A. Zavarelli - Stutter (Bleeding Hearts Book 2) Read online

  Oh, God. I did not think this through. I pulled away from him, despite his resistance, and adjusted my clothes.

  “I can’t, Ryland.”

  “You can,” he insisted.

  I had to tear my eyes away from him. I couldn’t bear to see the hope that lived there. I was an awful human being. I hated myself right then.

  “I’m sorry,” I apologized weakly. “I have to go.”

  “Brighton…” He tried to stand, but I bolted out the door before he could even get his pants zipped.

  I made it to the elevator and pressed the close button repeatedly until the doors started to slide shut. Just before they did, I saw him round the corner, looking like he’d just lost me forever.

  And I guess, in a way he had.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ryland

  Guess who’d come to pay yours truly a visit? No, not her. Not my little lotus flower.

  I’m referring to my old friend darkness. No big surprise there, of course. But this time, it threatened to devour me. Coaxing me deeper into that empty abyss, welcoming with open arms. It’d be easy to fall into that trap again. But one image quashed any thoughts of self-pity I may have entertained.

  Want to have a stab at what it could be?

  Not necessary, I’d tell you anyway. It was Brighton, crumpled into a tiny pocket of metal. Blood coating her legs, a ghastly white face beneath the light of the moon while I clutched a revolver in my hand. A revolver I’d held to her brother’s head only moments before, oblivious to the fact that my girl… my life… was suffering from my actions.

  If ever there had been a moment suspended in time, it was that one. I hardly believed it was real. That my recklessness could have caused such a horrific and unexpected outcome. My body attempted in vain to reach her before my mind ever caught up. But I couldn’t. It was history, repeated. Only this time, I’d orchestrated everything myself. The only light in my life was slipping away, and there was nobody else to blame. It wasn’t Brayden. It wasn’t Frankie, or Alfredo, or my father. It was me.

  A gun is a cowardly way to kill someone. Also a merciful one. In my mind, it hadn’t gone down like that at all. Brayden was meant to sufferas I had. But I’d gotten sloppy. Impatient. The longer the situation with Brighton continued, the more I doubted my intentions. It boiled down to revenge, or her. I just needed to get it over with, I decided. Let the chips fall where they may.

  Funny thing about Karma. She’s a bitch.

  I knew I deserved Brighton’s loathing. Her hatred. Her venomous words. I’d take all of it and more, so long as she was in my arms again. But still. Fresh ideas were scarce, and old well and truly exhausted. For a man who thrived on planning out his every move with meticulous care, this was a dangerous thing.

  But you already knew that, right?

  Know what’s worse than cold turkey? Just a little bump. One tiny sip to take the edge off. The edges never went away, they only got sharper. Every addict would tell you. Gray areas couldn’t exist in a sober environment.

  This game of cat and mouse was doing my fucking head in. There was a time when Brighton trusted me to know what was right for her. I’d taken for granted what a beautiful thing her trust was. Now it had withered up and died like everything else.

  Left to my own devices, I’d sit and stare at the empty walls of my office all day and drink myself to death. Hypocritical, no? Few men handled this type of emotional baggage well, and I-even less. Word was spreading round the building like a serpent, employees whispering behind my back at every turn. Neither here nor there, really. Let them talk. But it was the sympathetic glances that unraveled me.

  While we’re delving into the past, I may as well tell you why I changed my name. My father ensured the media coverage was locked down and sealed up tight. His last ditch effort at protecting me, he’d finally done something properly.

  Frankie’s crew hadn’t a clue I existed until I had the balls to walk up and face them myself. Probably, they inspired fear in most of the average joes to pay a little visit to their HQ, but I had nothing left to lose. So I made a deal. A deal with the devil himself.

  Once they knew of me and we had an agreement in place, I settled on the next course of action. Changing my name didn’t buy me safety. I did that on my own. But it bought me something else. An out from the irreverent pity and half-hearted condolences.

  I didn’t want pity. I wanted my fucking revenge.

  That little nugget of hope kept me warm at night. Until Brighton. Now I didn’t even have her. I’d given them both up, and what had it gotten me?

  A whole lot of fucking misery that’s what.

  But if being miserable was the cost of weathering this storm, so be it. I’d made my bed of nails, and I was content to lie in it. Patience wasn’t one of my virtues, but for her I’d try. Five years of lying in wait had already done a number on my tolerance level. In a way, I blamed this for things imploding so badly. The anticipation really was too much for me. By the time I finally got hands on her, self-control was in short supply. More beast than man at that point, I’d allowed myself to indulge in every dark fantasy I ever had.

  Five years was a long time to stew on all the sick and twisted shit you want to do. I reasoned that Brighton could fulfill whatever childlike dreams she entertained in her head by then. She could go to prom and date nice boys. Or bad ones, with her family history. I wasn’t exactly certain which way the pendulum would swing. She blindsided me completely when I took her innocence.

  It all snowballed from there. If you haven’t already gathered this about me, I was completely hedonistic. Some might say selfish. Entitled. Whatever label you want to give it, I always got my way. And until Brighton understood this, I just needed to learn how to bide my time. Find a new direction. One that didn’t involve killing Brayden. Because I would have her. She was already mine, and this stalemate couldn’t go on forever. I’d see it through, till’ she came back to me.

  She had to. Right?

  My dicking around and day drinking was interrupted by Matt poking his head into my office. Ah, perfect. Another shitty item on my agenda. Mind you, I was doing this for Nicole.

  “You wanted to see me?” he asked.

  I nodded and gestured to the chair. He sat down. “Heard from Nicole, lately?”

  He shook his head and stared at the floor. Guess I wasn’t the only sap in the room.

  “That makes two of us then.”

  I walked over to the cabinet in my office and rummaged through my whiskey collection. Jack, Jim, Johnnie… the boys were all there. Something stronger was in order for what came next. It wasn’t often in my life I admitted regret, but it’d been happening an awful frigging lot as of late.

  Would Jackson see it as a betrayal? I imagined myself in his shoes. Wondered what I’d want for Brighton if I wasn’t around. Nobody could ever love her the way I did. The thought alone made me want to crack some skulls. But if I wasn’t there, she’d need someone to take care of her. I was too blind to admit before that Nicole did too.

  “I need to talk to you,” I began. “About Jackson.”

  Matt’s face grew wary, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand why. I hadn’t mentioned Jackson’s name since he died. The one time Matt tried to bring it up, I clocked him in the jaw. Needless to say it’d been a dead subject ever since.

  “What about him?” Matt asked.

  I sat back down at my desk and scrubbed the heels of my hands across my face. This was even harder than I thought.

  “About what he would have wanted for Nicole.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Brighton

  “How are you?” Norma asked.

  I stared out at the garden, taking it all in since I hadn’t the last time I was here. The rehab center really was beautiful. I still couldn’t believe that Ryland had done this for her.

  “I’m good,” I lied.

  “Doesn’t look like it.” She sat back in her chair and bobbed her foot up and down. “Yo
u’re getting a little hefty.”

  I laughed and rolled my eyes. Okay, so I guess some things hadn’t changed. Norma could still be as blunt as ever.

  “I’m not getting hefty, Norma. I’m pregnant.”

  Her eyes widened, and she stared down at my belly in shock. “You are?”

  “Yes.” I swallowed. “Four months now. But you can’t tell anyone, okay? Especially not Ryland.”

  “Is it his?” she asked.

  “Of course it is,” I scoffed.

  She held her hands up and gave me a gentle smile. “I didn’t mean it that way, Brighton. I’m just surprised. I can’t believe you’re going to be a mama.”

  “I know,” I agreed. “I’m scared.”

  Her expression softened, and she reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “You’re going to do great,” she insisted. “So much better than I ever did.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured. “I’m trying to do what’s right, but sometimes, I don’t even know what that is anymore.”

  She nodded in understanding. If there was anyone who could relate to my predicament, it would be Norma. I never really cut her any slack for that, but I knew how much she both loved and feared Frankie. And he didn’t want her, so she dealt with it in the only way she knew how.

  “I wish I could tell you what to do, Brighton,” she said. “But I hardly know myself. I guess that’s part of life, is figuring it out as you go.”

  “Yeah I guess so,” I agreed.

  We fell silent for a moment, and I fidgeted with my hands in my lap. There was something else I needed to ask, but I was half-afraid to.

  “Have you heard anything from Brayden?”

  She frowned, and right away, I knew I was justified for being worried.

  “He’s called a couple times since you told him where I was. But he’s not real happy with me.”

  “Of course he’s not,” I sneered. “Because the only thing he’ll see in the whole situation is that you’re taking Ryland’s side. He can’t see past anything else.”

  “That sounds about right,” Norma agreed quietly.

  She looked sad, and for the first time in a long time, I knew she needed my reassurance.

  “You’re doing the right thing, Norma,” I said. “You’re taking care of yourself right now, and that’s all that matters. If Brayden can’t see that, then that’s his issue, not yours.”

  “I know,” she agreed. “But I’m just… I’m worried about him, Brighton.”

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat. I was too.

  “How’s he paying the rent now that you’re gone?”

  “He’s not.” She glanced down at her hands as she twisted them in her lap. “He said he’s living in Chicago.”

  “Chicago?” The word came out as a whisper. “With who?”

  She didn’t reply. But I didn’t need her to. Brayden wouldn’t have told her who he was there with, but it was obvious to both of us. And it scared the hell out of me.

  “You don’t think he’s getting tied back up with…” I couldn’t even finish the sentence. How could he keep doing this to his family? For someone who said he cared, he didn’t seem to think about how any of his actions might affect us.

  “I don’t know for sure,” Norma admitted. “But, he’s just like his father. Thinks he’s too good to get a real job. I’m afraid to even ask him what he’s doing.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” I said, sounding more confident than I actually felt. “You just focus on getting healthy, Norma. Okay?”

  I gave her a watery smile, and she returned it. “Okay Brighton. I love you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ryland

  When I was a child, my mother used to take me down to the pier every weekend and spend an entire day devoting herself to doing whatever I fancied. Sometimes it was sailing, often times the aquarium, there were even the occasional bouts of watching sea lions frolic about.

  Whatever the occasion, we had a tradition, her and I. She’d always take me to Dreyer’s after and let me stuff my face with ice cream till’ I wanted to puke. I must have sampled every flavor and topping combination my tiny brain could conjure up about a dozen times over. But not Katherine.

  She preferred vanilla. Plain old, nothing added, boring as hell vanilla. I couldn’t comprehend such a thing in my childlike noggin. There were so many other flavors. So many different possibilities. When I told her so, she’d laughed and stroked my cheek in a way that mothers do.

  “Someday, sweet Jacob,” she said. “Someday, you’ll get it.”

  Sitting in my office-twenty years later-I finally got it. I leaned forward to brush the pads of my fingers over the framed photo of Brighton’s pretty face. This dirty little habit of mine was starting to rival Norma’s.

  It all made perfect sense to me now, what my mother said. Vanilla was pure and unsullied. Cleansing to the palate, you had to savor it to appreciate it. I could sip at Brighton’s vanilla sweetness for a thousand years and never be fully satisfied. I’d always replenish her, though. I swore it. I’d break her a thousand times if only so I could put her back together again.

  Piles of work were strewn about my desk, forgotten and ignored. Everything was out of order and inviting chaos into my life. Care factor? Nil. The drive for what I did disappeared off a ridge along the Pacific Coast Highway on a night not too long ago.

  Today was July 29th. My birthday. Did it surprise you that I was a lion? It shouldn’t.

  Birthdays had ceased to exist for me six years ago. I doubted Brighton had any special mark of this day on her calendar. But if she had, I wondered what she’d have gifted me. She was thoughtful and attentive. It wouldn’t be anything expected in circles such as mine. Seven fold ties or cufflinks made from the tusks of endangered species. No fine Cuban cigars or two-hundred-year-old bottles of scotch would spew forth from her hands.

  Brighton would give something from the heart. Something that mattered.

  I had an inkling of a few things that would’ve pleased me. Her waltzing into my office in white lingerie, getting down on her knees and sacrificing herself at my alter. Oh wait, she’d already done that. Still, there was nothing like a good old fashioned reenactment.

  Would I have taken it all back if I could? That first day in the hotel room when I’d unknowingly altered my course so drastically. Probably not. I wasn’t a saint, never would be. Those memories with Brighton were a lot like a penicillin shot. Painful, but necessary at times. They still made something in the vicinity of my chest stir every now and again.

  From what you know of me, I’d gather you’d assume I was more than a little twisted. And you’d be right.

  I wasn’t always this way. Once upon a time I was a normal twenty-four-year-old who brought women flowers and took them to dinner. I never even considered being anything other than respectful towards them.

  That was how my mother raised me after all. To woo and charm and play by the rules.

  Then life happened. And brick by brick, my sensibly constructed mortar kingdom disintegrated before my eyes. My reality check was that life didn’t play fair. Life took. And people took. And every day that I woke up empty fucking took… something. I was forged in the fire of blood and misery. The sadist inside of me created someone in his image. Or perhaps he only brought to life the monster always lurking there. I’d never really know for certain.

  But Brighton loved the monster. She’d admitted as much. So what good would it do to pretend I was anything else? Why show up with wine and chocolate when you know your girl wants leather and filthy words?

  And yet there I sat. Thirty years old in my sad office with my sad paperwork. Alone.

  I wanted her to text me. To say something. I’d been waiting all day. It was a foolish notion. She didn’t even know it was my birthday. I knew when hers was. I’d buy her the world, but somehow I doubted it’d make a lick of difference.

  For the last six years, I’d been alone on this day. It was never an issue. Indeed
, I preferred it that way. But tonight, I didn’t want to be alone. I wanted to be with her.

  And I was sick of waiting.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Brighton

  Something warm skimmed over my neck, and I shivered as I nuzzled closer. I knew that scent anywhere. Whiskey and Ryland.

  I smiled, because I was dreaming, and in my dreams, I could still have him.

  “Baby girl,” he murmured. “Just let me hold you.”

  I felt his warmth against my back, and I sighed against him. His heartbeat was as strong as I remembered, soothing me in a way that only he could. It felt so real. His hands were on my body. Stroking my hip, my ribs, my arms. I was falling deeper, and I knew I was going to lose him at any moment.

  “Ryland,” I whispered.

  “Yes, baby,” he replied. “I’m right here.”

  His hands drifted over my belly, and I felt him pause. This was my dream, so it could be anything I wanted. I imagined him telling me how happy he was. That we never had to be apart again, and he would take care of us. I would let him this time. Because it was just a dream.

  ***

  I woke to sunlight streaming through the cracked blinds, and I whined. I really needed to get those fixed. Stretching out my sore muscles, a smile crept across my face. My dream had been so real last night, so very…

  The scent of amber and cinnamon floated up from my pillow, and my breath hitched. I wasn’t imagining that. That was real.

  I shot up, clutching the blankets around my chest. Ryland was sitting on the end of the bed. But he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at the picture of the sonogram they’d taken in the hospital. The one that I kept in my dresser drawer.

  Oh, God.

  My heart squeezed in my chest. He knew.

  I waited for what felt like forever. He knew I was awake, but he wouldn’t look at me. He wouldn’t say anything. And I didn’t know why.

  He was disappointed. Horrified. That could be the only explanation.

  Finally, he stood up, his blue eyes meeting mine. I was afraid to look too deeply for fear of what I’d see there.