminish the reality. Except maybe next time she had sex with Nick, she’d force him to wear a damn bag over his head afterward, if he insisted on sex-glowing all over the place.

Oh yeah, right. No more sex. Well, that took care of that problem, nice and tidy. Her lady garden might wither away, but hey, at least no one would suspect she was banging Oblivion’s lead guitarist anymore.

Funny how that seemed like damn cold consolation.

“Not that I owe you an explanation, but no matter how it seems, we weren’t just…having intercourse.” She didn’t know who winced more, her or Michael. It was probably a tie. “We’ve obviously known each other a while, and—”

“You took him home to see Mom and Pop,” he said, accusation rife in his voice. “When I called them to wish them happy holidays, they asked why I hadn’t accompanied you to Happy Acres. Normally when you go back home at the holidays, you bring me.”

Her throat clogged with something akin to panic, and she took a large swallow of wine to force it back down. No matter what Michael was thinking—or feeling—they’d work this out. He was too important to her for them to have a rift. Especially over something like this.

“The trip with Nick was spur-of-the-moment.” She curled her fingers around the stem of her wine glass. “What happened with him…it’s wasn’t planned, on either of our parts.”

“You’re not even divorced yet.”

She shut her eyes on the censure in his tone. The judgment didn’t lash, merely snapped like a rubber band. Quick and painful.

And deserved. No matter what Martin had done, she’d taken vows as well. She wouldn’t excuse herself because she should get a special dispensation.

“I was wrong,” she said softly. “I’m still married, and I made a mistake.”

“Is it one you’re going to keep on making?”

“No.”

God, one word hurt as much as fifty of them. She could feel the imprint of it on her chest, burning straight through skin to the vital organs beneath. The sting wouldn’t go away anytime soon.

Perhaps that was best, so she couldn’t forget. So she wouldn’t lapse again.

“Your choice, or his?”

“Mine.” She forced her eyes open and focused on Michael’s green-gray ones. They weren’t the least bit like his father’s, and that helped. “Sometimes you need someone, and you do things you swore you never would.”

Michael’s jaw worked as he glanced away and fiddled with his untouched drink. “And this guy, you needed him?”

“I did.” I do. She nearly said the rest, but took another sip of wine instead. “He made me happy in a way I didn’t think I would ever be.”

Michael didn’t speak for a long time. His dexterous fingers swept around the edge of his glass, back and forth. “You didn’t say again.”

“What?”

“You didn’t say he made you happy again. You weren’t ever happy with my father, were you? Not really. Not in the way that mattered.”

“No.” She swallowed the rest of her wine and pushed away the glass. No more crutches. “I was infatuated with him, and he swept me away with promises. And money.” She wouldn’t sugarcoat the truth. It had taken years for her to acknowledge it, even to herself. “I was a farm girl from a small town, and he probably could’ve told me anything and I would’ve wanted to believe it. He bought me, and I own my guilt in being able to be purchased like a doll off a shelf. I told myself I loved him, because he said he loved me. And he was handsome, and intelligent, and everyone swarmed him like bees looking for honey. I wanted to be in his light.”

Michael nodded, lacing his fingers around his glass. But he still didn’t drink. “This guy in Oblivion…he has some light of his own.”

“He does, and plenty of money. And it doesn’t make one whit of difference to me. He could be a pauper and I wouldn’t care.” She laughed tiredly. “Hell, it would be easier.”

“So why did you break things off with him again?”

Her laughter subsided. This, too, required truth. One that was brutally hard to face, especially when reflected in the eyes of her boy. “Because I’m not ready to fall in love.” The redhead in the pictures and her understandable trust issues were part of it, a big part, but not all. Not even close. “I’m not ready to take the risk.”

Michael took a long drink, then set down his glass. The
clink
echoed in the too-silent apartment. “Sounds like you already have.”

I
t had been almost
a week since the show, and Simon, the fucker, wasn’t answering texts. Or calls. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to be home when Nick showed up uninvited on Saturday morning and let himself in again.

The key code hadn’t been changed yet to block him access, so that was probably a net win. With how things were going lately, he’d have to take them where he got them.

He’d even a bought a frigging bag of bagels, knowing Simon and Margo loved them fresh from the shop on the corner. Since he was already in their kitchen—and grumbling as he poked through their cabinets and discovered they were out of coffee—he could have left the bagels behind. But hell, Simon was probably off eating some stupid melon cup while he twirled the end of his sunglasses and debated the benefits of sunblock SPF 30 vs 50 on his model-perfect skin.

Nick snatched the bag of still-warm bagels off the counter and strode out of the apartment. He didn’t even like bagels all that much, but he’d keep his ten-dollar purchase for himself.

He could practically hear Simon’s laughter in his head as he got back in his car and rocketed up the street.
Dude, you’re a millionaire, bitching about ten-spots. Seriously, man, give it up. The money isn’t going to just disappear one day. We’re outta Carson now. We left it behind.

Easy for Simon to say. He had his backup career at the ready and was rolling in cash. Oblivion or no Oblivion, he would do just fine.

He, on the other hand, had no options. Gray and Jazz were writing for themselves and other bands, and Gray had already sat in as a session musician on The Grunge’s upcoming album. He’d asked Nick if he wanted to join them, since they actually played really well off each other, but Nick had told him no. His goddamn stage fright and inability to play easily with new people didn’t exactly leave him a ton of room for doing his best work in a one-and-done situation. He didn’t produce other artists like Deacon was getting into. Sure as hell couldn’t flip out his violin and join the symphony like Margo.

What he could do other than Oblivion was…nothing.

There was always writing songs. More than once, he’d tried to think about going through his stockpile of songs—some put together back in high school—and culling the herd a bit. He could put out some feelers, see if there was any interest. But that was just setting himself up for another kind of rejection. If he got shot down there, who was to say he wouldn’t lose even that avenue of expression? If he developed writer’s block when it came to lyrics, he’d go fucking mad.

He’d go work in some cubicle farm first.

An hour later, he’d grown tired of circling and checking his phone to see if Simon had finally deigned to reply to him. Nope. So that meant he had a bag of fresh bagels and no one to give them to.

Only one other person came to mind.

He drove there without debating what the hell he was doing. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to put himself through this again—not so soon anyway. And Margo’s idea of a big gesture to get the girl probably didn’t include bringing her a bag of repurposed carbs.

After parking in the garage of her building, he tapped in the code to access her elevator. Technically, she hadn’t given it to him. Then again, Simon really hadn’t given him his access code either. But c’mon, they had to know if he got a glance at the numbers he practically had to work at not remembering the codes.

Besides, no one freaking let him in otherwise.

At her door, he tugged out his phone and debated calling. Simon was one thing. Letting himself into Lila’s place felt intrusive and wrong.

Then the door swung inward and he forgot all about right, and wrong, and the bag of warm bagels he could use as a deadly weapon if really pressed.

And he just might be yet.

A guy with spiky dark hair was standing in Lila’s doorway, wearing just a towel. He looked a little too young for her, but not much. Water droplets puddled around his feet while he stood there and glared. He reached up to grip both sides of the doorframe, as if he intended to physically bar Nick from entry.

They’d just see how
that
went.

“Who the fuck are you?” Nick said, getting in the guy’s face.

“I could ask you the same question, except I recognize you. Oblivion, right? The band everyone keeps saying used to be good.”

Nick didn’t touch him, didn’t do anything but smile. “Used to be good is still a step up from—oh wait, I don’t know who you are. Do you bus tables in the restaurant downstairs or maybe clean off the gym equipment in the fitness center?”

The other guy didn’t speak. Just cocked his head and called out, “L, your
friend
is here.”

Nick said nothing, and he remained silent even when he heard Lila’s harried voice as she walked up the hall in the apartment. “What friend, Michael? This isn’t a good time. I’m not presentable.”

That was all it took to send him over his admittedly thin edge. Just her voice, and picturing her naked. Worse, picturing her naked with
this
smirking douche—

He shoved Michael out of the way—which wasn’t as easy as it should have been, because the guy was deceptively strong—and stormed into the apartment. In his haste, he nearly mowed down Lila. When he took in that she was only wearing a short terrycloth robe and her hair was wet, he didn’t see red.

He became a fucking
beam
of it.

“Nick.” She spoke as he turned back toward the doorway, fists already bunching. “He’s my stepson.”

“You’re banging your stepson?” Incredulous, Nick swung his gaze between them. “Jesus, what kind of Jerry Springer shit is this?”

From the horror on her face, he realized he’d maybe—just maybe—overspoke. Yet again. Forget overstepping. His biggest instrument of destruction was his flapping gums.

Her stepson coughed into his fist. “That’s my cue to jet. I’m going downstairs to grab a paper and a soda.”

“You’re not dressed. You can’t walk through a building like this dressed half-naked and dripping.” Lila shoved back her wet hair and grabbed a shirt off the kitchen counter. “Here. Put this on. And pants,” she called as the door shut in her face.

Then she dropped her forehead against the wood. “I’m never having three glasses of wine and oversleeping again.”

As images of a drunk, naked Lila showering with her stepson—Christ—spun through his head, Nick tossed his bag of bagels on the counter. It was a miracle they’d survived this long. “Is he your lover?”

She whirled to face him, and he noted with satisfaction that she’d lost the unnatural paleness he’d glimpsed after bursting through the door. Now her cheeks were a fiery pink. “Oh my God. You are a complete pervert. What are you even doing here? I didn’t ring you into this building.”

He crossed his arms and waited.

“No, I’m not sleeping with Michael, you sick bastard. I would never.” She sputtered. “Could never even dream of it. I helped raise him. He was thirteen when I met him.”

“You’ve both taken a shower recently,” he pointed out. “And he’s barely any younger than we are.”

“Two bathrooms, jackass, and what part of ‘don’t owe you an explanation’ do you not understand?” She marched to the counter, ripped open his bag of bagels and bit into the first one she withdrew. Actually,
bit into it
was a misnomer.

He’d seen lions on Animal Planet attack a fresh carcass more delicately than Lila mauled that garlic and parmesan bagel.

It was beyond hot.

He braced his forearms on the counter, leaning forward so he could study her more closely. Luckily she was too occupied rage-eating to notice. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you had a stepson?”

“Two.”

“You have two stepsons?”

“Yes. One loves me, one hates me. Do you want to know anything else about me?”

“Yeah.” He flicked his fingertip along her collarbone to catch a stray drop of water. She went as still as if he’d said he was going to kill her with his bare hands. “Do you have any idea what I would do to some guy who dared touch you?”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I’m starting to get some idea. And guess what? That’s not your call to make. You don’t own me or my body. Just because you woke it up again doesn’t mean—what are you doing?”

He circled the counter and came up behind her, lowering his head until he could sniff the fragrant waves of her hair. Apples. Always apples with her. Now that he’d been to her family’s orchard, a wealth of memories flooded through him from that single scent. Memories of rolling with her across a bed with firelight skimming her curves right before his hands followed the same path. Kissing her beside a twinkling Christmas tree. Driving like a maniac through a snowstorm with her for the simple joy of hearing her laugh.

“I’m breathing you in,” he murmured. “See, you’ve told me I can’t have you anymore. I can’t touch,” he ghosted his fingertips along the damp side of her neck, just avoiding contact, “can’t taste,” he moved his mouth in close until it hovered just beside her ear, “can’t slide inside you,” his hips lightly brushed her ass, “but I can smell you. I can look until I’m so hard I can’t walk. And I can remember.”

“Nick,” she said shakily. “We can’t do this.”

“We’re not doing anything. You asked me to step back, so I did. I have.” He inhaled one last time, then made himself put distance between them. “But you can’t make me forget. Nothing will ever make me do that.”

“It’s been one day.” She swallowed again and tore off another hunk of bagel. “Give it some time.”

“Darlin’, I could wait a lifetime and never forget what we were. Maybe your husband is stupid enough not to realize what he had, but I’m not. I know.”

“A couple weeks isn’t enough time to know much of anything.”

“That might be true, if I hadn’t been looking at you every damn day up until the point you came to me.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I think you got your timeline screwed up. Who showed up in my office and nearly pulled me across the desk?”

“Me. It was fucking me, and you aren’t going to forget either.” He slid his hand up her back into her hair, unable to resist gripping a handful to tug her head back. Her lips parted and her tongue slicked out between them, wet and pink, and his cock reared against his zipper with enough force to make him grit his teeth. “You’re mine, and that night I let you know it.”

“I don’t belong to anyone but myself.”

“Then why are you quivering? Why are you wet in every place, even the ones I can’t see?
Especially
the ones I can’t see.” He leaned in and spoke so close to her mouth that he could see the flutter of her eyelashes. “You hate that I’m telling the truth. But guess what? It’s a two-way street. You own me just as much.”

Shock wound its way through her expression, darkening her summer blue eyes. And he let go of her hair.

Again, he had to let her go, and it hurt just as much the second time.

“You have every right to tell me to fuck off. Every right to see whomever you want. But I’ll never stop trying to convince you to give me another chance to figure this thing out.” He slid his hand across the counter and covered hers where it trembled. “You know why?”

Resolutely, she stared off in the distance at something only she could see. “I know my boy is about to come back, and I don’t want to have to throw you out while he watches.”

“I’ve said my piece.” Most of it anyway, and he’d have to find a way to be okay with that. He couldn’t convince her that he wasn’t just messing around with her, not when he knew something had happened and she seemed utterly unwilling to communicate with him. “And at least I’ve fed you today, so I’ve accomplished something.”

Instead of setting down the rest of the bagel as he was sure she would do, she popped another piece in her mouth. Once she’d chewed and swallowed, she went back for the rest. Bite by bite, she demolished the bagel, and he stood and watched like a seagull starved for crumbs.

“All done,” she said finally, whisking parmesan off her fingers.

“Not by a fucking long shot.”

He went to the door, more buoyed by their conversation than he would have expected, especially considering how it had started. But she missed him too. There were shadows under her eyes, and she quaked the moment he touched her. She couldn’t fake that reaction.

Eventually she’d stop lying to herself. Then perhaps she’d stop lying to him.

“You’re not going to forget either, Li.” He opened the door. “When you’re ready to remember where we were when we left New York, I’ll be happy to help remind you.”

Before she could speak, he closed her apartment door behind him.