Everything for Us (A Bad Boys Novel) (15 page)

TWENTY-TWO

Marissa

My heart splinters right inside my chest as Nash leads the girl through the crowd. I should stop watching him. But I can’t. I can’t stop watching him any more than I could stay away from him when I could’ve avoided all this.

I knew what kind of guy he was, what kind of guy he
is
. One look at him will tell any girl with half a brain what kind of guy he is. He’s the kind that will break your heart. Without a thought or a backward glance, right before he walks out of your life.

It’s not like he didn’t warn you.

That only makes me feel worse. It makes me feel stupid on top of everything else.

As I watch him dance with the slutty blonde—which he does amazingly well, I might add—I can’t help but feel a devastating sense of letdown. It sounds crazy, no doubt, but I think some part of the new me hoped that I’d find love in an unexpected place, in an unexpected way. Nash is both.

Having him fall for me, being the one who could heal him and make him love again, would’ve been a wonderful way to start my new life. But maybe it’s not meant to be. Maybe I’m supposed to cut all ties and find my way on my own.
Completely
on my own. I’ve never been on my own like that before. Maybe it’s time I am.

In my head, that sounds all Antigone-esque, but in my heart it just feels lonely. And empty.

Suddenly the room and all its happy celebration feels suffocating. I slide from my bar stool to flee the weight that’s pressing in on my chest, but a firm grip on my shoulder stops me. I turn to see Ginger. She shakes her head, as if telling me not to leave, gives me a wink, and then turns to speak into the crowd.

“Who’d like to see the birthday girl open her presents?” Even with the loud music, Ginger’s voice can be heard easily. No doubt that’s a pretty handy talent for a bartender to have. As if on cue, someone lowers the music and the sea of faces turn toward Ginger.

I sit back down. I’m stuck. There’s no way to exit now without appearing rude and inconsiderate. Plastering a smile on my face, I look around to find Olivia, purposely avoiding looking at Nash and that . . . that . . . woman.

I see Cash first. His head is visible above practically every other one in the room. He’s smiling, his chin resting atop a shiny, black head. I lean a little to my left and see Olivia wrapped in his arms, hugged against his chest, facing her crowd of friends. She’s smiling like the happiest girl alive.

My chest aches and my eyes burn. I envy her. Not that I begrudge Olivia happiness. I don’t. I just wish I were more like her. In every way.

My chin trembles and I force back tears. I was never this girl before—emotional, wistful, possessive, particularly caring, out of control—but I guess being a better person, being considerate and sympathetic, can’t come without some pain. I just didn’t realize it would be so much.

I look at Olivia and see the payoff, though. She’s in a room full of genuine friends who love her for who she is, not what kind of stock she came from or how she can help them rise to a higher place in the world. She’s met the love of her life and wound him around her little finger. And she can lay her head down every night knowing she’s truly loved and that she was a bright spot in a dark world that day. She doesn’t need riches or material possessions. She doesn’t need a powerful father or a great family name. She didn’t need a fancy (and useless) degree. She’s just decent. Soul-deep decent.

“Mine first, mine first!” Cash says, waving his hand toward someone in the crowd. I look back through the faces until I see Nash step forward to hand Cash a long, narrow box wrapped in simple yet luxurious red velvet. I know instantly where the package came from. And my heart hits the floor. I have a sinking suspicion I misjudged Nash.

I watch Cash take the box he probably hid from Olivia with Nash and hand it to her. Her smile still in place, she loosens the matching velvet bow and pulls the material away from the rectangle. Cash reaches around her to lift the lid away and Olivia’s eyes get round.

“Oh, Cash! It’s beautiful!”

She pulls out a bracelet. Even from my distance and vantage point, I can see that it’s got three rows of jewels—an emerald one with diamond rows on either side. It’s stunning and will go perfectly with the emerald earrings I bought her.

“It is, but it doesn’t hold a candle to you,” he says, smiling down into her face when she turns in his arms. She hands him the bracelet, then her wrist. He fastens the glistening band around it, then raises her fingers to his lips. His words aren’t loud. They’re meant only for Olivia, but everyone is so quiet, so respectful and reverent of what’s going on between them, it’s easy to hear him. “I love you, birthday girl.” Olivia throws her arms around his neck and whispers something in his ear. He chuckles and then kisses her when she leans back. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“It’d be a shame if you didn’t,” she says, making all her onlookers snicker.

One by one, her friends and loved ones step up to hand her their gift. Some are nice gifts, some are comical, some are purely meaningful, but all are very thoughtful and meant to show Olivia that she’s loved. That’s the one overarching, undeniable theme—she’s adored. Deeply. For nothing more than the person she is. And that’s the way it should be. It just took me a lifetime to realize it.

When there’s no one else stepping up to give her something, I reach inside my purse and pull out a small square box, also wrapped in red velvet. I feel guilty just looking at it. Not for what’s inside, but for assuming the worst about Nash, assuming that he lied to me about where he was. I was judging him as though he were one of the people I’m most accustomed to in life—people who lie and betray and mislead without a second thought. I’m not used to people like these, people who are honest and caring.

And Nash is one of them.

I don’t know if he cares about me, but he cared very deeply for his mother and, evidently, still cares for his father and brother, whether he’d admit it or not. And I’d say he’s pretty honest, too. Nash is the kind of guy who would just tell you the truth, regardless of how much it hurts. In fact, he’s already shown that he will. He warned me off getting involved with him, only I wouldn’t listen. He was honest from the beginning. And he was honest about where he was today. He
was
with Cash. At the jewelry store. But I didn’t give him the benefit of the doubt. And that’s on me.

I slip off the bar stool to walk my gift to Olivia. She’s smiling when I reach for her hand. I take it in mine, placing the box in the center of her palm. I wait for her gaze to meet mine before I speak. I want her to know I’m sincere. I want her to see it on my face, in my eyes.

“If I could choose to be like anyone in life, I’d choose you.” I bend slightly to press my lips to her cheek. “Happy birthday. You deserve all the happiness in the world.”

Her eyes are brimming with tears when I lean back. She hooks one arm around my neck and pulls me in close for a hug.

“Love you, cuz,” she whispers. And the thing is, I really think she means it.

“Love you, too.”

When I turn around to find my way back to my seat, it’s to see another tall head making its way through the crowd. This time Nash is heading for the exit. And in front of him, tugging on his hand, is the blonde from earlier. I watch until he’s out of sight and the door is closed. Not once did he look back.

Not.

Once.

I can hardly wait for Olivia to open my present and things to get back to the party portion of the night. Then I can escape unnoticed. And I need that. Desperately. I feel like I can’t breathe, like someone stole the air from the room. From my lungs. From my soul.

When the music is blaring once more and the celebration is in full swing, I cling to the outskirts of the room and make my way to the door.

The cool, quiet night slaps me in the face the instant I step outside. I welcome the shock. It makes me feel alive when so much of me feels dead and hopeless. I’m preoccupied with thoughts of getting to the car and letting loose the ocean of tears that are threatening, so I jump when I hear a voice right behind me.

“Care to give an old man a ride?”

I turn, one hand still clamped over my racing heart, to see my uncle Darrin, Olivia’s father, smiling at me from his wheelchair, his casted leg sticking straight out. Ginger brought him to the bar; I assumed he’d be leaving when she did.

“Sorry. You scared me.”

“Didn’t mean to. I saw you creeping out and I followed. I was just waiting for Liv to finish with her presents so I could ask Ginger to run me home. I’m old and it’s way past my bedtime,” Uncle Darrin says charmingly.

“Of course. I’m parked right over there,” I say, pointing to my car.

I walk more slowly so Darrin can keep up. Thankfully the lot is paved or he’d have trouble navigating it in his wheelchair.

“I would open your door, but this thing gets in the way.” He glances down at the offending limb. I think it’s sweet that he’d even think about it. I’d forgotten what a nice, genuine country guy he is. I’d be willing to bet there’s not an ounce of guile in him. I don’t know too many people like that. I’m related to even fewer.

“How ’bout I open it for you, just this once?”

He sighs loudly. “If you insist,” he says playfully. I hit the button on my fob, listening for the click of the locks before I open the passenger-side door and hold it for Uncle Darrin. I watch as he comes to a stand on his good leg, then expertly pivots, moving from the wheelchair to the car seat.

“Like a pro, right?” he says as he folds up his wheelchair. “Doc won’t clear me for crutches yet.” I nod, having wondered about that. “Think you can slide this into the backseat? Or the trunk? It’s not heavy.”

“Of course.”

Once I get the chair into the backseat, I get in on the driver’s side and start the car.

He’s quiet for the first half of the short drive to his house. When he finally speaks, it’s not the small talk I would’ve expected.

“There’s something different about you. You’re not the spoiled little rich girl you used to be.”

I could probably take offense at that, but I don’t. I take it as a compliment.

“I’m not. And I don’t ever want to be again.”

I glance over at Darrin and he’s nodding, taking it in.

“I didn’t think you’d stand a chance against that damn brother of mine. I’m glad to see you’re stronger than he is, stronger than his influence.”

I look at him again. He’s watching me, like he’s seeing me for the first time. And like he approves of what he’s seeing.

I say what I truly feel. “Thank you.”

“It hasn’t always been easy for Olivia, either, what with her mother giving her such a hard time about who she is and the kinds of choices she makes. I’ll tell you what I’ve always told her. Blaze your own trail in life. Make your own choices and make your own mistakes. It’s the only way you’ll find your own happiness, not someone else’s.”

I say nothing to him, only nod. His words are so profound, they resonate so deeply, that I don’t know what I could possibly say in response. I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for someone to tell me those things, to tell me that it’s okay to make mistakes, that it’s okay to be me, to be my own person. But in my whole life, no one has ever allowed it. And they never will. If I’m to be the Marissa I want to be, it will be away from my family, my friends, from the life I’ve always known. Blazing my own trail means burning bridges with the flame.

And I just don’t know if I’m strong enough to do that.

But I know I have to try.

When we reach the house, I put the car in park, but I don’t cut off the engine. I get out and walk around to get his wheelchair out. I pry it open before pushing it to the now-open passenger door. Like the pro he teased about being, Darrin reverses his earlier movements and stands on his good leg, pivoting and then plopping down in his wheelchair.

I move to the back of the chair, grabbing the handles to push him up the driveway.

“You gonna leave your car running all night?”

“I’m not staying. I think I’m going to head back home tonight. I’ve got some . . . trailblazing to start tomorrow.”

I see him nod. He gets my meaning. He doesn’t speak until we’re at the front door. He wheels his chair around to face me. His smile is pleased.

“Good for you,” he says, a twinkle of pride lighting his eyes. It’s something I’ve never seen before, not even from my father when I graduated law school. It makes me feel like I can leap tall buildings in a single bound.

He digs his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door. Before I can ask him if he needs help with anything, he cuts me off. “Drive safe,” he says warmly. “And don’t be a stranger. You’re always welcome here. You’re family.”

I nod and smile before I turn to walk back to my car. My throat is so tight with a lump of emotion I doubt I could squeak out a single syllable. When I reach the idling car and slide behind the wheel, I look up to see Uncle Darrin sitting in his wheelchair in the doorway. He waves to me once more. I wave back and put the car in reverse. I pull out of the driveway and into the road. As I’m driving away, I glance into my rearview mirror. Uncle Darrin is still sitting in the doorway, watching me go.

TWENTY-THREE

Nash

My mouth is so dry I could spit cotton balls. I need something to drink, but the blonde from the bar is lying on my arm, pinning it to the black sheets.

Like a magician pulling the tablecloth out from under the dishes, I jerk my arm out fast and roll to the edge of the bed. I don’t bother to look back at her. If she wakes up, she wakes up. If she’s stupid enough to open her mouth, she’ll deserve the cold shoulder she gets.

I left with her last night to make a point. To myself and to Marissa. The only thing I managed to prove is that Marissa is under my skin.

The blonde, Brittni with an
i
, didn’t seem to notice that I was distracted, nor did she seem to care that I wanted to get some liquor in me before I did more than kiss her. But even then, with a head all fuzzy from a mixture of vodka and tequila, all I could think about was a different taste, a different smell. A different girl.

No matter how much I drank, I couldn’t seem to forget she wasn’t Marissa. Luckily, Brittni drank too much, too. Passed out before I had to tell her I wasn’t interested in doing anything with her but drinking her liquor.

I’ll be gone before she wakes up. After I get a drink of water, that is.

I grab my shirt and pull it over my head as I stumble from the bedroom. I find the kitchen with relative ease. Her condo is about the size of a cracker box.

I open the fridge, hoping for bottled water. But there’s none. Only Diet Coke and beer. Without shutting the refrigerator door, I get a glass from the dish drain and hold it in front of the light. Thank God it looks clean. I run some cold tap water into it and gulp it down. Then I do it again. Water is the best thing for a hangover.

My head is still swimming a little, so I flop down on the sofa until it clears enough to drive. Heaven forbid I get pulled over. I avoid the law like the criminal that I am.
Decent people
worry about tickets on their record.
I
worry about someone finding out who I am and what I’ve done and throwing me in prison with no possibility of parole.

I slump down in my seat and lean my head back against the cushion, letting my mind wander for a while. It travels back in time to a night that I’m living to regret, one that haunts me. It’s the night I became a victim of my own game, a victim of my own need to make my brother suffer.

I was in New Orleans a year or two ago. Even now, I can remember the smell of the air with perfect clarity. I breathe it in, just like I did that night, and I remember . . .

The air is balmy and laced with the scent of salt water. I let the loud music and wild celebration flood my mind, rid it of all other thought. For just a little while, I need to forget who I am, what I’ve done and the road ahead. I need to get lost in the moment, and there’s no better place than Mardi Gras.

I’m anonymous. In the French Quarter during this time of year, everyone is. I’m not wearing a mask or costume like most people, but I’m just as masked in every other way. No one knows me here. And that’s just the way I like it.

Girls flash their tits from balconies all along the street, collecting strings of beads for their efforts. The people are drunk, the music is loud, and hedonism is the theme of the night. The same holds true for the luxurious private homes I pass.

This one is no different.

All the French doors are open. Music and light are spilling out into the street, and laughter can be heard as it mingles with the other elements of the party.

Something breaks the monotony of the night. It reaches out to grab my attention and pull me back to the present, to my troubles, like nothing else can.

It’s someone calling my name. It’s a woman’s voice.

But who the hell would know me here?

I look around and see no familiar faces. I hear my name again. This time, I use the sound to triangulate where the voice is coming from.

Then I see her.

She’s standing on the balcony of the house, leaning over the intricate scroll of the wrought-iron railing.

My eyes meet hers and I know she’s talking to me.

“Nash! Ohmigod, what are you doing here? Come on up!”

She’s smiling down at me. Widely. Almost too widely. I think she’s drunk. I’ve seen her only a few times, but I’ve seen enough to know she’s pretty much a cold bitch. But not tonight. Tonight, Marissa, my brother’s girlfriend, is feeling warm. And I’m feeling the warmth of taking a little revenge.

Before I can contemplate the wisdom of it, I turn onto the well-lit sidewalk of the home and make my way to the front door. The knob isn’t locked, so I enter.

In the foyer, a few people glance in my direction, but no one calls me out or tries to stop me when I head for the stairs to my right. I wonder if it’s because some of them think they recognize me, if it’s because they think I’m my brother, Cash. My brother, the imposter. My brother who’s pretending to be me.

The familiar bitterness stings the back of my throat like acid. I revel in the burn. I let it feed the anticipation coiling in my stomach, the anticipation of a little payback.

As I climb the steps, it heats my blood. I know it’s probably not smart to risk giving myself away like this. I just hope everyone’s too drunk to remember seeing me here. Or at least too drunk to question it if the topic should ever come up in conversation later. It should be easy enough to blow off. Especially for Cash. He thinks I’m dead. No doubt he’ll assume everyone was too shitfaced to know what they saw.

When I reach the second story, there’s a hall that extends left and right. It’s a crossroads, much like the one I find myself at. I could leave right now—no harm, no foul. Yes, I would feel cheated out of an opportunity to take a little vengeance, but I wouldn’t be jeopardizing my deceased status.

Or I could go ahead. I could seize this night, this chance, and, for just a few minutes, feel the satisfaction of having a laugh at my brother’s expense.

My choice is a no-brainer. I brush aside the voice that’s telling me this is stupid and I proceed to the right. From the street position, I figure Marissa must be on a balcony in that direction, so I head that way.

There are three doors on the street side of the house. The first is closed, so I don’t open it. The second one is open and filled with people. It’s some sort of upstairs parlor and I can see through it to the other side of the room where narrow doors open onto a balcony. This has to be the one.

I make my way through the tight crush of bodies toward the doors. I hear a couple of people speak as if they know me. I smile politely but don’t respond. I don’t want to draw anyone into conversation. My goal is singular. I can see it standing on the balcony. I can see
her
standing on the balcony.

She’s wearing a shiny, royal-blue dress that fits her like a second skin. The top pushes her tits up into a luscious heap beneath her chin and the bottom of the dress is split dead center all the way to mid-thigh. It separates into two distinct pieces, giving the appearance of a tail as it flows to the ground. Her long blond hair hangs over her shoulders in thick waves, some pieces braided, with seashells dangling from the ends. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s a mermaid.

I stop to watch her, letting the anger brew. My brother is one lucky bastard. He gets to live a great life, my life. He graduated from law school and got a job at a prestigious Atlanta law firm. He’s got a good name and he’s screwing the boss’s daughter (no doubt with his consent). And the kicker? She just happens to be gorgeous. Cold as ice, but gorgeous.

She’s gonna get a little warming up tonight, though. Then she’s gonna get some humiliation to cool her back down. I’ll piss her off real good, all while wearing my brother’s face, and leave him to clean up the mess and explain how he can be such an insensitive asshole. In the meantime, I get to get a little taste of the good life. Sounds like a win-win to me.

I continue across the room and step out onto the balcony, right in the middle of something funny evidently. Marissa is laughing her ass off, hanging all over some tiny brunette as if she’s the only thing holding her up. And she probably is. Marissa’s plastered.

As the tuxedo-clad servant passes to exit the balcony, I grab a beer from his silver tray. The top is already off. How convenient
.

I stand just outside the French doors, taking a long swig from the bottle as I wait for Marissa to notice me. When she does, she squeals in delight and launches herself at me, throwing her arms around my neck and smashing her body to mine.

She leans back to look at me, her face close to mine, her arms still draped loosely around my shoulders. “I had no idea. Seriously. This is the best surprise ever. I thought you meant it when you said you were busy.”

I shrug, turning my head to take another long pull from my bottle. My dick twitches when I feel her tongue on my throat. Apparently she warms up quite nicely when she’s drinking.

“I’m so glad you changed your mind,” she purrs, rubbing her chest against mine. “And I love the wig. Longer hair suits you.”

My hair is loose, my bangs hanging on either side of my face, all the way to my chin. It’s a wonder she recognized me at all. Or thinks she did, anyway.

Impulsively, I wrap my free arm around her waist and lift until her feet are off the floor. Slowly, I back her up until I feel the resistance of the railing behind her. Then I set her down again.

“Why so glad?” I ask, keeping talk to a minimum so there’s a lesser chance of her discovering who I really am.

“Because I need someone to kiss right now. And it’s only us girls out here.” She pauses to look around. I do the same. But for us, the balcony is empty now. “Well,
was
,” she giggles. It appears everyone has left and wandered back inside. It’s just me and Marissa and the half million people milling around on the streets below us, some of them no doubt watching.

“Well, I’m here now,” I say, staring down into her almond-shaped eyes. She might be a frigid bitch most of the time, but she’s got some spice in her. I can see it in the smoky invitation of her gaze, in the sexy curve of her mouth.

“Yes, you are.” She leans into me, pressing her lips to mine. While the kiss is warm, like she’s familiar with whom she’s kissing, it lacks real . . . heat. I wonder if this is all that she and Cash share. This superficial, perfunctory kind of chemistry.

I remind myself that I don’t give a shit about them or their relationship. I came up here for one reason. It’s just a bonus that I get to slake my lust for revenge with lips like this, with a woman like this. She’s a far cry from the kind of females I usually visit when I’m on shore.

Moving my hand up her spine, I wind my fingers into her hair and tug her head back and to the side, deepening the kiss. I slide my tongue against hers and I feel the vibrations of her moan. She seems a bit unsure of herself at first, but it doesn’t take her long to respond to me.

She threads her fingers into my hair and holds me to her. She’s liking this, which will just make it that much sweeter for me.

I slide my hand from her hair and drag it down the smooth skin of her bare back. I reach between her and the railing and give her ass a squeeze. I press her hips into mine and give her a little feel of what’s between my legs. I’m gratified when her fingers curl into a fist and tug at my hair.

“You like that?” I whisper against her mouth.

I can feel her shallow breath fanning my face. “Yes.”

“How ’bout this?” I ask, grinding my rigid body into hers.

She does this breathy gasp-moan kind of thing and leans back to look at me. There’s a question in her eyes. For a second I think I’m busted, that she knows I’m not Cash. Or, to her, not Nash.

But she doesn’t ask the question. Whether it’s because she doubts herself or because she doesn’t really want to know, I don’t know. But she keeps quiet and just goes with it. “I like that even more.”

She pulls my head back down to hers and lifts her leg, running her calf along the outside of my thigh, opening herself up to me a little more.

I slide my hand over her hip until I feel the skin of her bare leg. I run my palm up under her dress to the edge of her panties. With one quick jerk, I tear the wispy material. I feel her nails dig into my scalp. It just prods me to continue.

My clear intentions of humiliating her and, therefore, my brother become diluted in the burning lust for the hot little minx in my arms. But the thirst for revenge is too strong. It doesn’t disappear completely. Still, I want to push her to a place she would never go, to a place she’s not entirely comfortable with. Even if she doesn’t remember it and Cash never finds out,
I’ll
know. And that’s what matters.
I’ll
know.

I turn my body slightly to the side and move my hand between her legs. I slide a finger inside her. She’s so wet it drips down to my knuckle. Blood rushes to my dick and I groan into her mouth as she moves her hips against my hand.

I pull my slick finger out of her and move my head back just enough that I can see her face. Her eyes are wide, her pupils round with excitement.

“Open,” I say simply, my eyes dropping to her mouth.

Her lips fall open and I slide my finger between them. My stomach clenches into a tight ball when she closes them on my finger and sucks. I’d be willing to bet she’s never done that before. But I could be wrong. So I push her further.

Reclaiming my finger, I reach around behind her and I take the beer bottle into my right hand. Moving it between our bodies, I touch the cool glass to the inside of her leg. Her shiny lips part on a gasp. It fuels me like gasoline.

She’s excited. But how much further will she go?