Absorbed (4 page)

Sienna’s moved on.

She’s fucking moved on already, and it’s barely been a month.

And the worst part of it all is that I know she deserves it. She deserves to be happy after what I’ve put her through not once, but twice.

But even the regret, the knowledge that I’m the cause of all of this—even that doesn’t make shit better for me. It doesn’t stop the fact that I wish I could trade places with that blonde shithead across the bar, just to be with her right now.

“Don’t send it to her,” I hear myself say, and Luisa grants me a swift, obedient nod.

“You got it.”

I don’t have to ask her for another beer, and then the next two that come after that. She brings them to me easily. She doesn’t mention Sienna again because Red’s whole party leaves the bar shortly thereafter, never noticing me. The next time Luisa mumbles more than a couple words to me is just as the bar is closing. She leans over the bar, like she did earlier, and looks me in the eye.

“You need a ride home.” It’s not a question, but a statement, and I smirk at her.

“Looks like I fucking do.”

“I’ll drive you in twenty.”

Lucas Wolfe

When the bartender drops me off at my place a little before four in the morning, my plan is to keep my ass in bed all day. To sleep off my bad mood and the hangover. My plan is shot to hell when Kylie shows up at my place at 10:30. I know it’s her and not some intruder—though as fucked up as it sounds, I think I would prefer the intruder if they left me alone while they took all of my shit—by the sound of her footsteps on the steps. She always takes them two at a time.

“Are you decent?” she demands in a muffled voice outside of my closed bedroom door. I drag my pillow over my face, smothering my groans. This isn’t the first time I’ve regretted giving her a key to my place, and unless I take it back today, it won’t be the last time. “Brenna’s with me, and I don’t want you scaring her.”

Brenna—Wyatt’s daughter from a one-night stand eight years ago. My sister has always been a part of the kid’s life, but since she re-established her relationship with Wyatt, she’s been spending more and more time with Brenna. And it fucking worries me. I don’t want to see my sister hurt.

Uncovering my face, I hurl the pillow across my room. It hits the door, and Kylie murmurs something that’s barely audible as I glare up at the still ceiling fan. “Thought you didn’t stalk on Sundays?” I growl.

“Not always. Can I come in?”

“Knock yourself out.”

She opens the door tentatively, a couple of inches at a time, until she’s standing in the doorway wearing a look that’s part amused, and part stern. It’s a look that’s already driving me bat-shit insane, and she hasn’t even said anything yet. “I called you this morning and wanted to check up on you since you didn’t answer. And your Jeep is missing.”

“It won’t be towed this time,” I promise. She leans against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest. I ignore her skeptical smirk and sit up in the bed, glancing around her. “Where’s Brenna?”

“I turned on the TV downstairs.” The moment the scowl forms on my face, Kylie drops her arms by her sides and comes all the way into the room. Her frown challenges my own. “God, calm down. She’s not four, I promise she’s not going to get into any of your shit—”

“The sound of your voice is killing me.” I don’t want to start Kylie on explanations. Not today. Now that I’m up, all I want is breakfast and something to help kill this goddamn headache. I point at her and turn my finger in a circular motion. She doesn’t protest, but faces the open bedroom door and stares out into the hallway.

“Rough night?” she asks.

I roll out of bed and walk across the carpet. “I’ve sure as fuck had better.” I grab some boxers from one of the top drawers and yank them on. “I’m decent enough now.”

Nodding, she turns around to face me. While I search for a pair of gym shorts, she slides onto the edge of my bed. I don’t miss the sideways look she casts down at my tangled up bedspreads.

Groaning, I shake my head. I’ve brought very few women home with me, and one of those was the exact same person who’s been fucking with my mind for weeks. “Relax. I don’t bring them back here, Ky, so you’re not sitting where I fucked her.”

Half a dozen emotions form on my sister’s face at once. Disgust. Disappointment. Irritation. All of them make me sick to my stomach, so I keep my gaze off of Kylie’s brown eyes as I yank on a pair of Nike shorts. “Nice, Lucas. Really nice,” she finally says. She scuffs the soles of her blue Converse together for a moment and then sighs. “If you’re expecting me to bitch, you shouldn’t.”

“Get up,” I order. She complies by moving a few feet away from the bed to sit on the black chair that’s adjacent from the bed. “And no, I didn’t expect you to bitch. Just don’t like when you give me that look.”

She shrugs and brings her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “Guess I’m hoping for a happily ever after.”

“From a fucked-up asshole and a woman who won’t even return your calls. Fuck, let me rephrase that. From a woman who has already changed her number. You should expect the worst.”

Kylie flinches. “What happened?” She places her chin on the tops of her knees and follows my movements carefully as I make my bed.

“She’s already moved on.”

“You don’t know that,” she says. When the muscles in my back tighten, she sucks in a breath through her teeth. “You saw her—did you see her out with someone else?”

I’m not going to confirm it directly—because I don’t want to face the fucking emotions that it sends rolling through me—so I slam one of my pillows into place and shrug. “Shit happens.”

Kylie lets go of her legs and stretches them back down to the floor. She rakes her hand through her short, black and blue hair and presses her lips together into a thin line, working them back and forth. Trying to come up with what to say to make me feel better. It only makes me uncomfortable.

I sit on the side of the bed facing her, gripping the mattress tightly. “Don’t you need to go check on Brenna?”

Nodding, my sister rises to her feet. She smiles one of those smiles that won’t reach her eyes. I’m used to seeing her look like that when it comes to Wyatt, but never with me. “Pull your shit together, big brother. You want her. You’re in love with her. So do something about it.” She walks to the door, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her jeans. “Besides, you’re not exactly playing the part of Mr. Innocent. Just calm the hell down and fix things, okay?”

I give her a tight-lipped smirk—and I’ve been doing a lot of that lately—and I nod my head. “Thanks for the advice.”

She lifts her shoulders slightly, and my gaze drops to her giant cluster of blackbird tattoos. Even though she knows I’m looking, she doesn’t move to cover them up like she used to. “You’re the one who wasted your ten days with her and got only eight because of your stupidity.”

“And thanks for shooting me in the balls. Anything else you want to hurl at me while you’re being a shithead?”

Her eyebrows draw together in sympathy. “I’ll come tomorrow to do, you know, actual work.”

“Trying to tell me something?”

She walks backwards into the hallway, her hands still in her pockets. “That it would be nice for you to get off your ass and make music and give me some errands to run so I can get paid.”

Noted. I wait until she and Brenna are gone, and I see her tiny car leave my driveway, to go downstairs. I’m in the middle of ordering lunch when I realize just how important Kylie’s words to me are. How they’re what I’ve been looking for.

I forget about lunch, forget everything else, as I write the first two lines of Sienna’s song. A song that I don’t know if she’ll ever hear, but one I’ve got to write so I can get her the fuck out of my system.

“I’m the one who wasted ten days, trading it in for eight

And I know you’re probably saying, fuck me right now . . .”

Before I grab my guitar and put music to the words, I send Kylie a text.

11:08 AM:
Be here first thing tomorrow. Shit to do.

She takes awhile to respond, but when she finally does, there are no words on the screen. Just a few symbols in the shape of a heart.

Kylie Wolfe

I’ve spent enough time with my older brother to know precisely when he’s lying to me. Lucas is usually too direct for his own damn good, so it’s easy to pick up when he’s being an evasive bull-shitter. When Brenna and I left his house yesterday afternoon, I was certain that he came home after drinking the night before—and after seeing Sienna with another man—by himself. Even if he’d wanted to get Sienna out of his system, or get back at her, he hadn’t slept with someone else.

Lucas is a lot of things—an asshole, a liar, and secretive—but he’s not a cheater.

Plus, I’d seen it in his eyes when he told me that she moved on, and that along with hearing the break in his voice had made my heart skip a beat.

My brother is in love. Chaotic, painful,
heartbreaking
love with a woman who loves him back, and they’re not doing shit about it.

And I hate that they’re not—hell, probably just as much as Lucas himself. It’s ate at me since the time I left Lucas’s place yesterday to this morning, and I’m on the verge of calling him out the moment I show up to work. I’ve got my rant prepared. I’m even ready to hear him throw my own shit into my face.

Except, after I let myself into Lucas’s house, and I find him in his infamous music room with his notebook beside of him and his acoustic guitar pulled out, I find the words I was going to say getting caught in the back of my throat.

I stand in the doorway, listening intently as he strums his Gibson and sings along, his voice so quiet that I can’t hear just what he’s saying. What I do know right away is that it’s a love song. And I can almost guarantee that it’s for her.

Lucas plays a few more notes and then sits the guitar to the side. He scribbles something—probably lyrics—inside of his notebook and then lifts his gaze to mine, staring me down with expectant hazel eyes. “You’ve got something on your mind, Ky.”

“You’re writing her a song.” I walk inside the room and sit down across from him. I lean closer to the ottoman that’s separating us in hopes that I’ll be able to get a good look at what he’s working on before he tells me to fuck off. He places the notebook in front of me and slides it in my direction until it bumps against my knees. My mouth literally drops open. “You want me to read it?”

One of Lucas’s dark eyebrows jerks up, and he shakes his head slowly. “No shit.”

Keeping my gaze on his, I grip either side of the notebook. “Are you finished with it?”

At first he nods, but then he pauses and shakes his head, causing his messy dark hair to fall into his hazel eyes. “Just about. Made a few calls this morning. Trying to get it on the solo project, so I’m going to bust my fucking balls finishing it up.”

The last time Lucas had me take a look at one of his songs before it was finished he scrapped the entire damn thing claiming he’d finish later. I absolutely refuse to let this song receive that same fate, especially if he plans to release it on his solo album. I push the notebook back toward my brother. “Then maybe you should wait and—”

Shaking his head, he grabs my hands. “Just read the fucking song, Kylie.”

I keep my eye on him as I sit back in my chair until the cushions mold against my back. When I don’t look away, he jabs his finger at the music I’m holding.

“Ten Days,” I read aloud. It’s a fitting title considering the terms of Lucas’s agreement with Sienna, but I don’t offer any useless commentary as I read the lyrics carefully. My brother’s written plenty of angsty songs that have completely pulled me in, but this is the first time that I feel physical pain in my chest. He’s apologizing, and it’s raw and real, but he’s also making demands. 

He’s telling her that they’re not finished, no matter what has happened between them.

When I’m done, I lean forward and carefully place the lyrics down on the ottoman. I remain sitting like this, with my elbows on my thighs, staring down at the hastily written words on the page until they all blur together.

“Wow,” I finally murmur.

“You sound surprised.”

I drag my brown eyes up to his. The look on his face is familiar. It’s not the cockiness that usually makes me want to knee my older brother in the groin but confidence that I haven’t seen often since he returned from Atlanta without Sienna. No, I’m not surprised.

“I’m impressed,” I tell him. 

He grins. “Fan-fucking-tastic.”

While Lucas gets back to work, he gives me the first bit of work I’ve done in days: verifying the flight and hotel arrangements for an awards show that Your Toxic Sequel is supposed to be presenting at next month. I don’t tell him that I checked up on the details of the event not even a week ago because I don’t want a repeat of any of the bad luck we’ve had this year with traveling.

I’m just about to leave the little office that I use when I come in to help Lucas out when I see the copy of the paperwork from the house Lucas had bought in Nashville. Sienna’s grandmother’s house. The papers are trapped beneath a paperweight shaped like a guitar, and at first, I consider leaving them down here and not even touching them.

But as I open up the office door to go back downstairs, I hear the sound of Lucas’s guitar as it strums through the chords of Sienna’s song once again. I hear hopefulness and need and love. And as my eyes land on the top sheet of the paperwork—the contact sheet—I realize what I need to do.

When I say that I’m leaving for the day and that I’ll come back tomorrow, Lucas is so consumed by his music that he barely acknowledges me. He doesn’t even glance up at me when I come right out and say that I’m going to get Sienna’s address.

So when I call her grandmother as I drive home, I convince myself that I’m making the right decision and that my brother doesn’t mind at all. 

Lucas Wolfe

By early Thursday afternoon, nearly five weeks after I sent Sienna away, I’m satisfied enough with the song, and lyrics, that I know “Ten Days” will be the first single released on my solo project. It’ll replace “Your Best Disaster”—a song I wrote well over a year ago after getting called that (along with a few other names) by some groupie after a show in North Carolina. It hadn’t been my finest moment—I’d treated her like shit—but then, outside of music, I’ve had very few fine moments over the last several years.