Synister: The Push Series - Book 1 (8 page)

When I was out of the pool, I was handed a towel, although from whom I was not immediately aware. “No, Oscar, I’m cool. I would take you up on the kiss, I mean, mouth-to-mouth if I didn’t know your wife and the fact that she would kick your ass.” Giving him a wink, I turned my attention to find Synister. I was not able to spot him at first, but I did stop and take a minute to realize the amazing view of the city from this height.

Although Vegas was truly beautiful at night, there was something about all the concrete, glass, and steel in the middle of the desert that called to me. I never felt at home in any other city like I did in the city of sin. Maybe it was the possibilities. Maybe it was the access and the opportunity to be whomever you wanted with whomever you wanted. There was something about the freedom of the city that made me feel complete—like a modern oasis that I called home. I was having a little moment within my own brain when the sounds of screams filled my ears.

Syn was doubled over in a lounge chair, and Scottie was apparently the source of the screaming.

“Holy fuck, B. Come over here and look at what the bastard did.”

There were tears streaming down Syn’s face because he was laughing so hard. Scottie’s face was red and contoured into the male version of resting bitch face. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I twisted my hair into a bun and continued to walk in the direction of all the commotion.

“Whatever, asshat. Just because fucking Hendrix can’t keep his mouth shut about it. Kiss off, dickbag.” Scottie grabbed his drink and headed for the doors back into the hotel.

“Scottie, dude, come back!” Syn shouted as he headed in the direction of his brother. “You know we all love you, man.” When the brothers were finally standing side-by-side, you could see the resemblance in their jawline and raven black hair. Syn reached up and put his palm flat on the back of Scottie’s neck and pulled his forehead to him. Silent words were exchanged, and with a slap to the shoulder, both men were headed back in the direction of the rest of the group.

“I am so lost. What the hell happened?”

Oscar and his wife, Gigi, just shook their heads. Oscar was the first to speak up, “We have no idea. Scottie and Hendrix took off to the Pussycat Lounge
about two hours ago. No clue, B.”

“Where is Hendrix?” I spoke up.

“He was meeting up with some dude from the club last night. Don’t ask, don’t tell, B. Whoever he was had Hendrix all flustered last night,” Oscar explained.

As Scottie and Syn reached where we were standing, the suspense was killing me.

“Okay, Scottie, what the hell happened? Got to know deets, and now, man.”

What happened next was not anything I could have prepared myself for. In an instant, Syn grabbed on to both sides of Scottie’s swim trunks and yanked them down right there in front of everyone. I wished that were the biggest shocker. Oh no. Oscar doubled over in fits of laughter. Gigi threw her hands in front of her eyes while yelling, “You guys are gross as hell. Really?”

“Looks like my little bro decided he needed a Prince Albert. Takes stones, man, to allow someone to shove a needle through your dick. Figures Hendrix would be the one to take you. Where is the bastard anyway?” Syn was barely keeping from laughing as Scottie leaned over and pulled his shorts back to their rightful place.

“Fuck you, dude.” Scottie scoffed, turned on his feet, and walked back into the hotel.

“Syn, that was shitty, dude. Like I really needed to see Scottie’s junk.” Oscar slapped Syn on the shoulder and escorted his wife to a chair as they prepared to relax before the show.

“Oh, come on, man. Serves him right. That little shit gives me so much hell every time I get a tat. Trust me, I owe him.” Reaching for his drink, Syn settled back into his lounge chair. Tonight was going to be the last show before a two-week break for the band. A much needed break because they were each starting to get the need for a little space.

“B, do you remember the first time I came to Vegas?”

“Yes, Synister, we almost ended up getting married. That would have been a disaster.” As I walked over to the bar, I couldn’t help but feel my heart in my throat. I didn’t want anything more in that weekend than to end up with Synister by my side. Again, timing was a complete bitch. I might have come to terms with my reality, although it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Brooklyn
- Ice Cream, Oreos, and Thor Make Everything Better

Three Years Earlier...

Men. They didn’t know everything like they thought. As the driver loaded the last of my things into the taxi, I was sure when Royce got home he would be in a state of total shock. Okay, maybe when I was packing my things, I took scissors and cut the crotch out of all his pants. Childish. Maybe. But today, in that moment, it fit perfectly. He was the coward, and I was working on pure rage. We had been married for three years, and then to leave me a motherfucking note telling me it was over. And better yet, he had his mother deliver it to me with a plane ticket and a check for one hundred thousand dollars. I wanted to rip that check up in her face, but I was not going to give her the satisfaction.

 Let’s rewind for a minute and discuss how just sixty minutes earlier I was packing for the Keys, and now I was homeless.

Sixty minutes, yet, a lifetime ago…

I could still hear her soft, hate-filled voice as she stood across from me in the foyer. She said she was just needing to stop by and talk about plans for Royce’s upcoming thirtieth birthday party. I found it odd because we were planning on going away to Jamaica, just the two of us. So when she stopped by and kept her coat on, I knew the jig was up.

“Dear, this is for the best. Royce needs a clean slate. You did your best, honey, to give him what he needs, but I think we all knew this was a short-term fix. He had his fun, and now it’s time to think long-term.”

What a raging bitch. I knew when I took the envelope from her that my hands were shaking. Not because I was upset. No. I wanted to slap the shit out of her. But I didn’t. Oh, no, I just politely took it from her hands and told her exactly what I thought of her pretentious, Botox, fake-ass Stanton family. To say she had never been talked to in that way was a fucking understatement.

“Thank you, Mrs. Stanton. Thank you for saving me from a lifetime of below average sex with your son. I was beginning to get bored of him anyway, so you really are doing me a favor. Frankly, I’m surprised he doesn’t call you every night before bed to come over and tuck him in. I believe they cut the cord almost thirty years ago, ma'am. You may want to loosen the vise grip you have on him if you ever want any grandchildren. Thank you for saving me from those boring ass parties, making small talk with those half-witted, shallow-minded women that you call friends. What. A. Fucking. Snooze-fest they are. You may want to tell your friends to lay off the bleach and Botox because it is shrinking their brains. Really, are any of them capable of independent thoughts? And, we can all tell that Joanne has had a facelift, and Layla is getting fat, although none of you want to tell her. You just talk about them all behind their backs because that’s what a ‘Stanton’ does, right?” Grabbing my purse off the floor, I turned away from her so I could “collect my things” as she put it. “Oh, and Mrs. Stanton, one last thing.” With her arms crossed in front of her chest, she let out a huff.

“Yes, Brooklyn.” I knew she would be cordial. She was steaming mad inside, but her plastic face, that smile, never wavered. Damn, she was good at this. Touché. She knew how to play games. Her entire life was one posturing movement after another. Plus, she had been married to that prune of a man for so long she would take a punch to the face and still ask you how you wanted your coffee and never miss a step.

With my foot on the first step and my Louis Vuitton luggage in hand, I turned and looked her right in the eyes. “I have my nipples pierced, and your baby boy loved to put clamps on them and tug away until he exploded all over my face. Simmer on that, bitch.” As I turned away from her, my smile, my tiny victory, quickly faded as the tears threatened to fall from my eyes. No, not here. Not in front of her. As smug as I was, I knew this part of my life was over. I knew that I would never get a chance to say goodbye to Royce in person. She had made sure of that. This probably wasn’t even his decision to make. Lenora Necole Stanton was behind this one hundred percent.

With every step, I thought back to the good times. The fun we had when he was let “off the leash” of his parents and his name. As sad as I was for myself, part of me was sorry for Royce. I could not image what it was like to not be allowed your own life. I stopped myself before I could feel sorry for him for another second. He was a grown ass man, and if he allowed his mother to drag him around by his balls, then she could have him.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I turned the corner toward our bedroom. Running my hand along the banister, I thought back to two nights ago. The house was full of his work friends, and I told him I needed help upstairs. Of course, he was slightly agitated because the game had gone into overtime, but he complied. As he walked toward me, with his friends just out of earshot in the den watching the game, I leaned over the banister in nothing but my pink panties. His face was instantly red, and he was nervous, but damn, if that wasn't the best sex to date. The pain in my heart twisted as I continued down the hall to our bedroom. In a place that was once comfortable, I now wanted away from its confines. Looking around the room, I was struck by the odd sense of feeling out of place. Everything was pristine, white, like a museum. Not like me. As I took in my reflection in the mirror, my brown hair was half up and half falling down. I was wearing a beat-up, full of holes, and fraying Harvard Swimming sweatshirt—well, it was Royce’s, but I had long since claimed it as my own—and a pair of frayed jean shorts and my signature flip-flops. It became starkly obvious I didn’t belong in this world.

My pass had expired.

Time to go.

Pushing through the closet doors, I took a moment to look around. I didn't realize how much my life looked like someone else's fairy tale. I never wanted any of this. The floor-to-ceiling shoe racks, the evening gowns—none of this was me. Well, the me that I remembered. This all belonged to Brooklyn Stanton, wife of Royce Stanton. Hell, that wasn't me anymore. His mother made damn sure I knew where I stood as she effectively ended the life I knew.

I was determined to grab the essentials and leave all the fluff, taking only what I needed to minimalize the reminders of this life. I was trying to be practical. A feeble attempt to keep my brain from over processing the fact that I had no home, no job, and would soon be a divorcee before I was thirty. None of my newfound skills would look great on the long-term dateable
résumé
. Dating? Forget that shit. I was never dating and never marrying again. That shit was for the birds. As the wooden hangers slid, I just kept thinking,
Don’t need that. Hated that. Oh, yes, take that
. But when my finger stopped on the bright pink garment bag, my heart stopped. My wedding dress. My mother-in-law wanted me to have it preserved and boxed, but I kept putting it off. Something about it never seemed final. I was right about the final part—the only thing final about my marriage to Royce was it was over.

With the last item in my suitcase, I noticed the scissors and decided to leave Royce a going away present. I had no proof the pansy ass had cheated, but my irrational brain didn’t care. I took the metal shears in my hand and proceeded to cut the crotch out of every pair of jeans, dress pants, hell, even his boxers were not safe from the savagery. When my handiwork was done, I slung my Michael Kors handbag over my shoulder, flopped the pink garment bag over my arm, grabbed the suitcases in the other, and headed for the door. Mrs. Stanton was still there, probably making sure I didn’t take anything that wasn’t mine. With every step, I let my suitcases crash off the steps, and I could see her cringe.
Such unladylike behavior,
I was sure she was thinking. Didn’t care. Tugging the handles from the suitcases, I pulled them behind me and shot her the biggest fuck you smile I could muster. As I pushed open the door, the sun was like a bullet to the brain. Pulling my sunglasses off my head, I saw the limo waiting to pick me up. Well, hell, she had thought of everything. She really was the devil. The driver came out and took my bags as I settled into the seat. So, this was how it went? Pulling out my phone, I looked at the screen. I knew whom I wanted to call but couldn’t push the numbers.

“Ms. Reigns, I have been asked to take you to the airport. Mrs. Stanton has arranged for a flight to the destination of your choosing. It is about an hour drive to the airport. For what it is worth, I am sorry.” The driver turned around and didn’t offer another word. Fuck, she really had thought of everything. I wondered how many times she had done this in the past.