Shattered by You Page 7

  My gaze trailed down her body because . . . well, I couldn’t help it. Haven had this natural beauty about her. It was the whole package, nothing outstanding like big breasts or hips, but subtle and gentle. She flowed with beauty and Angel, her brother’s nickname for her, suited her looks. The attitude was another thing entirely.

  “Do I have a disgusting pimple on my face I don’t know about?”

  I chuckled when I met her eyes. There was her sense of humor, although I didn’t think she meant to be funny. My fingers dug into the leather back of the couch as my cock stirred. I thought maybe my desire for her would ease after all the texting, but this chick did something to me and despite my words to Kite, I wanted her.

  “Nothing wrong with any part of you. And you’d still be beautiful with pimples.”

  “You going to tell me I have an inner beauty you can’t resist?”

  I laughed. Thank fuck, some of that text humor still lingered. “There you are, Ice.”

  “Why are you and Kite”—she nodded to the stairs where I heard Kite slam the dryer lid closed—“at the farm when you supposedly bought a place?”

  “I was going to tell you at school but—”

  “You mean you came to suck up to me so I wouldn’t bitch to my brother that you and Kite hadn’t moved out?”

  Fuck, she was good, and steady as a rock. My stiff cock pushed uncomfortably against the confines of my jeans, rubbing against the coarse material like sandpaper. Commando didn’t always have its benefits. “Well, yeah.”

  “You have a wrong impression of me. I don’t bitch to my brother about anything. And what happened to the place you ‘bought’?”

  “It’s a good story actually.”

  Her thin brows rose and I watched her finger slide down her temple and tuck a few stray strands that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear.

  Mind-fart. It was a term that never came into play with me. I always had something to say, but my head at that moment was a big-ass fart. Seriously, nothing. Haven would see through any bullshit I fed her. Even through text, she had a bullshit radar and she wasn’t afraid to call me on it.

  I shrugged. “Didn’t happen.”

  “Obviously.” She glanced at my shirt thrown on the kitchen chair and my guitar case on the table, then over to the puddle of beer on the floor I had yet to clean up.

  “I thought I had more time. Then the rest of the tour was canceled . . .”

  “One venue.”

  Fuck. “Yeah.”

  She cocked her hip and placed her hand on it. “So you and Kite never bought a place?”

  “We put in an offer. It was rejected.” Because I low-balled it. The truth was I wanted to come back to the farm for a few months and decide where I wanted to live. Kite didn’t give a crap where he lived; his train of thought was a house didn’t deserve attachments because it didn’t give anything back except problems and bills. Yeah, because it was a fuckin’ house.

  “The real estate agent says there isn’t much out there with our wants and needs. And she’s been really busy fighting with her ex who wants custody of the dog. Some little foofoo thing. I have to admit, it’s kind of cute. She emailed me a picture of it in these little sneaker boots and winter jacket with a—”

  “Does this story have an ending?”

  Hmm, and how to answer that because my ending was certainly different than what she wanted to hear, but I’d discovered the truth was always the best with Haven. “Well sugar, I low-balled the offer so we wouldn’t get the place.” Fuck, I wanted to see her tuck her hair behind her ear again. “I wanted to hang here for a while longer.”

  “Hang?”

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

  Oh, she didn’t look impressed. Her hackles were raised as her chin hitched up a notch and her angel-like eyes weren’t angel-like anymore as they darkened and narrowed. “Ream know?”

  Ream and I were like brothers after my parents fostered him. He’d just turned seventeen and was in the custody of child service. A little late fostering a seventeen-year-old, but my parents said they’d seen something in Ream when they’d gone to make their quarterly donation. My mom said he’d been sitting against the wall, knees bent, arms casually hung over them. But what his body language displayed wasn’t what my mom saw in his expression—anguish. Pure anguish, so deep she feared what it would do to him being locked in the system for a year.

  They’d come home and discussed whether I’d be cool with them taking in a foster kid. I didn’t give a shit one way or other. My parents had always been involved with kid charities and social services. I was surprised it had taken them this long before there was another kid living with us. It had been a shock seeing Ream as I’d expected a younger kid. I soon found out why my parents took him in. Ream was completely fucked up.

  “Nope.”

  “So, what will you tell him?”

  Now that was the trick question, wasn’t it? I tapped my fingers on my crossed arm then pushed off the couch, which landed me right in front of her. Fuck, I could smell her hair, a mixture of coconut and kiwi. Every time I smelled the stuff while on tour, I’d been reminded of her.

  Yeah, there was no question Kite was right. I had one hell of a hard-on for her, but Haven was off-limits, and it wasn’t because of Ream and his pussy-ass threats. Okay, not pussy, Ream would try to kick my ass, optimal word try. It was because she wasn’t a chick to just fuck and walk away from. Not that you could even get close enough to get her to want to fuck you. But I was trying to penetrate, bad choice of words or good, depending on how you looked at it, her armor and I think I’d made progress.

  Not that it mattered much. She wasn’t interested. I was confident enough to not let it affect me—too much. After the months of texting, I realized that I enjoyed shooting the shit with her. She had a curt honesty that I liked . . . with what little she shared.

  The running I knew she did it to try to bury the bad shit that messed with her, and I suspected one day it’d surface. Shit, I saw a glimpse of it today in the cafeteria.

  “Don’t know yet.” I saw that cute little twitch above her left eye. Fuck, it was adorable. Like she was trying to keep herself from smiling. “But, I make one hell of a lasagna. Your brother’s favorite.”

  And there it was, a soft huff and crack of a smile. And that right there made me want her more than I already did. I was so screwed.

  “No, your mom does,” Kite said, coming down the stairs now wearing clothes—thank fuck. “Haven, he puts the lasagna in the fridge, playing it off as his, but the pink container gives it away. And if that doesn’t do it, the neat handwriting on the lid does.” He chin-lifted to Haven. “How’s school?”

  She picked up her bag and moved away from me and into the kitchen. “It’s fine.”

  She put her bag on the chair at the kitchen table and Kite asked her about classes. I droned out of the conversation, instead turning the music back up, though not as loud, then strolled into the kitchen, grabbed a dishrag and wiped up the beer on the floor.

  Kite was telling Haven about the crazy party at one of the hotels a few weeks ago. Crazy was an understatement. Insane. Psychotic. A wild party of drugs, alcohol and lots of chicks wearing very little clothing and too much make-up. We had to pay the hotel one hell of a damage bill.

  I stood and threw the wet rag into the sink. I caught Haven’s eyes dart from my chest to my face. Interesting. I smirked.

  “ . . . and they will be back tomorrow morning.” Kite finished. “Then dinner tomorrow night.”

  She was going to be pissed hearing what I was about to tell her. “Going to Mom’s for dinner when they get back.” I tagged my beer off the counter. “She expects you to be there this time, Ice. No excuses.” Haven had managed to avoid my mom and dad even though she’d been invited numerous times to go over for lunch, dinner and even for tea, and my mom didn’t do tea. Every time Mom called me, there was some reference to Haven and how I should convince her to come over to the house.

  Ream heard
it from Mom, too. But Haven was resistant to meeting our parents and as an extension, since she was Ream’s sister, her parents. I chuckled to myself as I realized in an off-shoot sort of way, I was her ‘brother.’

  “I have studying to do. I can’t go.”

  I grabbed my navy t-shirt from the back of one of the chairs and put my arms through, then ducked my head as I pulled it over top and let it fall into place. “Oh, baby, you really want to mess with my mom? She’s a sweetheart, but she’s now yours and that means she has some say. Plus she’s making my favorite—spaghetti and meatballs with a shitload of spice.”

  Haven scooted out of the chair, grabbed her bag and headed for the stairs. “I have to get ready.”

  “Jesus, what’s wrong? You don’t like spaghetti? I can get her to make you something else. No big deal.” She continued up the stairs. “What the fuck did I say? Ready? For what?” I called after her.

  I knew she wasn’t thrilled about meeting my parents, but we were all going. It was a welcome home dinner kind of thing. Even Logan’s mom, Isabelle, was coming. The only two who couldn’t make it were Georgie and Deck, but they invited everyone over for a Sunday brunch at Deck’s.

  Kite slapped me on the shoulder. “Good call setting up the dinner with your mom. Didn’t think you were that . . . tactful.” Yeah, well, Logan was already reeling about having to cancel the last venue and Ream soon would be for exaggerating the situation on the house. “Still think he’s going to beat your ass.”

  “Never. The guy hasn’t got me off my feet since we were seventeen.”

  “You better hope he doesn’t get Logan on his side.”

  Logan used to be an illegal underground fighter and even though I was confident with my fighting skills, I was smart enough to know Logan was one guy who could seriously kick my ass. I was hoping a nice dinner with Mom and Dad might cool Ream off about the living arrangements and Logan about the bullshit with the chick.

  “And what makes you think you’re exempt? I see your ass standing here. I’m the one who hired the real estate agent. You did fuck-all.”

  “Because I don’t talk about his sister like I want to fuck her and haven’t been texting her non-stop for months.” He walked over to the couch, did a half-leap so his whole body landed lounged out on the black leather. He reached for the remote and flicked on the television. I grabbed my beer and joined him.

  “‘Call of Duty?’” Kite asked.

  “Fuck yeah.” It was a Friday night and I was staying in with horses grazing outside my window. My reputation would be ruined if it got out. At least there was a hot chick in the house.

  I STEPPED OUT of the shower, dried off, then opened the door. The cooler air invaded the steam-filled bathroom and I shivered as goose bumps popped up like little gems across my skin.

  Crisis and Kite being at the farm had surprised me. My brother had been pretty adamant that he and Kat were taking over the farm and Crisis and Kite were moving into their own place. I planned to move out once I found a job, but I didn’t own a car. I didn’t even have a driver’s license. Alexa purposely used to flash her driver’s licence at me, and a few years later, Olaf bought her a car with the money I made at the club.

  That was when I learned how to syphon gas. I did it twice when she parked her car in the garage. She freaked when she couldn’t start it. The second time, she caught on and that was when I went back to being locked in my room. Then she made my life hell for a few months. But, it was worth it.

  “Kite, shoot him. Shoot him. Shoot him.” There was a pause and I heard bangs and crashes on the speakers. “Where the hell are you . . . Kite! Seriously get back . . . man, you suck.”

  There was a mumble and I was guessing it was Kite’s reply. He didn’t raise his voice; at least, I never heard him, and he was pretty calm and patient. His appearance contradicted his business-like attitude, all tatted-up and pierced.

  I pulled out my long-sleeved V-neck grey shirt and a pair of jeans and threw them on my bed. I inhaled swiftly when there was a quick knock on my door before it flung open.

  “Some chick is outside leaning over the fence patting Clifford.”

  I glared at Crisis. My hands clenched around the towel wrapped around my body. “Just because we texted a few times, doesn’t mean you have access to my room.”

  “I knocked.” He strode over to the window and parted the white pleated curtains. “And it was more than a few times texting, babe. Few hundred maybe.”

  His voice took on a grumbling tone and from the way his broad shoulders flexed beneath the snug t-shirt I could tell he was a little pissed at my casual reference to our texting.

  I walked to window and glanced out. He stood beside me and for some reason, it was different with him than before he left on tour. He was in my bedroom, me in a towel, hair dripping wet and there was no overwhelming need to get him out of my space. Instead, there was comfort in his presence and something else . . . a whoosh in my belly that I was currently trying to ignore.

  It also meant vulnerability.

  A rare ambiguity compressed my constant barrier into a tight little package at my feet. If he took one step to the right and touched me, he’d step on it and crush it.

  I swallowed.

  There was no room for what was traipsing all over my body like some engorged fire that fed off a pile of dynamite. I didn’t know if he felt it too or what, but I saw his fingers curl tightly around the curtain. I glanced at him and he was still staring out the window, but his jaw clenched.

  He abruptly turned, eyes locking on mine. There was a moment of silence as we stood completely still, bodies inches apart, his one hand at his side, so close to mine that if I took a deep breath, our fingers would touch.

  He was first to break. “Haven.” It was a husky whisper.

  That was all I needed to snap me out of it and I clamped up. I stepped away and focused my attention on the girl outside. “It’s Dana. Don’t worry. She isn’t one of your stalkers.” Although, she may soon be when she found out Crisis and Kite were here.

  “Funny, Ice. That girl is a misguided chick with a fucked-up delusion of what happened between us.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  Dana stroked Clifford’s white and dapple-red head. Clifford was rescued from an abusive home a few years ago. When I first came to live here, in order to avoid everyone, I’d sit in the field, under this oak tree and Clifford would always find me and nudge my leg then eat all the grass around me.

  I turned around as Crisis threw himself down on my bed. He lay on his side, perched up on his elbow and looked at me. The loose-ringed blond curls hung just over the cusp of his ears, unkempt strands that couldn’t decide which side to part on.

  I eyed him for a second . . . maybe it was more admired . . . it was another moment of weakness, but there was no denying Crisis was attractive.

  He grinned. “Want me to pick you out something to—”

  “I want you to get out of my room.” His muscular thighs rested on top of my clothes and he lifted slightly so I could yank them out from under him. I strode to the bathroom and the mattress creaked behind me. “Get out, Crisis.”

  I shut the door.

  “I’ll go introduce myself,” he called.

  There’d be no introduction needed. Dana lived on Earth; she’d know who Crisis was.

  I quickly dressed, applied a small amount of mascara and lip gloss, then emerged from the bathroom. Crisis was like a leech that kept sucking the blood out of me, but it wasn’t blood, it was my coldness. It was as if he was the heater turned on high and I was the block of ice that was slowly melting. And it had happened over text—text. How was that even possible? I thought it was safe. I thought I could keep my distance, but it was too late. Crisis had somehow become important.

  Fifteen minutes later, after changing tops two more times—not to try and look better, but the complete opposite—I walked downstairs into the living room. Dana sat on the couch with Kite and Crisis, a game controller in her
hand.

  “Yes!” she screamed, leaping to her feet, pumping her fist in the air as her car crossed the finish line a millisecond before Crisis.’ “I rock.”

  “No, sugar, we’re the ones who rock.” Crisis grinned and tossed his controller onto the glass coffee table.

  Dana noticed me and put her hands on her hips. “Seriously? What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me you lived with Tear Asunder? Like, this is huge. Huge, girl. And you kept it from me?”

  I shrugged. “They just got back. They were—”

  “Yeah, on tour.” She leaned over and playfully punched Crisis on the shoulder. “Tickets. That’s what I get for winning. To your next concert in Toronto. And I want a backstage pass.” She was virtually hopping up and down with excitement. It was going to be a night of talking about the band. And this was why I’d never told anyone. Not that I had anyone to tell except Dana and a few acquaintances who were her friends, not mine.

  Her grin vanished as she took in my attire. “And you’re so not wearing that. You look like a nun off-duty.”

  Crisis burst out laughing and Kite chuckled, eyeing me, then he winked because I suspected Kite knew I was not into going out and dressing up. I liked being a mosquito on the wall, watching, ready to get out of the way of any threat or be the threat. Either way, I was a bystander until I was forced not to be a bystander anymore.

  Dana picked up a classy red designer bag off the floor and climbed over Kite’s long legs that were stretched out and perched on the coffee table. “Good thing I brought clothes for you.”

  Shit. And double shit. If they were anything like Dana was wearing now, short black skirt and skin-tight red V-neck that had slits under both arms and a thin strap for sleeves over her shoulders.

  “Don’t un-nun her too much. She gets . . . cold,” Crisis blurted out.

  I ignored him, but Dana didn’t. “Oh, she won’t be cold when the guys see her and can’t keep their hands of her.”

  “Ice hates hands on her,” Crisis called after us.