JARED (Lane Brothers Book 4) (55 page)

“Oh my God! What the heck!”

Yeah, I think, dragging my apron over my pounding head and slinking my way to the kitchen door, wishing like hell I can just go home and fall into bed.

At this point I feel like only a good three-day coma can take care of the vile sickness tearing its way through me. After the shocking revelation of exactly who I’d been faced with had finally calmed enough for me to make my stumbling way to my next bus, I’d made the half-assed decision to call Mel, my supervisor at Jasper’s—how could I not know, not even suspect that the company I cleaned for belonged to
him
? —and quit.

Yeah, so now, on top of being sick as hell, I’m short a source of much needed income and really not feeling it as far as tonight’s shift goes. But I can’t afford to let Bill fire my ass, so instead of going home, I’m dying over the flat top, praying for the next two hours to speed by.

“Jesus, what the hell happened to you?”

I turn to my potbellied boss and give him the stink eye while keeping an eye on the burger I’m grilling.

“I had to run to work in the rain. I think I caught a cold.”

“That quick?” he asks skeptically. “You’re not on the rag?”

I hear a muttered curse from the counter and grit my teeth. Bill, the archaic fool, thinks that any time a woman gets sick it’s due to ‘the monthly bleeding curse’—his words, not mine.

He’s a real prick about a chick getting her period and seems to think that if you’re in ‘that condition’, you shouldn’t be handling food.

“Yeah,” I mutter, disguising a giggle behind a hacking cough when I see his eyes bug so hard I wonder how he keeps them in his head.

Why didn’t I think of this earlier? I could have saved myself the bus fare up here and already been in bed.

“When?” he croaks, making me wheeze on a laugh.

Fucking chauvinistic moron.

“When I left work.”

“Okay, okay,” he mutters, running a hand through his thinning hair. “You…go home. I’ll handle this.” He groans, getting rid of the burger I’d been frying and grabbing a fresh patty.

Five minutes later I’m smiling as I grab a bus and fall into the plastic seat, hoping to get home and medicated before my brains start leaking outta my ear.

No such luck. The minute I shuffle into the door I hear Ben yelling some seriously vile obscenities for a kid his age, and I walk in in time to see him hurl my mother’s ceramic cat at Randy.

Why this shocks me, after everything the little snot has done lately—

“Hold it!” I yell, grabbing his arm before he can volley another of the precious cats at Randy, who is now cowering behind the sofa. “What the fu—hell are you doing!”

Ben’s young and a lot smaller than me, but I’ve learned in the last few weeks that with this all-consuming anger he’s got bottled up inside, he’s freakishly strong.

I’m just barely a match for him on a good day, but tonight, being so sick—I can’t even say why it’s hitting me so harshly, except that I’ve been tired for weeks—I am no match for his tantrums.

I’m on the ground and protecting my head before I can blink. Ben going wild on top of me, his little fists flying as he yells that he hates us all, me most of all.

I let him keep at it, my mind frozen with shock, chanting one thing over and over. Never show him negative emotion. The therapist had drummed that into me the first day after seeing the way my baby brother treated me.

Admittedly, she’d only given me that long speech after seeing my face twist. Yeah, I have a temper. One I can’t allow free rein every time the little brat starts his crap.

When the pounding stops—thank you, Jesus, because my entire body hurts—I lower my arms to see the little demon hanging from the fist of the one man I never wanted to see ever again.

“Stop it!”

He doesn’t yell, just hisses the words in that cold voice he’d used on the grown men in his office, but we all hear the restrained violence in his tone.

Ben stops immediately, his dark gray eyes stretching wide.

“Oh, thank God!”

That’s Randy, poking her head up over the sofa to check everything out before jumping to her feet and scampering my way, her brown eyes wide and glistening as she helps me up and steadies my shaking legs.

“Ash, I know you’re not…I can’t deal with this shit anymore,” she says tearfully, casting a wary glance at Ben.

That look gives me the idea that his little escapades aren’t just a rare occurrence like I thought they were.

“He’s done this before? A lot?” I ask, risking a peek at the behemoth male currently holding my brother like a dirty garbage bag.

I can see he’s in no way hurting him, but still, I hate the way he’s glaring at him as if he’s something unwelcome, like a bad smell or something.

“He’s been bad lately, Ash. Tonight’s the first time he went this nuts, but…I’m not willing to stick around for this, no matter how much I love the kid.”

I can’t blame her as she pats my arm and grabs her bag before walking out without a backward glance. Not even knowing that her abandonment is going to make Ben’s issues so much worse.

The truth is that my baby has been struggling with his grief and loss for two years without much help. After Dad split I’d been so busy working and trying to keep things afloat that I hadn’t noticed his need until it was too late. Now I’m paying the price for being a shitty parent, no matter that I’m not really his parent, or to blame for any of the stuff that’s gone down in the last years.

Maybe that’s why instead of thanking Lucian for his impromptu rescue I level a hard stare at him.

“Put him down.”

The look I get for my efforts is a cross between scorn and amusement, and he gives Ben a little shake before lowering him to his feet.

“Get upstairs and into bed, Benjamin.”

Just like that.

Six words are all it takes for Ben to get the message and bolt.

“Sit down before you collapse.”

I want to argue, especially given that sneering tone, but my body slumps of its own accord and I fall onto the sofa, so drained I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry.

I want to laugh at the irony of this situation. I’ve been avoiding even a thought about Lucian for years, since he’d taken his sexy ass back ‘over the pond’ and ignored every email or text I’d sent him.

It hadn’t been great, not with the fact that I’d been head over heels for a guy who lived on another continent and who seemed to have forgotten me the moment he walked onto the plane all those years ago.

Now here I am, with that same cold-hearted prick standing in my living room, glaring down at me as if I have anything to feel guilty about instead of the other way around.

“What the hell is wrong with that boy?”

I take great offense to that, and not because Ben doesn’t deserve it but because…well, because I freaking hate Lucian for breaking my heart, and I refuse to give him any sort of loyalty.

“Please leave.” At least, that’s what I try to say. It comes out more of a ‘pweave weave’.

And then I start coughing so hard I double over, somewhat afraid to look at my hand afterward in case one of my lungs have made a break for it.

I hear a sigh, one of those resigned types of sounds where someone—him, the ass—is obviously practicing patience. As if I need his shit right now. With that thought comes the reminder that I’m out of a job and in a lot of crap where Ben’s concerned.

The therapist had been clear. If I can’t get him under control, measures are gonna have to be taken to assure he gets ‘help’.

I don’t know exactly what measures she was talking about, but I’m pretty sure it’s not good, not from the way she’d looked at me.

“Ashley!” he snaps, and I jerk back to reality when a set of hard hands lands on my shoulders, shaking me back to awareness. “I asked you a bloody question, woman.”

Oh.

“Nothing. His mom died, and then his father ran away.”

That’s about the long and short of it. Oh, and I’ve been a total asshole in the sister department.

“Christ. Your mother…I’m so sorry, Ashley.”

“Yeah.” I shrug.

What else is there to say? My mom’s six feet under, my shit for brains old man split, and I’ve managed to mess everything else up so royally I definitely want to cry.

“Your father?”

I look up at this point and have to steel myself against the compassion I see there. It’s hard, looking at him, seeing the softness I’d missed all these years, a softness he’d only shown me while whispering secrets to me late at night when we lay in the yard watching the stars sparkle up above.

I have to force myself to remember that he’s the same boy—man —who’d whispered his love to me and then walked away as if I meant nothing. I still can’t understand how that had even happened. Part of me is convinced I invented that long summer, that the lonely exchange student hadn’t existed.

But he did, does,
is
currently standing over me where I’m slumped on the sofa, his strangely penetrating eyes glaring at me in a way I can’t decipher.

“Ashley!”

What? Oh yeah. He’d asked about Wesley, the man I refuse to call my father despite all the time he’d been exactly that.

“After Mom died,” I shrug, wiping my dripping nose across the wet sleeve of my sweater. “He just left, okay. One day he was here and the next he was gone.”

Leaving me to raise a five-year-old who didn’t understand where Mommy went or why his father didn’t love him enough to stick around.

And here comes the anger again, that slow, creeping fire that never fails to heat my blood whenever I think of him. If I had my way, if that asshole was standing in front of me right now, I’d kick him in the balls so hard he’d walk funny for the rest of his miserable life.

Instead I’m stuck here with Mr Britain, waiting for him to get to the point of whatever reason he’s decided to plague my life again.

“So you’ve been looking after Benjamin alone?”

Why he sounds so angry is beyond me, but I’m just tired enough, and feeling sick enough to boot, not to give a crap about his issues right now. All I want is for him to leave so I can strip out of my wet clothes and fall into bed.

Tomorrow’s not gonna wait on my ass, and I’d like at least a few hours of sleep before having to deal with Ben and the fact that I need to find another job.

“Could you please leave?” I huff, feeling my eyelids droop with the fever gripping my body. “I want to go to bed.”

My eyes are closed by the time I hear the door slam shut, and a tiny zing of disappointment hits me before I can squelch it.

Woulda been nice to…what? Seeing Lucian Jasper again is not something I’d ever thought possible. Hell, I’d consciously forced myself to forget the man and my teenage emotions right around the time—

No, I won’t think about that now. Now I just want to sleep and forget that this horrifying day ever happened. With that I allow myself to relax and fall further into the sofa cushions.

I wake up feeling so crummy I groan and squeeze my eyes tightly shut. My head, if that pile of throbbing mush can still be called that, is pounding so fiercely I feel the pulse in my eyeballs.

My throat feels like I swallowed razor blades, and if a herd of stampeding elephants didn’t have a rave party at my place last night, I can’t explain the pain gripping my muscles.

I’m also weak as a new-born, so, when I do finally force my screeching eyes open, it takes a few clumsy attempts to throw myself off the bed and stand to shaky feet.

The mirror, that rat bastard I avoid like the plague, tells me just how poorly I’m doing. There are dark rings beneath my eyes, my hair is tangled so badly I can’t pull a comb through it, and my skin is the same shade as a corpse.

Scowling, ‘cause what the hell else can I do when I’m this far gone, I pull on a pair of shorts and my old college t-shirt. It’s only as the fabric is clearing my face that I realize I just woke up in my bed. Naked. I don’t remember taking off my clothes, since I’m almost positive I’d passed out on the sofa.

What the heck?

When I get downstairs, ready to face Ben and whatever the heck else I have to, I stop dead in my tracks, sure that I’m having a fever-induced hallucination.

“Good morning.”

Nothing comes out, and I’m sure I look like a spellbound fool as I stand stock still, watching a bare-chested Lucian putter around the kitchen, cooking breakfast while Ben sits docilely, his head down, so silent I have the insane urge to check for a pulse.

“What the hell are you doing?”

It comes out more breathy than I want, but heck, the man’s shirtless and seriously built. His abs are…hard and rippling, everything my not so experienced female parts appreciate in a male of the species.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m no ignorant miss, but never having…done much in the sexual arena past kissing a guy, well, the sight of his half clothed body does things to me that I’m not equipped to handle.

“Making breakfast, my sweet.”

The husky tone, not to mention the softly amused look, makes my belly clench and flutter as everything down south perks up and tries to take notice.

Seriously, I feel all breathless, like one of those romance heroines, just looking at that hard mouth and the sensual curl of his lips.

I snap out of my stalker stare only when he shovels eggs and bacon onto the three plates on the table and inclines his head.

“Sit. You need to eat.”

“I didn’t have eggs and bacon.”

It’s dumb for that to be the first thing out of my mouth as I lower myself into a seat and stare at the food he’s made, but it’s all I can come up with as he takes the seat across from mine, his eyes never leaving me.

“No shit. All you cook is oatmeal and that cheap stuff you get from the discount aisle,” Ben snarls, attacking his food like a starved animal.

The set down makes my cheeks burn fiercely with embarrassment, and I swallow a breath, willing myself not to cry at the humiliation I feel at knowing that Lucian is now privy to the extent of my plight.

I’m poor, yeah, but dammit, I still have my pride. I can’t bear the thought of anyone knowing that instead of getting groceries like a normal person, I browse the discount bargains just to keep us fed.

“Benjamin! Apologize.”

The barking growl is so harsh I jump a little and almost choke on the sip of coffee I’d just taken, my throat burning as I cough a stream of caffeine all over my untouched plate.

One look at Lucian and I know that nothing less than a full apology will suffice. He’s breathing harshly, almost snarling as he casts a feral glare at Ben, waiting silently as my poor little brother turns beet red and splutters around his fork.

“Sorry.”

It’s not exactly the sincerest thing I’ve ever heard, but I’ll take it, I think, allowing myself a peek at the man dominating my kitchen. I may not want him here, but he’s managed something that no one, not even the therapist, has been able to do in months.

Ben never apologizes, never, so the fact that he’d not only gotten him to say sorry last night, but this morning as well, with only one word…well, I think I might want him to stick around a while, if only till I’m feeling a little closer to living through my dread disease.

“You can do a lot better than that, Benjamin. And mind your bloody language around your sister.”

“Uh, it’s fine—”

“No! It really isn’t,” Luc says harshly, silencing me with a look. “If he cannot be grateful for the fact that you work like a slave to keep him in a home and fed, the least he can bloody well do is keep his attitude to himself. Now, I said apologize. Properly.”

I feel like a total heel when his gray eyes meet mine, the depths shining with unshed tears, and he apologizes in a soft whisper that breaks my heart.

It reminds me of the old Ben who’d clung to me and cried the day I’d told him that Mom wasn’t coming home. I want that Ben back, so badly I can’t stand it.

“Thank you.”

I say it and look at them both, letting the cold bastard know that, while I don’t want him here, I’m not such an animal that I can’t be grateful for this at least.

But I still need to get him out so I can get things done and start looking for a job.

“Thanks for breakfast, but we have things to do,” I begin, pushing my ruined breakfast away. “Ben, go get ready for school, kiddo.”

Lucian, I can see, is not impressed by my newly reawakened backbone, but he waits till the kid is goes—another thing I’m grateful for—before pinning me to my chair with a glare.

“You’re sick; you need food and your bed.”

The snort that leaves me is unladylike in the extreme, and I smirk at him as if he’s just told me a particularly funny joke. Seriously? The guy comes back into my life for like two seconds and he thinks he can tell me what I need?

“Yeah, but unfortunately I need to get him to school, and then I need to go get myself new employment.”

Thank you, God, I don’t have to go to the diner today, thanks to Bill’s aversion to menstruating females, so I have the day to beat the pavement.

“You have a job. Two, if I’m not mistaken,” he says regally, reminding me that I’m dealing with a guy who knows absolutely nothing about the real world.

He probably sits in his ivory tower and stares at the world through a rose-tinted sheet of floor to ceiling windows. Me? I’m not so dumb. I know that if I don’t get my dragging ass in gear I’ll be sitting without a roof and nourishment.

“One, since I quit working for you last night,” I say, standing to dump my plate into the sink. “And that won’t cut it, so—”

He’s out of his chair and in my face so fast I don’t have time to back away. His fingers are like clamps as they settle around my shoulders and pull me in, bringing me screamingly close to his bare chest and the muscles my traitorous tongue wants to lick.

I’m sick, not dead, so yeah, I can fully appreciate the arousal his closeness brings forth.

“Resignation not accepted. Now sit down. You can eat breakfast while my driver gets Benjamin to school. And then you’re going to the doctor.”

Another snort leaves me, and yeah, I’m aware that snorting at a man who is obviously a little crazy—I say this because of our past and the fact that he should know never to show his face here (long story)—

“Ashley, sit down. Please.”

“Why?” I ask, pulling myself away slowly. “You know…I don’t know why you’re here. You shouldn’t be.”

No, he should be an entire ocean away, not here witnessing my poverty and humiliation. It kills me that he’s seeing me brought so low. By my financial needs and the fact that I can’t raise a kid worth a damn.

He sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair, a gesture I’m familiar with even all these years later, and smiles ruefully.

“You were sick last night, and…I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Well, I am.”

“No, you really aren’t. You’re sick, exhausted, and in way over your head with that boy. I’m here to help.”

“I don’t want your help.”

Oh, yes, I do. I really do. I’m so tired of having all of this shit on my shoulders. Working, scrimping, worrying about keeping everything within my meager budget while my brother does his damnedest to destroy what little we have.

And that damn ceramic cat. Sounds silly, but my heart is broken that he destroyed one of the few things Mom had cherished.

“You may not want it, but you need it, Ash. Come on, love, you know you can’t keep at it for much longer,” he says, so kindly my eyes water. “If something isn’t done about the anger in that little boy, he’ll be lost. Let me help. Please.”

“But—”

He takes my face in his hands and looks down at me from his imposing height, ironically making me feel safer than I have in a long time, despite the danger I feel just from that one touch.

“For him.”

That, and the tiny spark of hope I felt seeing his eyes soften is all it takes, and I’m nodding before I can allow myself the time to think straight. Truth be known, I need help. I can’t keep going like this, no matter how badly I want to believe I’m Superwoman.

Maybe, if I’m lucky enough for things to work out, I can finally discover why the love of my life had abandoned me when I needed him the most.