Rock the Boat (33 page)

Lark’s driven, grounded, and full of so much passion it’s infectious. When I’m not around her, I want to be with her. When I’m with her, I never want to leave. And of course, when we’re together, I want to be buried inside of her.

Once I get to her apartment, I slide the key she gave me into the lock. I was supposed to be here before she woke up, but from the sound of the commotion on the other side of the door, she’s already back at it. So much for waking her up.

When I turn the knob, I’m not expecting to see the girl I can’t get enough of throwing books clear across the room. She’s not tossing them, she’s whipping them without aiming at any of the boxes. They’re landing all over the living room, bouncing off furniture, some ending up in the doorway of her bedroom.
What the hell is going on?

“Lark?” She doesn’t hear me she’s so lost in whatever it is she’s doing. She’s bent over with her tight, little ass in the air, her pants covering every curve I love so much. All I can think about is pulling them down and showing her how exactly much I missed her.

The second I see her tears, my plan changes. My mood changes. I need to know how they got there and why she’s so upset. She jumps when I wrap my arms around her from behind, which I don’t like either. Her chest still heaving, she pulls an ear bud out of her ear. “You scared me.”

“I didn’t mean to. What are you doing?”

She glances at her books like this is completely normal behavior. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

She’s pissed. “Throwing shit all over the apartment.”

“I’m packing, okay. I’m packing my life into these couple boxes. And it’s all going to fit because there’s no place else to go with it. It just has to fit, okay?”

“What does that mean? When I left last night you were excited. What happened?”

“It means I’m not taking any bullshit with me—none of it.”

Sounds like a good plan to me, but it still doesn’t explain why she’s tossing her books around the house. “What can I do to help? Pick one up and throw it in the kitchen?”

“No, I don’t know. I can’t get them in the boxes because I need to throw things or smash something. It’s what I do.” She points to the mantle and the table next to it. “If you want to help, grab the pictures off the mantle and the table. They can go in the box in the corner.”

She goes back to working on her books, picking them up and setting them in the box carefully this time. Instead of asking more questions, I do as she asked. I even wrap a paper towel around the frames, just like they do at Bed Bath & Beyond, so the glass doesn’t shatter in the box.

What I’m not expecting is to find a piece of paper with Lincoln’s name and number on it. After staring at it for a few minutes, I wonder why she would have this sitting above her fireplace. If the intention was to burn it, then I’m all for it. Anything other than that, she’s going to have some explaining to do.

The smart thing to do would be to wait until she cools off, but I’m not exactly a patient man. I need answers, and there’s only one correct one. “Why do you have Lincoln’s number?”

Her head snaps in my direction, her eyes landing on the piece of paper. She’s clearly aware it exists, but it doesn’t seem like she remembered leaving it there. “He was here.”

That wasn’t the response I was looking for—at all. “Come again?”

“He was here this morning when I got up.”

“In your house? Right here?” I ask, as I point to the floor.

“Don’t be a smartass, Easton, please. It’s been a shit morning.”

“I’m not being smart. I’m simply asking my girlfriend why some douchebag was in her house. Because if I remember correctly, and I think I do, you told me I couldn’t stay here with you because you had to get some actual sleep before we started over today. I left you like you wanted me to, but if I find out he’s the reason you wanted me to go, then this isn’t going to end well.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Fuck, no. I’m just trying to figure out why you have this and why he was here.”

“It’s actually pretty simple. He showed up out of the blue. I’d been awake for all of ten minutes. He gave me the stuff on the coffee table, left his number, and he left.”

Of course I practically run to the coffee table to see what he gave her. She should have warned me what was inside the bag. Actually, she should have told me not to look at all because when I pull out a bikini top, I see red. It gets worse when I glance inside the envelope and see two tickets. “What the hell is this shit?”

Lark stalks over, yanking the bathing suit out of my hands. “It’s nothing. It’s over and done with. I took care of it. I gave him the tickets back, but he left them anyway.” She stuffs the little scraps of fabric back in the bag and tosses the whole thing in the trash can. That makes me feel a little better. It still doesn’t explain why she’s so pissed off.

“How long was he here?”

“Not long. It really doesn’t matter, Easton. I didn’t want to see him.”

“Why are you so defensive if it didn’t matter?”

She whips one more book across the room before turning to face me, anger written all over her face. “Lincoln’s not why I’m pissed off. His visit was actually a shitty attempt at an apology. Turns out you’re my match after all. Surprise!” she says, sarcastically.

“Okay, we can discuss that later, but how about you tell me the part that got you upset.”

In a rush she says, “Grant was here after Lincoln left.”

All the air in my lungs escapes suddenly, making it hard to think straight. “I think you need to start talking,” I tell her when she makes no effort at filling in any of the gaps. She can’t tell me that and then stop talking. At least not if she wants me to act like a rational human being.

“I can’t do this right now, Easton. Please, my head is about to explode.”

I get so close to her, she has no choice but to look at me. Cradling her jaw in my hands, I pull her closer until my lips find her forehead. “Did you take him back?”

With all her might, she pushes against my chest, sending me backwards a step or two. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

“I am.”

The door to her bedroom slams before I can say another word to her.
What the hell just happened?
I have two options. One, I go to her and risk bodily harm. Two, I leave and pretend this entire exchange never happened and come back after she’s had time to cool off. Of course I’m a guy who likes a little adventure, so I go to her because there’s no way I’d be able to walk out of this apartment without knowing where I stand—where
we
stand.

The door may separate us, but one piece of lumber will never be enough to keep me away from her. Slowly, I push it open, thankful she didn’t lock me out. Lying in the middle of the bed, she’s wrapped up in so many blankets I can barely tell she’s in there at all.

I slide my boots off and slip under the covers, hoping she’ll let me close enough to hold her in my arms. A fight is what I’m expecting, but the second I touch her, she rolls over and clings to me like I’m her lifeline. I have no idea what happened to her this morning, but this is exactly why she’s coming on tour with me. I don’t want a call from a thousand miles away when I can’t do anything to help her. I want to be with her, protecting her every single day.

“What happened?”

“I can’t tell you, you’ll go crazy.”

“Baby, the only way I’m going crazy is if you kissed him or fucked him. I honestly don’t think either of those two things happened, but I still need to understand why he was here in the first place.”

She lifts her tear streaked face from my chest, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears ready to spill over her lashes. “I wouldn’t cheat. I barely survived that betrayal. I’d never do that to you.”

“Then talk to me, Lark. Nothing you can say will make me change my mind about you.”

She starts with Lincoln and gives me the play by play of that enlightening visit. Turns out King Dickwad has a conscience after all. Doesn’t make him coming to see her right, but I understand why he did it. It doesn’t matter if we’re a match or not. She’s the girl I fell for whether it’s written on a piece of paper or not. It’s the conversation with Grant I’m worried about. I can tell by her body language it hit her hard. Cautiously, I ask her, “What happened with Grant?”

“I feel so guilty.” She sniffles and my heart starts beating double time as I wait for her to continue. “I sat in his lap and cried on his shoulder. And then we said goodbye.”

I can get past him touching her. I can even overlook her touching him. What I can’t deal with is the tone of her voice as she talks about letting him go. She’s pained, like it wasn’t what she actually wanted to do. It’s hard for me to have sympathy for her when Grant had another girl on his dick. “He’s a coward.”

She shakes her head, disagreeing with me right away. That pisses me off, too. She has to stop giving a shit about people who do her wrong. She’s worth so much more than that.

“Grant’s not a bad person. I wouldn’t have loved him if he was.”

“Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not defending what he did. I’ll never applaud him for that. But he did one bad thing in his life and I tore him apart because of it. I walked away from him because it hurt too bad to try to work through it. Maybe that makes me the coward.”

“Do you regret leaving him?”

“I regret not calling him out on it sooner. I saw the signs and I chose to ignore them because I didn’t want to believe that’s the kind of boyfriend I had. Being alone scared me more than standing up for myself. Instead, I sold myself short, putting up with his shit because I didn’t want to imagine not having him in my life anymore.”

“You can’t take the blame for his actions. He didn’t cheat because of you. He cheated because he’s a selfish asshole.”

“I’m not taking the blame, but every relationship is a two way street. We sucked at communicating. That’s what scares me with us sometimes. I’m about to be tossed into an environment I’ve never been in. I have no idea if I’m going to sink or swim and I worry I’ll be too afraid to tell you how I feel because I’m in a world you love so much.”

“It’s okay to be scared. I don’t love everything about being on the road. There’s a lot of bullshit I could honestly do without. And someday when we’re done touring, that part of my life will be over. This won’t be our life forever, Lark. If you truly hated it, things would change. Don’t ever think you don’t have a say in what we do.”

“It doesn’t seem fair that I’m so scared and you’re not. I’m already at a disadvantage before we even get on the bus.”

“Who says I’m not scared? I’m petrified you’ll end up resenting me for wanting to keep you with me. I pulled you out of a place you love to take you into a world you might hate. I’m either the smartest man alive, or the dumbest asshole on the planet.”

She giggles and it’s music to my ears. “You’re not stupid, Easton. Because if you were leaving me in forty-eight hours, I’d be really sad. I’d probably feel like I was losing you, and I don’t want that either.”

I pull her on top of me, our legs tangling in the blankets. Her body’s still tense, but she relaxes into my touch. I love that I can do that for her—give her comfort when she’s falling apart inside. She flinches when I run my hand over her shoulder to massage them, shying away from me. She usually loves when I give her a massage. “Did I hurt you?”

“A little.”

I reach my hands underneath her shirt to see why she’s so sensitive and that’s when I come in contact with something I’m a little more than familiar with, plastic wrap. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.” She sits up quickly, her legs now straddling my waist. Her cold hands slide under my shirt, instantly cooling me down a few degrees.

The thought of her marking her skin is sexy as fuck. It also has me wondering what could suddenly mean so much to her she’d want it on her body for the rest of her life. “Show me.” When she works up the nerve, she pulls her shirt up and over her head. After tucking her hair over her opposite shoulder, she climbs off me and turns around. “Can I take the dressing off?”

She nods her head, and I’m careful not to tug on her skin when I pull it off. Once I have a clear view of the tattoo, I realize how new it is. Which makes no sense considering I was with her until pretty late last night. “When did you get this?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I called Noelle after you left last night. She took me.”

I’m disappointed I wasn’t with her to see the second the needle pricked her skin for the first time. There’s nothing like new ink. The rush of adrenaline from the sound of the gun, even when you’re not the one in the chair. Performing on stage is the only thing that comes close to that kind of euphoria.

“Does it look bad?” she asks, nervously. “It’s okay if you don’t like it.”

I don’t hate it at all. I actually love the fuck out of it.
Fate Unites
Us
is written in a delicate script surrounded by angel wings. This is as much a tribute to our relationship as it is to the band and Shay. And I have no idea what to say to her about it. I’m blown away. “Why did you do this?”

“Because no matter if we work out or not, it’s how I feel. You came into my life for a reason. Whether it was to save me from myself, to make me happy again, or to show me that I’m enough, I needed you—and you came. Maybe I should have asked you first, especially considering I ripped off part of your design, but if you hadn’t lost Shay, you wouldn’t have been on the ship. And if you weren’t on the ship, I never would have met you. I’m sorry you lost her, but I’m so thankful you found me.”

If she were to turn around right now, she would see how much I love her ink. Fuck, she’d see how much I love her. Fate had us on a collision course long before we ever knew what was happening.

She turns to face me, her eyes begging me to say something—anything. “It’s fucking perfect. You’re perfect, Lark. You’re
more
than enough.” She nuzzles against my chest, her hair tickling my face. I didn’t see her coming, but she slammed into me going a hundred miles an hour and I’ll never be the same again. She’s it for me.

The boat may have rocked us, but fate aligned us. We both had to lose everything before we could find our forever. In the end, our biggest loss became our greatest gain.