Slate (Breaking the Declan Brothers #2) (4 page)

“That’s probably not a good idea,” Jax starts to say.

Emmie grabs my hand. “Come on, I’ll show you where his room is; we’ll check to see if he’s awake yet.”

“Wait,” Zeke and Jax both holler, following us down the hall.

When Emmie stops, Zeke jumps in front of the door. “He’s real grumpy when he gets up. Why don’t you come back a little later—”

Something is off here. I feel it. For some reason, they really don’t want me to go into Slate’s room. “What? Does he have a girl in there with him?”

Zeke’s nose scrunches. “No.”

“Then get out of my way.” I give him a push, and he too easily gives in, moving to the left.

“Rayna,” Jax says from behind me, “you really don’t want to go in there.”

I reach for the knob, turn it, and open the door. The sunlight streams brightly through the window. I take a step in. It’s quiet. In jeans and a t-shirt, Slate’s still body lays on the bed. I walk over to him. His pale skin strengthens the redness of his scars. My chest squeezes tight.

“Hey.” I nudge his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch. I do it again, but still, no response. I glance at Emmie, Jax, and Zeke huddled in the doorway, but after getting no response from them either, I look around the room and my gaze halts at the nightstand. I reach down and pick up one of the prescription bottles—Ambien, a sleeping pill. I set it down and pick up another one, hydrocodone, a pain pill. I shake it and it’s empty. I go for the third one, but it’s not labeled. I open it and dump a variety of pills into my hand. I put the pills back into the bottle, close it, and go to leave the room. They all move out of my way. I turn around, close the door, and cross my arms over my chest.

I glare at all of them, pausing at Emmie. “Did you know about this?”

“No…” She shoots another questioning look Jax’s way. “I didn’t.”

“I want to know everything,” I say to both brothers.

“Rayna, this isn’t your problem,” Jax says.

“It’s okay, Jax. You and Emmie can go. I’ll tell her.”

“Fuck that, you should just leave,” he says to me, and then looks over at Zeke. “She doesn’t need this shit. He’s not her problem anymore. He’s ours.”

I touch him on the arm. Jax, always the protector. “I want to know, Jax.”

He stares at me for a long moment. Emmie gives me a faint smile and takes Jax’s hand. “Come on, handsome. I’m starving, make me something to eat.”

He brushes a hand through his hair. “We tried, Rayna. We did, but he doesn’t want our help,” he says before leaving with Emmie.

I watch Jax walk away, and after working at a drug rehab facility for a few months, I recognize that defeated look. I turn back to Zeke. “Everything,” I emphasize.

“You know about the fire, right?”

I nod. “And I saw his scars.”

“Yeah-” He leans back against the wall, shoving a hand into the front pocket of his jeans. “They put him in the hospital for a few months. I was with him most of the time. Jax had to manage the shit with the store and try to sort it all out. It killed him, but ya know Jax. Anyway, I was there the first time they changed Slate’s dressings. Rayna, when they took the bandages off, all the blood, it was bad. I almost got sick. And Slate, man-” He stops to gaze ahead for a second as if caught in the memory. “Well, he made this sound, I swear, I never heard any shit like that before in my life. Coming from my brother, no less. The pain must’ve been unbearable. Hearing him scream and cry like that.” He shakes his head. “All I could do was let him squeeze the hell out of my hand. They had to keep upping his pain meds before they did the dressing changes. And one day, it just stopped. I came in while they were doing it, and his eyes glossed over. He didn’t move, didn’t make a sound, as they removed the bandages. I thought he was dead in that bed. I really did. I think a part of him died that day. Then he started physical therapy and stayed at a rehab place for a few more months. Between that and the surgeries, he still needed the pain meds. He got hooked. It’s been three years since the fire and he should be off them by now. The docs limit his supply, but he just gets whatever he wants off the street.”

“What about drug rehab?”

“Oh, we tried that. He’s been in and out of them, and the hospital too for overdoses, but he can’t kick it. He won’t. He’s addicted.”

I take a shaky breath. “Is it just pills?”

“Shit.” He blows out. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

There are all kinds of things running through my head. The urge to cry came and I bashed it away. I wanted to scream, but I swallowed that back down into my body. And the desire to walk back in that room and shake the shit out of Slate, now that I know, won’t do any good. He’s obviously too far gone for that to affect him. So, I know what I need to do. And it might not be one of my better ideas ‘cause, let’s face it, I don’t seem to have too many, but I can’t just walk away from him. I can’t leave knowing he’s been suffering for the past three years without doing something to help him.

With Zeke following me, I head to the room that Jax and Emmie had gone into, the kitchen. “All right,” I say, and they all look at me. “I have an idea, but I’m going to need your help.”

“Uh-oh…” Emmie grimaces. “We’re in trouble now. I know that look in your eyes.”

I grin. Yep, she knows me all too well.

I came here to break Slate Declan, and that’s exactly what I plan to do. Even if it means that I have to fix him before I can do it.

I press the pad of my hand to my head, trying to get the pounding to stop. My eyes haven’t opened yet, but I know when they do that banging in my brain is going to get worse. I crack them open, instantly assaulted by AC/DC’s Thunderstruck. I slam my lids back down. Zeke put the rock band’s poster up on the ceiling tiles. It’s his introductory song before he fights. I groan. How in the hell did I wind up in the den?

After the fight, I did those few bumps of coke Gathie had given me, and then went out and found some hydros. When I got home and started coming down from the high, I popped a couple of sleeping pills. At least this time I didn’t wake up in the bathtub, getting an ice-cold shower courtesy of my brothers ‘cause they thought that I’d OD’d again.

I roll over on the couch, cross my arms over my chest, and tuck my fists into my sides. The fucking thing is uncomfortable. I lift my lids, and through the hazy blur, I focus in on lush pink lips and cat-like eyes. Man, that all-American drug brings her to me every time. Still, I’ll never tire of her visits. Her vision comforts me. A smile slowly slips over my lips. “Hey monkey,” I groggily say to the beautiful hallucination sitting in the chair across from me.

“Hi, Superman,” the figment sweetly responds.

Loving the sound of her voice, my smile grows. “Oh, I’ll be your Superman, babe,” I say, nuzzling against the pillow as I let my heavy lids drop back down over my eyes.

I’m not sure for how long I fall back to sleep—could’ve been five minutes or five hours—but when I wake again, I’m still on the hard couch. More alert, my body takes note of the worn cushions and jabbing springs. I rub my face against the rough throw pillow. Blinking a couple of times, my eyes open. “Oh, come on,” I groan. “You’re still here?”

“Yep.” The gorgeous illusion grins. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I swing my legs around and sit up. I scrub my face, trying to snap out of it, but when I look back up, Rayna’s still here. “You never do.” I laugh at myself. I’ve lost it. I’m now having a conversation with my hallucinations.

She leans forward, bringing her beauty closer to my ugly. “What does that mean?”

I glare at her. “You know what it means.”

“No, I don’t,” she says, eyes narrowing.

“Go away, Rayna. I don’t need you messing with my shit right now.”

“I told you, I’m not leaving,” she says in an all-too-familiar tone.

I stand up, walk over to her, place my hands on the chair arms, and lean down. She looks different, older. That’s right. I saw her last night at JZS and that’s why I imagine her like this. Hell. I knew she was in town and that I’d eventually run into her. But when I saw her drop that damn tear, no doubt pitying me like all the others, it pissed me off. Rather, she saw me as the monster that I really am. That sordid part of me that I kept hidden from her for all those years we were together.

Her eyes stay in line with mine, our faces get closer, and I watch the lump slide down her throat when she swallows. Damn. It seems so real. I grip the chair arms. “Get. Out. Of. My. Head.”

She shifts forward; our mouths barely touch, and I swear, I feel her breath on my lips when she says, “I’m not in your head.”

I inhale her. Shit! I even imagine her scent. “Yeah, you are,” I say, now arguing with my hallucinations.

“No. I’m. Not.”

I lift my hand from the chair arm. It’s time to end this shit. I reach for her nape to pull her mouth to mine. I feel her soft lips sink into me. “Fuck!” I jump back, nearly falling on my ass. I swipe my fingers across my mouth and look down at her. “You’re fucking real?”

“Yes, I am.” She nods as the haze around her dissolves, leaving a very real Rayna sitting in the chair before me.

My entire body goes numb. I glance down at my exposed scars then anxiously look around the room until I spot a hoodie. I walk over. With shaky hands, I grab it and pull it on. I yank the hood up over my head and take a deep breath, trying to overcome the fucked-up situation I’ve awoken to. What is she doing here, in my home, in the fucking den? How long has she been sitting there, watching me? How long did she have full access to my revolting body? Oh, man. I think that I’m gonna be sick.

Alive and breathing, Rayna, the one and only love of my life, is here.

“Hey,” she says, “did you really think that you imagined me?”

Yanking the sleeves down over my arms, striving to remain calm, I don’t bother to look her way. Don’t want her to see how messed up I am over the fact that she’s in my shitty world. “What do you want, Rayna?”

“Wow, you did,” she says with surprise in her voice. “Slate, that shit is really screwing you up.”

She’s right. Not knowing what’s real and when I’m hallucinating is definitely all kinds of screwed up. But, that’s me—I’m fucked-up. I turn to face her. “What are you doing here?”

“You don’t need that,” she says, ignoring my questions. She stands up and waves a finger at my chest. “I already saw them. You don’t need to hide your scars from me.” Holding my breath, I watch her walk over to me. She stops and lifts her chin. “What am I doing here?” She smirks. “Well, for starters, I wanted to thank you for taking care of Lady.”

I stare down into her slanted eyes. Is she fucking with me right now? Is that it? “I’m not fucking doin’ this with you.”

Her nose scrunches. She’s adorable when she does that. “Doing what?”

Now, I know she’s messing with me. “I’m out of here.” I walk away.

“Haven’t changed, have ya, Slate? Still running away from a little confrontation?”

“Fuck you.” I start up the stairs.

After a few seconds of trying to get the door open, I hear her say, “It’s locked.”

I start kicking it, calling for Jax and Zeke. I gotta get out of here. I have to get away from her. I need a fucking hydro. I need something to calm me down, to numb me, to make her go away. Somehow, though, deep in my empty queasy gut, I know getting rid of the real Rayna will not be as easy as fending off the illusion of her.

“I told them to board it up,” she says.

“What?” I turn around. She’s now standing at the bottom of the stairs. Damn. She looks great. Why does she have to look so good? She’s still beautiful—long, dark hair, ivory skin, and those eyes. I could look into them for-fucking-ever. Her figure hasn’t changed much, either. Her lush cleavage bursts before my eyes from my position. Man. I’ve missed those tits. “What the fuck do you want?”

“I wanted to see you. Ya know, catch up.” She gives me one of her cheeky grins, the kind that trouble usually follows.

“So you fucking locked me in the den?” I start down the stairs. “Couldn’t just come over like any normal person and say ‘Hey, Slate. What’s up?’” I stop on the last step in front of her.

Her shoulder lifts and she smiles up at me. “I wanted to spend some time with you, too.”

I cock my head to the side. “Yeah.” I search her sly green eyes. Shit! She’s up to something. “And just how much time are we talking about here?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She crosses her arms over chest, pushing those perfect tits up further. “I was thinking, maybe somethin’ like, three days.”

I glare at her. What’s going on...wait, did she really just say three days? Three days, why would she... Motherfucker! It hits me what she’s attempting here. I take the last step down from the stairs, but she doesn’t budge. She doesn’t back down. It’s so like her. When she sets her mind to something, she doesn’t give up. Just one of the many things I love, or loved, about her. “Not gonna happen,” I say between clenched teeth.

Her grin softens into that sweet smile, the one that I easily fell in love with. Eyes fixed on mine, she reaches up and pushes my hood down. Her warm palm moves to my cheek. Fuck. It feels good to have her soft skin touch mine. No one’s touched me this tenderly since...“No.” I push past her. “No!” I say again, more to myself.