Man of Honor (Battle Scars) (9 page)

“Mea?” Berkeley’s voice breaks in from across the table. “Restroom for the ladies?”

I reluctantly pull away from Drake and follow Berkeley, Greta, and Olive to the restroom. Olive’s dark burgundy hair swishes in front of me as we walk, and focusing on it is what keeps me from looking over my shoulder to search for Drake.

When I enter the swanky, velvet-covered bathroom, I find myself cornered by my two best friends, each with their hands on their hips.

Hey. That’s my stance. They’re taking a page from my book. Lord help me.

Olive searches our faces, clearly confused. I think she thought this was an actual restroom break. The girl has a lot to learn.

I put on my very best innocent expression. “What?”

Berkeley snorts. Literally snorts. “What, my ass. What the hell is going on with you and Drake?”

Greta jumps in. “You two are so…close. Mea…did you sleep with him?”

My innocent friend sounds absolutely scandalized, and if she keeps it up I’ll remind her of every dirty thing she did with Grisham before they were engaged.

“No!” I cross my arms over my chest defensively. “I mean, not recently.”

Greta’s hand flies to her mouth. Berkeley lets out a slew of curses. Olive’s eyes widen with curious shock.

I hold my hands out in front of me. “What I meant was, I haven’t slept with him
this
time around.”

Berkeley stumbles back a step, her hand on her heart. I roll my eyes at her. “Stop it, Berk. There’s only room for one dramatic friend in this relationship, and it’s me.”

Greta’s deep blue eyes pierce into mine. “Spill it, sister.”

Sighing, I realize I’m not getting out of this one. I’m finally going to have to tell them the truth about Drake. I gather a breath, pull myself up to my full five foot two, and let it fly.

“Three years ago, actually just a couple of months before Dare came to Lone Sands, Drake and I met at his garage and had a one-night-stand.”

Greta shrieks, and Berkeley starts dancing around the restroom like she’s hit the jackpot.

“I knew it!” she squeals. “I always
knew
something happened between the two of you! There was always this dark, scary sexual tension when you were in a room together.” Her hands are flying around as she talks a mile a minute.

Greta is just as excited, but more reserved with her response. “It’s true. I could never tell if you two were going to start throwing blows, or throw each other down on the floor and fuck.”

Now I’m the one in shock, because Greta almost never says “fuck.” It’s getting real serious in here, apparently. Even Berkeley stops waving her arms around and stares at Greta.

Olive, completely new to this group and to this particular situation, offers me a beaming smile. “Well, he’s hot and you’re hot, so why not? Y’all look beautiful together.”

After a moment of silence, we all burst out laughing. I can tell Olive is going to fit pretty damn well into this group already. The girl is striking. She’s wearing a short dress in the same hue as her name, which looks ridiculously beautiful with her long, sleek burgundy hair. Her skin is alabaster, and her makeup is understated to complement it, with the exception of her dark red lipstick. She’s obviously in shape, with long legs that rival Greta’s, and toned arms. She’s a stunner for sure, and I like her immediately.

I tell the girls about my one wild night with Drake, leaving out the reason I left so suddenly.

“But if it was good, then why have you acted so mean to him all this time?” Greta sounds honestly bewildered, and I don’t blame her.

“He…he broke one of my rules that night. And I just couldn’t deal with seeing him after that. I actually never expected to see him again, except then Dare came and he and Berkeley happened. It was like I couldn’t get away from Drake after that.”

Berkeley nods, her face full of sympathy. We’ve been friends since high school, and although I’ve never opened up to her about my father and what he did to me, I know she’s guessed at the fact that something very bad happened in my childhood that I don’t like to talk about. She’s also familiar with my “rules” when sleeping with a guy.

“Did you tell him the rules beforehand?” she asks softly.

Thinking back, I actually can’t recall if I did or not. Usually, when I go home with a guy, I’m very up front and open about the rules for having sex with me. I make sure they understand and are on board before anything goes down. But that night with Drake…I was so caught up…

“I don’t think I did.” I’m frowning, because it’s so unlike me.

Berkeley smiles sadly. “Then how could you have expected him to follow them?”

I stare at her, struck with how true that question is. I never explained the rules, so the fact that I treated him like shit for years afterward was never fair. I hang my head, and Greta rubs small circles on my back.

“Well,” she says. “It looks like you guys have patched things up now. I mean, from the look of things at that dinner table, we got you out of there just in time.”

“Y’all were definitely about to set that room on fire,” offers Olive helpfully.

I laugh, swiping a tear away from my eye. I hadn’t realized I was crying. “He’s pretty fucking sexy. And I think I’m probably way too messed up for him to stick around for long.”

Berkeley backs up a step, giving me a murderous look. “You are one of the strongest, sexiest, most giving people I know. Don’t you dare talk about yourself like you’re not good enough for Drake. You two can be good for
each other.
”

Greta nods, agreeing wholeheartedly.

They might be right. But they don’t know. They don’t know how truly black my soul is on the inside. What happened to me all those years ago changed me. I know that I can never come back from it, no matter how well I fake it for my friends. I’m so broken inside that the second Drake is with me in that way again, with all of our new emotions on the table, he’ll know.

And he’ll never want to be with me again. He’ll be utterly disgusted.

I can’t get caught up in all the physical heat between the two of us. Because when that day comes, and he walks away from me without looking back because of what I’ve been through, I’ll break into so many pieces I don’t think I’d be able to put myself back together this time.

When we finally make it back to the table, our food has arrived. Clearly Drake listened to what I said about the salad, because the most delicious looking shrimp Cobb salad is sitting at my place. There’s also a steaming loaf of bread for us to pass around, and my sangria is just waiting for me to gulp it down.

“Thank you.” My tone is honest and open as I look at Drake.

He seems to understand that I’m thanking him for more than just paying for my dinner. He meets my gaze, and his arm goes around the back of my chair. His fingers gently graze my shoulder, and I’m introduced to a brand-new awareness, one I only know when I’m with Drake Sullivan.

Safety.

“You’re welcome.”

I dig in just as everyone else does, and dinner is almost over when I glance up from my food randomly just for a second. I see a familiar-looking blonde walking past our table with her date, and when our gazes meet she frowns slightly, and then her eyes widen. Stopping beside my chair, she exclaims loud enough for the whole table to hear.

“
Mea?
Mea Sanchez?”

Every single muscle in my body freezes, including the ones that work my mouth. I just stare at the girl, having no clue who she is or how she knows me by that name.

“Um…”
Great. And now I sound like a complete idiot
. The rest of the table is staring as well, at either the unknown girl or me.

“That’s not…not my name,” I stammer, finally.

And then I pray, I pray with everything inside of me that she’ll just walk away.

I
don’t think I’ve ever seen Mea’s face as drawn or pinched as it is right now. And there’s a distinct terror in her eyes that makes me want to stand up and get her out of there. I don’t know who this chick is, but she’s shaking my girl up. And I don’t like it.

The blonde waves a flippant hand, like what Mea just said doesn’t mean shit. “Please.” Her drawl is distinctly southern, but not from Georgia or Carolina like I’m used to. It’s a different dialect for sure. “It’s not like there were many Sanchezes growing up in Kentucky. And I’d know your face anywhere.”

Greta’s mouth drops open at the girl’s bigoted rudeness, and Berkeley makes a move to push back from her seat. I see Dare strong-arming her to stay seated.

The girl’s rudeness snaps Mea out of her obvious shock and she stands. “I’m sorry, I’m not as familiar with you as you seem to be with me. Where do we know each other from?”

The girl plasters on a fake smile as she sizes Mea up. “Oh, yeah, I guess I’ve changed a lot since middle school. We went to school together in Kentucky. And then, right after freshman year started, and your family…” The girl trails off, but her gaze is calculating, not sympathetic. “I guess you wouldn’t want to talk about that. Anyway, where’d you end up? Here in Savannah?”

Mea folds her arms across her chest. “What’s your name?” She’s subtle, but I can see that she’s ignoring the snoot’s question.

“I can’t believe you don’t remember me! I’m Emily Shore. Remember? We competed against each other in that talent show back in seventh grade?”

Mea works really hard to not roll her eyes; I can see that the struggle is real.

“So, if you’re living in Savannah, maybe I’ll see you around again.” Emily’s fake, planted smile somehow grows even bigger.

I decide it’s time to join in on this conversation. When I stand up beside Mea, the girl’s eyes shift to me and they go wide. Her smile gets even bigger, and she pushes her tits out overtly. I guess her date be damned.

“Hi, I’m Emily. Mea and I go way back. You are?”

Mea speaks up quickly. Her buttery skin flushes a deep scarlet while her eyes flash hot fire. “He’s…not for you, Emily. It was nice seeing you.”

Emily looks taken aback, and then her eyes narrow. “Yeah, maybe we should hook up on Facebook and catch up.”

Mea stands strong. Pride swells up in me as something inside my soul recognizes a deep attraction to the very identity of hers. “I’m not on Facebook.”

Emily tosses her one more fake smile. “Funny. I always thought the people who aren’t on Facebook must have something to hide. Anyway, good seeing you, doll!” She pulls her date behind her and they leave the restaurant.

Mea falls back into her seat with a huff, and Berkeley starts in.

“That
bitch
. I swear to God if Dare hadn’t been holding me down”—she gives Dare a dark look—“I would have punched her in her smug face. Also, I didn’t know you lived in Kentucky before you moved to Brunswick County.”

Mea’s sigh is weary. I’m also curious about her roots, because we’ve never had a conversation about her past. But I do know there’s something in it that she doesn’t want to dig up, and I can imagine seeing a face from her past has shaken her up. I place an arm around her shoulders, and sure enough, she’s trembling. I rub soothing circles down her arm, and she gives me a grateful glance.

“Can we just not talk about it right now?” she asks Berkeley tersely.

Berkeley, taken aback, just nods.

“Do you want to go back to the house?” I ask her, leaning in so she’s the only one who hears me.

She shakes her head. “No way. This won’t ruin our night. What’s next?” She addresses the last question to the table.

Berkeley brightens. “A night out in downtown Savannah!”

I look at Mea, and her face isn’t quite back to its usual sunniness. It’s a little shadowed, no doubt because of the incident she just endured. She meets my searching gaze for just a second before her expression shutters and she plasters on a smile. I know she’s doing it because she wants to be happy for her friends’ big weekend. But I’d be willing to bet the last thing she wants to do right now is party.

But Mea agrees. “Sounds like just what I need.”

I tuck her under my arm as we head down the street, moving at a leisurely pace. She fits there, which surprises the fuck out of me. I’m no small dude, and Mea is tiny. But having her pressed up against my side feels good. Feels more than good.

We decide, because of the way we’re dressed, to stick close by in the historic downtown area. Ending up at a chic bar known for their signature cocktails, we pull up barstools around a high-top table and soak in the atmosphere. It’s classic and contemporary, and even though the vibe is more upscale than the places I usually go back in Carolina, I dig the laid-back feel of the place. A male bartender comes around the bar to ask us if we’ve been to the place before and we tell him we’re just visiting. He’s flirty with the ladies and I get it, because they’re all sexy as hell and he’s gotta earn his tips. So I lean back on my stool and take it in with amusement as he schmoozes them, explaining the variety of southern cocktails they can order.

“Rule for the night,” announces Berkeley. She claps her hands together, all bossy. Dare shakes his head at her with amusement, and Greta and Mea pay attention.

Jeremy gasps, pretending to be shocked. “There’s
rules
? I thought this was a party weekend!”

Olive laughs.

Berkeley narrows her eyes at him. “That’s
why
there’s rules. This bar has tons of delicious-looking signature cocktails. No one is ordering beer tonight, got it?”

Ronin, who’s usually pretty quiet, groans. “Seriously?”

Dare chuckles, brushing a chunk of Berkeley’s light blond hair away from her forehead. “I’ll order one, babe. Get me what you’re having.”

Jeremy shakes his head slowly “Dude, you are so whipped.”

Berkeley snuggles into Dare’s side. “Actually, Jeremy, we both like a little bit of whipping.”

When Jeremy’s eyes grow huge, Dare snorts out a laugh, which turns into a cough.

Mea bursts into laughter. “Whips and chains do have their place, gentlemen.”

My cock twitches at her comment, and it doesn’t help a bit when she lays a hand on my thigh under the table and squeezes. She’s full of surprises, this one. And I just want to label her.

Mine, mine, mine.

Now Ronin turns on her, and I spy the hungry glance in his eyes. Predatory.

That shit ain’t happening
. I pull her barstool as close to mine as it can get and shoot him a glare. My look roars
hands off.
I can see from his knowing expression that he gets it.

With a round of cocktails ordered, we settle in for the night. Drinks, conversation, and laughter. It’s a good start to the weekend.

But I can’t keep my attention from the woman sitting next to me. She’s funny, she’s dynamic, she’s a whole handful that I’m not sure I can keep up with, but I’m realizing that I damn sure want to try.

After we’ve had our fill, the stroll back to our rented historical house is easy and relaxed. I lag behind with Mea, because, well, I want her to myself. At this point, I don’t even think it’s a secret anymore. Dare and Grisham have given me a few pointed glances during the night, but I can’t care less what they think. Whatever is happening here is happening between me and her, and no one else.

The thing that’s really eating away at me from the inside out is the fact that she’s struggling with something on the inside. Seeing that girl from her past in the restaurant tonight has awakened some demons in her, and I don’t think it’s the first time they’ve been roused. If her nightmares are any indication, she’s wrestling with something. Something big.

And something inside of me, something brand-new that I’ve never dealt with before, wants to show her that I’m strong enough to beat them back for her. I can be strong for her. She doesn’t have to handle any of it by herself.

Whatever “it” is.

As we’re walking, I take her hand. She stares down at it, almost as if she’s in shock.

When she glances back up at me, I smirk. “What? A guy’s never held your hand before?”

Her face is completely perplexed, and with a sinking in my gut I realize the answer to my flippant question is yes. A guy has literally never held her hand before. Is it because all the men she’s dated before me have been that dense, that fucking blockheaded, or is it because she never lets men get close enough to grab her hand?

Either way, a river of sadness runs through me, the current fast and strong. It seems like every time I’m with Mea, I’m drowning in some sort of intense emotion. The desire to protect her. The wanting…the sheer lust she creates whenever she touches me or whenever I look at her. The fury that eats me alive when I realize she’s been hurt—really hurt—by someone in her past that she trusted.

The tumult of emotions makes me remember the feelings I used to have about my mom…so goddamn many of them. And it makes me crave a drink.

“Get used to it.” I say it with simple clarity, so she knows there’s no game with me. I like her. A lot. And she intrigues me.

I can’t remember the last time a woman did that.

Oh, yes I can. The one who ran away from me after giving me the most mind-blowing sex of my life.

Her small hand squeezes mine. The movement is so feminine, so gentle and sweet, that I quickly look at her. It’s rare that Mea is gentle and sweet. My little tornado is calming, and the fact that I’m here to witness it, maybe even being the cause of it, makes me one lucky bastard.

As soon as we walk inside the house, the others are lounging around in the great room. The girls have kicked off their shoes, legs tucked up underneath them on the couch. Mea heads for a seat next to Berkeley when her ringtone goes off.

She checks the caller ID, and then immediately veers for the hallway. I stand at the entrance to the great room, keeping one eye on her and one on the activity of our friends.

“What?” she asks. Her tone grabs my full attention.

“No,” she says, sounding like she’s in disbelief. “That’s not right. We’re supposed to have two weeks.”

She listens again, and then nods. Her voice makes my throat catch when she speaks again. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine, Mikah. Don’t worry about me. Good night.”

She stands there, staring at her phone. The magnet that pulls me toward her is so strong right now I can’t stay rooted to my spot. I drift toward her, but when she looks at me her eyes are stricken, and I freeze.

“Mea?”

She raises a hand, shakes her head, and flees up the stairs.

I’m left in the hallway, wondering what to do. With everything inside of me I want to go to her. Whatever she heard on the other end of the phone undid her.

Tied her up in knots. Pushed her over the edge.

But what could it have been? I know that Mikah is her brother. What did he tell her?

Enough thinking.

I take the steps two at a time until I reach the closed door of her lavender room. Knocking softly, I wait. I want to barge in, so much so that my hands are fisted in front of me against the door.

“I’m okay.” Her voice is choked on the other side, and another piece of my heart breaks.

“No, you’re not. Let me in, sweetheart.”

There’s a pause, and I can hear the rustling of the sheets on her bed. I think I hear a sob, but it’s so muffled I can’t be sure.

“Mea.” My voice is pained.

Tortured. Tortured. Tortured.

“Go away, Drake.”

I curse, pounding a fist on the door once before I turn away. She needs to be alone.

Translation: I’m not what she needs.

Heading back downstairs, I head straight for the bar and pour myself a whiskey. The liquor burns as it blazes down my throat, and I feel a false sense of relief as it goes down. Finishing that first drink more quickly than I should, I pour another.

And another.