Bittersweet (Redemption Book 3) Page 5

  She was the only thing I’d ever wanted that wasn’t handed to me on a silver platter—aside from a loving family—and the fact that she couldn’t stand me, that she thought the same things about me that everyone else thought, left me feeling raw and exposed, like a sanding block had been dragged over my skin.

  Curling my hands into fists and clenching my jaw, I climbed the stairs to the old man’s second floor office.

  I hated that fucking office. I hated the whole fucking house. But mostly, I hated the people in it.

  Knowing it would piss him off, and unable to stop myself from pushing his buttons, I twisted the knob and threw the door open without knocking. I didn’t have any control over my own life, so I made outlets for myself. I banged any willing girl who threw herself at me, I got into fights with assholes who were just asking for it, taking my aggression out by pounding their faces into a bloody mess. And I stuck it to my folks in little aggravating, childish ways like not knocking, leaving my room a mess, and behaving like a punk every chance I got.

  “You summoned?” I snarked as soon as I stepped into the room, looking to the huge monstrosity of a desk he stood behind, looming over it like a king surveying his kingdom.

  His rage-filled eyes came up from stack of documents he’d been reading through. Looking at him just then, I hated that we looked so much alike. I got my height, my eyes, and my coloring from him. I even got his build, only he had more muscle than me. For now. For a dude in his mid-forties, my old man was built like a brick house. He worked out regularly, most likely to stay in shape for all those bitches he cheated on his wife with. Not that she cared. Just as long as my dear old dad didn’t spend any of the money that was supposed to be hers on them, he could fuck whoever he wanted. Most of the time she did the same damn thing.

  “You’d be wise to mind your tone,” he warned. “Or have you forgotten who you’re dealing with?”

  He hadn’t hit me in four years, not since I punched him back, shattering his nose when I was fourteen. But that was mostly because I hadn’t lived under his roof for a majority of that time. That didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of threatening me in other ways. And he did . . . all the damn time.

  “Haven’t forgotten a damn thing,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest and staring him right in the eye—another thing he hated. He preferred it when I cowered, something I refused to do. “I know exactly what you are.”

  Slapping the paperwork down, he rounded the desk, clenching and unclenching his fists, causing the veins in his forearms beneath the cuffed sleeves of his expensive button-down to bulge.

  “You’ve got some nerve, boy,” he hissed, his top lip curling up in a snarl. “After that stunt you pulled today, you should be on your knees kissing my feet for bailing your ass out a-fucking-gain.”

  There would never be a day in my life where I’d get down on my knees to thank this man for anything. Never. I’d die before doing that. “That was your choice. I didn’t ask you for shit.”

  His arm shot out before I had a chance to react, streaking through the air in a blur before his fingers wrapped around my throat. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” he hissed, leaning in so close we were nose to nose. His fingers pressed deeper into my skin. He wasn’t squeezing hard enough to leave a mark or prevent me from breathing. That wasn’t what he was going for. What he was after was my fear. He wanted to scare and intimidate me, but after so many years of dealing with him like this, I’d become a pro at shutting off any kind of reaction.

  Staring him dead in the eyes without so much as flinching, I remained silent as he began to pant with rage, his whole face turning a deep, mottled red. “You think you’re a man now, huh? A tough guy. You think using your fists is what matters? Well, I got news for you, boy. That’s not power. Power is having the means to ruin a person without ever having to get your hands dirty. I have power. You have what I’m gracious enough to give you, what I could take away in a heartbeat. That’s power, and you have none. Don’t you ever forget that.”

  He released me with a shove, sending me back two steps. “Now get the fuck out of my office. And if you pull another stunt like the one you pulled today, I’ll show you exactly what real power is.”

  Having said his piece, he turned his back to me and rounded his desk once more. He returned to those documents without a second glance in my direction, like I wasn’t even there. Like I was an annoying bug he’d just crunched under his shoe. Dead and forgotten.

  I kept it in, all the rage and hatred I was feeling. I held it all inside me, letting it bubble and fester as I left his office and crossed the hall into my bedroom. It wasn’t until I had the door firmly shut behind me, the lock on the knob engaged, that I let it all loose. With a yell that sounded like it belonged to a wild animal, I cocked my arm back and drove my fist into the thick, solid wood of my closet door. I punched over and over, as hard as I could, not giving a damn when my knuckles split and blood began oozing out, leaving red streaks down the perfectly polished oak. I didn’t feel it, too consumed with the fire burning inside of me, so big it threatened to consume me, to feel any outward pain.

  By the time I was finished a sweat had formed across my skin and I was breathing like I’d just run a marathon, but that burn in my gut had been snuffed. I’d settled the storm inside me the only way I knew how.

  I spun around, focused on nothing as I pulled the image of Shane up in my mind, remembering exactly what she looked like when she’d been standing in in my room just days before. That memory sparked something inside of me and my feet started moving before my brain had a chance to engage. I was down the stairs and out the front door before I realized what I was doing.

  I needed to see her. It was the only thing that would make me feel better. If I had to drive along every street in this goddamn town for hours looking for her, that was exactly what I’d do.

  Because after the latest run-in with my father, I needed her light more than I needed air.

  Shane

  Sixteen years old

  The ice cream shop where I spent most of my free time, working as many shifts as the owner, Margaret, would give me, was thankfully quiet this afternoon. There had only been a handful of people to come in so far, giving me the chance to pull out my books and get some of my schoolwork done between scooping ice cream into waffle cones and cleaning the stickiness left behind by little kids off the tables and floors.

  My study session was cut short when the bell over the door rang, pulling my attention from my textbook. I looked up with a smile, ready to greet the latest customer, only to have my lips droop into a frown once I saw of who’d just walked in.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Jensen’s lips curled up into that same cocky smirk he’d worn every time I’d seen him. “Would you believe this is just a big coincidence?”

  “Not a chance.”

  “What if I said I was just in the mood for some ice cream?”

  “Why are you here?” I repeated, refusing to be sucked into whatever game he was attempting to play.

  The arrogance in his expression bloomed as he moved to the counter, his eyes heating as they raked over me, making my skin feel tight and my pulse pound. “Careful, sunshine. You keep this up and I might start to think you aren’t happy to see me.”

  Pushing back the flicker of excitement that made my belly flip, I rolled my eyes and let out a huff as I hopped off the stool and slapped my book closed. An irrational spike of anger surged through me, only I wasn’t sure if it was anger at him or at myself for my body’s stupid reaction. “That’s because I’m not.”

  I spun around and started for the back, but was stopped when his hand shot over the counter, gripping my arm just hard enough to prevent me from escaping.

  “Come on, Shane. I promise I’ll behave. Just . . . don’t go.”

  I looked down at where his fingers were wrapped around my arm, ready to pull away and storm off, when the sight of his scraped knuckles made me suck in a harsh g
asp. “Oh my God,” I cried. “What the hell did you do to your hand?”

  Not thinking about my actions, I spun around and grabbed hold of Jensen’s wrist, pulling from his hold so I could get a better look. There was dried blood, dark and flaky, mixed with the fresh red that was still pebbling up from his battered knuckles. They looked bad, really bad. And I didn’t recall seeing his hands look like this after his fight with Ronny.

  “Jeez, Jensen. What happened?”

  He tried to jerk his hand back, but I kept my hold firm, bending down to inspect the damage closer. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

  “This isn’t nothing. This looks serious. You could have broken fingers or someth—”

  “I said it’s nothing,” he clipped, iciness filling his voice as he snatched his hand away.

  I lifted my gaze to his and pinned him in place with a frown. “So who the hell did you pick a fight with this time?” I asked sarcastically, feeling defensive at the sudden shift from playful to hard in his demeanor.

  “Fuck this shit,” Jensen spat, the wave of anger rushing off of him with those three words leaving me speechless. “Should never have come here.” He whipped around before I could form a reply and started for the door. With his fingers on the handle, he looked over his shoulder and said, “And just so you know, I didn’t start that fight. That Ronny guy’s a dickhead, and he got exactly what he deserved.”

  I was suddenly hit with a spike of fear at the thought of him leaving. It was irrational and frantic. My brain was screaming at me to just let him go, that this boy was all kinds of hazardous to my well-being. However, there was another part of me—a much larger one—that snuffed out that voice in my head.

  “Jensen, wait,” I called, panic tangled in my voice. “I-I’m sorry.” He stopped, the door pushed halfway open as he looked back at me. “I shouldn’t have said that. Please just . . .” I wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. I mean, I hardly knew this guy, and I certainly didn’t understand everything he made me feel. I didn’t want to beg him to stay, but I couldn’t stand the thought of him leaving. “We have a first aid kit in the back. Will you let me take a look at your hand?” He released the door handle, letting it swing closed once more before turning to face me fully. He remained quiet, standing there like he was waiting for something, and as I stared into those stormy eyes, I felt my lips part and the word please come out in a whisper.

  The sense of relief I felt when he started back in my direction was so intense it actually scared me, but I pushed on. He followed me wordlessly to the employee breakroom where the first aid kit was stored. He sat perfectly still as I flipped the lid open and rummaged around for what I needed.

  The silence in the room as I dabbed at the cuts that spread across all four knuckles was stifling, making the air thick and uncomfortable. I chanced a peek at him from under my lashes, seeing for the first time that those stormy eyes were completely flat, devoid of all emotion. That smug shield he wore was gone, leaving nothing but icy indifference behind.

  I hated it.

  Unable to take it for another second, I sucked in a bracing breath and started talking. “You were right. Ronny Culpepper is a raging asshole.” All I got from that was a huff, so I pushed on. “And I shouldn’t have said what I said. It wasn’t cool. I’m sorry for accusing you of starting that fight. Knowing Ronny, I’m not surprised at all to hear it was him.”

  The heaviness in the room began to lighten. Jensen blew out a deep sigh, his breath tickling the skin on the side of my neck as it drifted past, making me shiver.

  “Thanks,” he muttered.

  I looked up at him. Seeing the spark in those dark grays start to come back to life made my lips tilt up in a tiny smile. “No problem,” I whispered before I looked back to his damaged hand. “So . . .” I hedged, my curiosity getting the best of me. “These cuts look fresh. You wanna tell me where they came from? ’Cause I’m pretty sure they didn’t happen when you kicked Ronny’s ass.”

  “Things got kind of heated between me and my closet door.”

  His tone was much lighter, as if he was trying to make a joke out of it, but my head shot up. My lips parted and my eyes went wide in shock. “You did this to yourself? Why would you do that? How? I mean . . . it had to have hurt like hell.”

  The humor fled from his expression, replaced with a look of uncertainty. “I didn’t feel it when I was doing it.”

  I turned my attention back to doctoring his hand, tossing the used alcohol wipes aside and peeling open the bandages. “Okay. But . . . why did you do this? Were you mad or something?”

  I wasn’t sure why I was pushing, but for some reason, it felt like the answers were just too important. The seconds ticked by at a freakishly slow pace before he finally answered reluctantly. “Let’s just say things in my life aren’t as easy as you assumed they are.”

  For some reason, that answer made a knot form inside my chest, and when I looked up at him, I was sure he could see the emotions I was feeling written all over my face. “Jensen, I—”

  “I don’t need you to feel sorry for me,” he bit out angrily. “Just drop it, okay?”

  I thought back to that day when I was standing inside his bedroom, looking up at him. I remembered the emotion behind his words when he mentioned boarding school and how it hadn’t fit that arrogant demeanor, and suddenly I realized I’d been wrong.

  With the last bandage stuck in place, I released a heavy sigh and looked up. I didn’t know what was happening, or why I felt such a strong pull to this boy I hardly knew, but finding out I’d jumped to incorrect conclusions about who he was made me feel queasy.

  “All done,” I whispered, snapping the lid on the kit closed. I gathered up the trash and walked across the room to throw it away, keeping my back to Jensen as the sound of his chair scraping across the floor shot through the room. He was leaving, and this time, I was determined to let him. “I guess I’ll see you around—” My words died when I turned and nearly ran into the wide expanse of his chest. I’d expected him to be near the door, not standing only inches away, and suddenly the warmth from his body and the heady smell of his cologne left me feeling lightheaded. “W-what are you doing?”

  “Saying ‘thank you’,” he replied, his voice a gravelly rumble that made me tingle.

  His eyes turned darker as he slowly leaned in closer, the storminess turning into a hurricane. A heat began to burn low in my belly, making it feel as if my skin was too tight.

  “Don’t,” I rushed out, panic making my heartrate accelerate. “Please d-don’t kiss me.” There was no chance I’d survive it if he did.

  He stopped then, but not before his chest pressed against mine, turning me into a jumbled mess of exposed nerves. “I won’t,” he said softly, his face taking on a gentleness I hadn’t thought him capable of. Then he shocked me even further by closing the last of the distance between us so his lips could skim across my ear as he finished, “At least not until you beg me to.”

  With that mystifying response, he pulled back, turned on his heel, and headed out of the breakroom, leaving me standing there on shaky knees.

  Chapter Six

  Shane

  The Rolling Stones were blaring through the Bluetooth speaker I had set up on the TV console. The thing had cost a pretty penny, but I justified the purchase by telling myself Brantley would like listening to music on it just as much as me, but the truth was, it had been one of the very few frivolous purchases I’d made in the past five years that was more for me than my son. Besides, The Stones were the only thing that made housework more bearable, and with Brantley over at Caroline and Scooter’s for the afternoon, I could blast it at full volume while I scrubbed every nook and cranny of my house.

  With the hours I waitressed at Bad Alibi, a local biker-friendly watering hole, I tried to spend as much time with my boy as possible, but it was difficult. That meant learning to function on very little sleep so I could stay up during the day and spend that time with him before working
the evening or night shifts at the bar. That didn’t leave a lot of free time, so once a month I pushed my guilt to the back burner and had my aunt and uncle babysit so I could do all the cleaning and laundry and errands I hadn’t gotten to do in my very limited time.

  Today was that dreaded day, but I tried to make it better by belting out “Sympathy For the Devil” right along with Mick as I mopped the old, yellowed linoleum and vacuumed the threadbare carpets.

  Our place wasn’t much; it was small and had definitely seen better days, and it didn’t help matters that I couldn’t really afford to make any of the bazillion repairs that needed to be done or any cosmetic improvements, but Brant and I did what we could to make it our own.

  I’d just gotten to my favorite part of the song and was singing the Woo Woos at the top of my lungs—nailing the notes, I might add—when the obnoxious voice for my over-protective big brother broke through my enjoyment.

  “Christ, squirt. It sounds like a bag of cats is being tortured to death by Satan himself in here.”

  Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the little remote off the kitchen counter and hit the button to kill the music. “Did I just imagine that whole conversation where I handed you that key and was all, ‘hey big bro, this is just for emergencies, so please don’t use it to barge in whenever the hell you feel like it’? Because I could’ve sworn that really happened.”

  “I heard what I thought were the sounds of you being brutally murdered. That constitutes an emergency, right? How was I supposed to know you were such a godawful singer?”

  I curled my lips between my teeth, biting down to keep the words I’d been swallowing for the past few months from spewing out, mainly that he would have known had he been in my life long enough to find out anything about me. Instead, he’d bailed out when I was only eight years old.

  Don’t get me wrong, I loved my brother with all my heart, but as much as I loved having him in my life on a regular basis now, his return had brought up old resentments I hadn’t realized were lingering beneath the surface.