Breaking Giants, page 18
Not explosive, or primal, or the least bit raunchy. No headboards were injured. No hair pulled. No teethmarks in skin or nails scratching or Rose Cunningham, you are loud.
“Shit,” I whisper, knuckling my eyes against memories that, even nearly a year later, are vivid enough they could have happened yesterday.
I threw you away. Because I was afraid.
Julian’s words float back to me, igniting old hurt and fresh anger. I was moving on. I was getting over him—I was over him—before he once again barged into my life and turned it sideways.
Singing my own songs with me. Showing me that newspaper. Accepting my abuse while I sobbed in his arms. Saltwater kindness. Mashing my pie and laughing as on the television, Cary Grant deals with his crazy family. Looking at me with eyes that hold new gravity, born of his accident, his long rehabilitation.
The rehabilitation he hadn’t wanted me to be a part of.
Sitting up, I text Aiden.
He’s at my house an hour later with burritos and cold medicine and flowers. We eat, and flip through channels on the television, and I make him finish Greta’s pie.
After, despite his protestations—albeit weak ones—I lead him into the bathroom and fill the big tub with hot water and lavender scented bubbles. We undresses each other slowly, kissing skin as it’s exposed, until I forget about Julian again.
I wake up much later, in the dark of my bedroom, consumed by anxiety from a dream I can’t remember. Reaching across the sheets, I touch Aiden’s warm arm. He murmurs something and shifts away.
As I slowly relax and begin to drift back to sleep, I remember a snippet of the dream. A tarot card lying face up, signifying its bright, fully actualized aspect.
The Prince of Swords.
♫
Nursing a cup of tea at Tullamore the following Saturday afternoon, I stare across the table at Melody.
“I don’t know,” I say doubtfully, “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
She squints at me. “You never think anything’s a good idea at first. It’s just a birthday party.”
“Julian’s birthday party.”
She shrugs. “Look, I know you guys have more baggage than a 747, but it’s going to be a huge party. At least a hundred people. You don’t have to talk to him except to say ‘happy birthday bye.’ Matt and I want you to come. We miss you. Just think of it as any other summer party.”
I hold up a hand to halt her tirade. “I don’t think Aiden’s going to like me going. I don’t want to fuck this up. He’s nice.”
She groans. “Nice. Yuck.” At my scowl, she grins. “Sorry. And you’re right, he probably won’t like it. But you should still come. I’ll be lonely.”
Rolling my eyes, I finish my tea. The café is busy around us; outside, the weather is warm and clear. A perfect day for a party.
I think back to the voicemail Julian left me earlier this week, haltingly inviting me to his birthday party. His thirty-fourth. But only if I was feeling better. And if I wanted to come. It was okay if I didn’t, but he didn’t want me to feel excluded.
Ugh.
At length, Melody casually asks, “Has Aiden told you why he was kicked out of the band?”
My shoulders bunch. “I haven’t asked,” I admit.
“Huh.”
I narrow my eyes. “What does that mean?”
She blinks innocently back at me. “Nothing. Just surprised. Don’t you want to know?”
“Not really,” I mutter.
“Okay.”
We stare at each other.
Finally, I sigh. “You’re a pain in the ass, Mel.”
She grins, fully aware that I’m conceding defeat. “I know. How about we drop your car at your place? We can get ready at mine and head to the party in…” She glances at her watch, “an hour? Just enough time to get you buzzed on daiquiris and convince you to wear the smallest bikini I own.”
“What? Hell no,” I protest, then see the wicked glint in her eye. “Stop it. Stop it right now.”
Laughing, she stands and grabs her purse. “You do know I always get what I want, right?”
She doesn’t wait for a reply, flouncing toward the front door. I let her have her moment of imagined victory and wave goodbye to Christy and Allison before following.
An hour later, Melody finally accepts that I won’t wear the indecent, silver, sorry excuse for a bathing suit she forces on me. She does, however, demand that I change my requisite jeans and t-shirt.
After some haggling—and my second daiquiri—I leave the house wearing shorts that are probably making my father roll in his grave and a flowing tank top that despite its loose fit, is almost as risqué as my silk camisole.
At least I’m wearing a bra.
It isn’t until we pull off the exit for Mercer Island that the reasonable half of my brain wakes up from its coma. But by then it’s too late, and minutes later we arrive at a ginormous gated property with cars stacked in the driveway and against all surrounding curbs.
Melody pulls to a stop beside a valet stand, and smiling young men open our doors.
Feeling a little numb, and a lot nervous, I follow Melody to the open gate where a woman stands with a clipboard.
“Names?” she asks.
“Rose Cunningham and Melody Finnegan.”
The woman’s gaze snaps to me, then roams down the clipboard. “Cunningham.” A scratch as she checks off my name. “And Finnegan.” Another scratch, and a bright smile. “Enjoy the party, ladies!”
Melody links her arm through mine and saunters up the driveway. The massive front doors are open, allowing thumping music and loud chatter to reach our ears. Small groups of people mill on the manicured lawn and flow in and out of the house.
As we walk up steps toward the door, I look up. And up.
“Who’s house is this?” I ask.
“A label exec’s,” she says, then giggles. “Wait till you see the pool. It’s ridiculous.”
Melody, who was here yesterday with the party planners, guides me confidently through the throngs toward the backyard. We step outside onto a covered patio that runs the length of the house.
People are everywhere. Draped on lounge furniture, clustered around a state of the art outdoor kitchen, laughing and dancing and having a good time.
Tick tock when it stops
I’ll fall into the deep
After all, the world is small
and when it’s dark I’ll sleep
“Come on, I see Matt,” Melody chirps, and drags me forward again.
A shirtless Matt is sitting on the edge of a spectacular pool, shaped like a kidney bean with sapphire water. A huge jacuzzi is nearby, packed with people. Most of the women strolling around are wearing bikinis that make the silver one look conservative.
“Ladies!” cries Matt when he sees us. He leaps to standing and gives Melody a kiss, then crushes me in a hug. “Thanks so much for coming, Rose. It means the world to him.”
My stomach does a queer dive. Laughing forcefully, I step out of his reach, cursing the fact I let Melody railroad me into taking one car. Glancing around, I wonder if I can slip away and hide in a room somewhere until she’s ready to leave.
“Oh, there’s Julian,” says Melody, then yells, “Don’t break anything, birthday boy!”
Turning my head, I see Julian standing on the far side of the pool about to dive in. And, like every other woman in the backyard, all I can do is stare.
Before the accident, Julian had a great body. I should know. Now, after months of physical training, he’s… breathtaking. Corded, lean muscle everywhere. Washboard abs and that defined V low on his torso that women cream their pants over.
To add torture to my private hell, he’s already wet, water dripping down his sculpted chest, over assorted tattoos, through the faint trail of hair leading into his black board shorts.
I am not immune.
Not by a long shot.
But what lands the hardest punch isn’t his drool-worthy physique, but the new scars. None of them are large or detract from his virility, but I nevertheless see them immediately. The right side of his chest. Left, high by his shoulder, and another near his ribs. And the little line on his abdomen from surgery.
When I finally drag my gaze up, the impact of Julian’s eyes on me feels physical. Then he smiles, gives me a little wave, and dives into the pool.
Blinking, I return from the border of spontaneous combustion and look at Melody.
She’s grinning. “I think fifty women just murdered you with their eyes.”
“W-what?” I stammer, but sure enough, when I look quickly around I see baleful glares being cast in my direction. And they make me wonder what expression Julian was wearing before I looked up.
“Melody, you’re freaking relentless,” chides Matt, throwing his arm around my shoulders. “Come on, Rosie Posie, let’s go find you a drink.”
“Good idea,” I say, and let him lead me away.
26
feline tendencies
Matt abandons me a little while later, but only after finding me a safe group of people to hang with. Ensconced on an outdoor couch next to Nick and his girlfriend, I slowly relax and even begin to enjoy myself. We’re merely three among many watching a violent game of ping pong between Jackson and one of Breaking Giant’s production crew.
Much to the delight of everyone, Nick is playing sportscaster for the event, booming out updates every few seconds.
“Ah, a brilliant shot by the wily Jackson Everett! Ladies, take note—he wields paddles in the bedroom with even more skill!” The crowd cheers, women yelling approval.
Jackson flushes, shaking his head.
“You’re so mean,” I tell Nick, but I’m laughing.
He grins through a new, thick beard. “Jackson’s shy. Just doing my bro a favor.”
When someone sits on the arm of the couch beside me, I open my mouth to offer to shift down. Then I see a chiseled calf muscle, and my gaze wanders up to black board shorts, and then to abs in my face.
Julian smiles down at me. “Hi, Rose.”
“Hi,” I say, then clear my throat because breathless. “Happy birthday. It’s today, right? July 1st?”
“Yep,” he says, glancing at the game before turning back to me. “Do you want anything to eat?”
“No, um, I’m okay,” I say, then because I suck at lying, I blush.
Julian’s smile widens. “You’re hungry. Want a burger?”
“I, uh—”
Whiskey eyes flicker to my mouth. “I could probably get you pancakes, if you’d prefer.”
I want to fuck your mouth, Rose.
The sudden memory is kerosine on flame. I’m pretty sure my pupils dilate with the force of my arousal because Julian sucks in a sharp breath. He shifts on the arm of the couch and quickly stands. His expression darkens for a moment, then like clouds passing, brightens again.
“Come on, let’s get you some food,” he says, offering me his hand.
There are people watching us, Nick and his girlfriend Kat among them. Nick says cheerily, “Hey Rose, if you bring me back a burger I’ll let you open for us on tour.”
“Nick!” snaps Julian.
Thankful beyond words for the diversion, I laugh and stand up. “I’ll get you one. No bribery required. Kat, how about you?”
She shakes her head, smiling. “I’ll just eat half of Nick’s.”
“What? No way,” he protests, then at Kat’s sweet smile, he deflates. “Of course you can have half my burger, sugarplum.” Out of the corner of his mouth, he hisses at me, “Two burgers.”
Laughing, I nod and turn around, and run smack into Julian’s warm, naked chest.
“Sorry,” I gasp, jerking backward.
He laughs. “Not the most graceful, are you, Cunningham?”
I frown up at him, but it’s taking effort to hold in a smile. “Whatever, Ashburn. Time to eat.”
He swallows. “Yes. Okay. Burgers.”
On that awkward note, he turns and walks through the crowd. When we’re swiftly separated by moving bodies, he stops and grabs my hand, placing my palm on his shoulder.
Throwing back a grin, he says, “Safety chain.”
“This does not feel safe,” I mutter, though thankfully my admission is swallowed by the noise around us.
I do my best not to stroke his smooth skin, but it’s a freaking battle. And when he stops abruptly, and I careen into his back, the press of him against my breasts and stomach ignites so longing deep and vast, so far beyond rational thinking, that it feels like a crime to ignore it.
People press around us, talking and smiling and wishing Julian a happy birthday. But here, in the small space of the universe occupied only by us, his hands come back and seize my hips, holding me to him. The pressure in his fingers isn't demanding, or overtly sexual, but it’s Julian touching me. Liquid warmth surges between my legs, and my hips twitch involuntarily.
Julian’s fingers clench, branding skin below the hem of my shorts.
And I finally wake up.
I snatch my hand from his shoulder and step backward, mumbling, “Sorry,” to the person I crash into.
Turning blindly, I push through the crowd toward the house, continuing with a litany of Sorry, Sorry, as I fight the tide, and rising claustrophobia, and JulianJulianJulian.
“Rose!”
I hear his call, the frustration, the appeal, but I don’t stop. Can’t. I make it into the house, down a long hallway toward the distant light signifying the open front door.
As I pass another hallway, Melody calls out, “Rose?”
I start running. Out the door, down the driveway, past the gate. I don’t stop until I’m several blocks away. Yanking my phone from my back pocket, I dial the only person I know for sure isn’t working or busy.
“Hey, sexy,” answers Aiden.
“I need you to come pick me up on Mercer Island.” I sound breathless, panicked. Before he can say anything, or ask why the hell I’m on Mercer Island, I tell him the address of the house to my left.
He asks, “Are you safe?”
“Yes,” I gasp.
“Hang tight. I’m not far. Be there in ten to fifteen.”
He hangs up.
Sitting on the curb beside an ornate mailbox, I pull my knees to my chest and drop my head. Images and sensations cascade through me. Teasing grin. Golden molasses eyes. The babbling introvert gone—the frontman charisma aimed like a spotlight on me. Making me feel unique, and precious. Desired. The luckiest woman in the world.
I thump my forehead against my knees.
“Rose.”
My stomach clenches; I don’t lift my head. “Go back to your party.”
“I’m sorry.”
Frowning, I look up. “Stop saying that.”
He must have fled straight after me because he’s barefoot. Sunlight teases the tattoo on his left pectoral, an antique pocket watch set to the time 2:12.
He says with quiet intensity, “I want you in my life, Rose.”
I shake my head, feeling that deranged laughter clogging my throat again.
“What did you call us? Oh, right. Supernovas and black holes.”
“I said that, yes,” he admits, “but I’m not the same person I was then.”
“Neither am I. And in case you forgot, I’m seeing someone.”
“I know,” he says mutedly. “I want to be friends. Can we try? Please?”
My muscles spasm, sending me to my feet in a fit of rage and need and helplessness. So I say what I know will hurt him, because it’s the only way to protect myself.
“The only friends you want to be are the kind that fuck. Right, Julian? Cause we’re so, so good at it. But you know what? Aiden’s good, too. Better, even. Because there’s no lying, or cheating, or shame and guilt.”
He jerks, taking a half step back. His expression shutters, eyes emotionless and dark.
“You’re sleeping with him,” he says flatly.
“Yes!” The laughter finally releases, bitter and wrong. “What did you expect? Did you really think I’d wait for you? After what you did to me? I’m over you. I don’t want you anymore.”
“Okay,” he says, his voice low and hard. “You’ve made your point.”
I deflate. “Good.”
He gives me a tight smile. “I’m glad you got all that off your chest. I hope this means we can function in a professional capacity from here on out.”
I blink, mind fogging. “What?”
His smile sharpens. “You’re being signed by our label, and you’re coming on tour with us in two months.”
“The hell I am,” I whisper hoarsely. “I don’t know what garbage you’re spouting—”
He takes two quick steps, bringing us face to face. “You’re going to sign a contract with Indigo because you’re not stupid. And you’re coming on tour for the same reason.”
“Is this more twisted amends bullshit?” I ask, and instantly feel a spike of shame.
His eyes flash darkly. “I didn’t ask them to sign you—do you think I want to get punched in the face again? A scout has been tracking you.”
A car turns the distant corner and I recognize Aiden’s SUV. Julian follows my gaze, then his eyes lock on mine. Before I can read his intent, he reaches up and sinks his fingers into the hair at the nape of my neck, tightening them until I suck in a startled breath of lust and self-loathing.
Tilting my face up until I have no choice but to stare into his burning eyes, he murmurs, “You’re right. I don’t want to be friends, and the thought of Aiden touching you makes me fucking crazy. But rest assured, I know when you’re lying. The two of you don’t compare to us, and someday soon I’m going to obliterate all traces of him from your body.”
Then his grip vanishes and he’s gone, jogging away, back to his party.
A car pulls to a stop behind me and a door opens. “Rose?” asks Aiden cautiously. “Was that Julian?”
I nod, as yet unable to face him.
“Is there something I should know?”
