Claiming What Is Mine (Wilde Boys Book 2) Page 3

  You know that silly, can’t-catch-your-breath feeling you get the first time you fall in love? That’s how I felt, if you tripled it and fed it steroids.

  I adored him.

  He was my everything and I gave myself to him.

  His.

  Forever.

  Ours was a fairy tale come true. Until it wasn’t.

  The beginning of the end for us started after the final game of the state championships. We faced off against the Wolverines. They were tough—the only team to beat us all season. Gabe knew college recruiters would be watching and it was his last chance to shine. And he was right. When our team won, scouts came out of the woodwork, promising scholarships. I was overjoyed. I loved the thought of Gabe showing the world his talent. It fit perfectly with everything we spent the last two years imagining about our future. He would be a rock star in college, just like he had been in high school. And I would be in the stands, cheering him on, just like I always had. Then we’d get married and have the most amazing wedding.

  We had it planned down to the last song. We’d have the best music, from Sting and Garth Brooks, to NSYNC (don’t judge—I was young). Then, after a picture-perfect day, Gabe would whisk me off my feet and carry me to a white double stretch limo that would take us to the airport, where we would fly first class to Hawaii.

  When we got back, life would settle into a rhythm. We’d have three children, one after the other—two boys and a girl. I even had their names picked. Alex, the oldest, would be named after his father (Gabe’s middle name). Then Johnathon James, in honor of both our fathers, and then little Gabrielle, the apple of her daddy’s eye.

  Our life together was going to be amazing, just like we spent so many hours talking about in the loft of my family’s barn. I never considered a future without Gabe in it. That just didn’t make sense.

  Only, things between us changed after that game. That perfect life we dreamt up together faded into Gabe’s dream, leaving me alone, searching for my place in it.

  Gabe stopped listening to me. He didn’t want to hear that my college options weren’t as broad as his. He didn’t care that my family would never approve of, much less pay for, tuition for a private school, especially if my reason for being there was to be with him. No matter how many times I told him, no matter how loud I yelled, he didn’t hear me.

  He brushed me off. Told me to apply for scholarships at whichever school he chose, and things would be fine. The way Gabe saw it, because I was a year behind him, I had plenty of time to change my plans to accommodate his.

  Things between us soured. We said things we didn’t mean and used words we couldn’t take back, daggers thrown with precision, aimed at our vulnerabilities. What I wanted or worried about was irrelevant. He had everything under control. And maybe he did. Maybe it would have worked out, but Gabe’s love for me dissolved bit by bit in those arguments.

  The way he saw me changed. Love faded from his eyes. His irritation became disdain and I crumbled when he looked at me. I couldn’t bear to see him and not see love. He was my everything and I had become nothing to him.

  And it broke me.

  Chapter Five

  Gabe

  Oooowwww. It’s the first of three thoughts painfully bouncing around my brain. The second? Why in the hell isn’t this alcohol doing shit for the pain? And the third is a shush steadily trying to quiet the other two.

  My everything aches, and I probably should be home but, in my infinite wisdom I thought I could walk it off. With the help of this eighty-proof walking stick. I don’t have a clue what I’m drinking. Judging by the lack of taste, it’s probably vodka, but that’s a best guess. I told the bartender I needed something strong and swiped the bottle from his hand while he poured my shot. It’s an open bar, what’s it to him?

  I lift the container with my free hand—the one not busy holding a cold compress to my swollen cheek—to investigate. With my good eye.

  Armadale? Never heard of it. Then again, that isn’t saying much. I wouldn’t label myself a vodka drinker. Not by a long shot. But I find the elegant lines of the bottle intriguing. This stuff is way too top shelf for Chet to have chosen. Let’s be honest, if he had been in charge of the bar arrangements, we’d have our choice of PBR or bourbon tonight. I take another pull from the bottle and try my best not to think. At all.

  I didn’t do anything wrong and still got knocked on my ass. Well...I didn’t do anything wrong—this time. Off the top of my head, I could probably think of a hundred other situations I would have deserved as much from Chet. That is, I could probably think of those if my head wasn’t trying to split itself in half. Wow—excusing him for putting me out like that? Must be drunker than I thought. Which reminds me, I could use a drink. I take another peek at the bottle before I bring back it to my lips. That’s it. Daddy needs his medicine. Get in there and do your magic dance.

  From the hubbub of music and laughter, it sounds like everyone has moved past the disruptions of the ceremony and gotten back to celebrating Chet and Christy. Thank the lord. Me, on the other hand? I’m fine right here, slumped in the corner, nursing my wounds. Between the throbbing in my cheek and my vision being knocked down by half, I'm content to sit here on the floor with my back against the wall. At least this way I can keep an eye out for any other stray punches that might have my name on them.

  I’m trying my best to ignore the second heartbeat in my swollen face when I hear a half-slurred not-whisper. “Pssst. Gabe. Hey. Gabe.” I apply as much focus as I can muster, only to discover Hank at the other end of the words. He sits at a table a quarter of the way across the room, comfortably leaned back in his folding chair, his face warm and rosy.

  “What do you want, Hank?” Irritation radiates from my words.

  “Hey,” he slurs. Again, not whispering.

  “Yeah?” He’s wearing on my nerves in a special way tonight.

  “Did you hear me whistle after the ceremony? Man, it was louder than I thought it would be,” he says with a laugh. When I don’t laugh with him, his smile turns sour. “Are you feeling okay, bro?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “Yeah. You took a whopper from Chet. Plus, I think you hit your head when you fell.”

  That’s good information to have. Now. Hours later. “Hank, if you want to talk to me, be a peach and come over here instead of making me yell. Would ya?” I take his silence to mean he doesn’t care enough to be hassled with getting up and walking over. Judging by his speech, it’s probably for the best. He might not survive a trek this far on his own, not without making a scene, anyway. And let’s face it, the Wilde clan has sufficiently checked the Making a Scene box today. I look to my bottle, certain it was full when I sat down and confused how it got so damned close to the halfway mark.

  “You’ve gotten soft in your old age.” The words are delicate and quiet, coming from a voice hidden in my blind spot.

  “Huh?” I attempt to connect the familiar tone with a face. A shadow of a woman kissing my neck. A whisper of a small hand in mine. Comfort. Serenity. Happiness.

  “I watched you take hits harder than that every Friday during football season in high school. Back then, you never would have stayed down. You used to pop up like the float on a fishing line and keep going.”

  Whoever this is has quite a pair—woman or not—picking on a man when he’s literally, already down. “Yeah, well the full set of pads and helmet probably helped.” I turn my body to get a look at this asshole with my good eye. Well, with my better eye, anyway. The one I can still see out of is starting to show double.

  “Same old Gabe. You always did have an excuse in your pocket, ready to go.”

  I squint to bring the silhouettes of both figures into focus. “Oh my God. Mer? Is that you?” She looks beautiful, and I don’t use the word lightly. She has the kind of beauty that doesn’t diminish with age, but becomes amplified by it. Regal, or classic, or some word I’m too drunk to think of. I sit up, twisting to get a better look. She never w
as what I would describe as ordinary. Not this girl. Even now, almost two decades since I saw her last, she’s perfect. The laugh lines around her eyes may be new, but they add to the sparkle. The extra weight in her hips and thighs only adds to her beauty, like a woman in a painting. Standing in front of me, she is everything she was, and somehow, more.

  “Who’d you think I was?” She pulls a chair from a nearby table and takes a seat next to me.

  “Talking to me like that? If you were a man, I’d have said someone with poor judgment,” I joke. “Can I offer you a dd-drink?”

  Was that a stutter? Nah. Couldn’t have been. I don’t feel drunk.

  I hold the bottle out to her.

  “Uh, I’m good, thanks. Sounds like you’ve had enough for the both of us.” She smiles.

  Damnit. The one, true love of my life shows up out of nowhere and I’m too shit-faced to have a serious conversation with her? Pull yourself together, man. Quick, say something to keep her talking. “Did you get taller?”

  Really? That’s the best you could manage?

  “Ha. I wish. I think you’re just closer to the ground than normal. I’m the same fun-sized girl as always.”

  I flash to thoughts of her, always on tip toes, and me, always bending a bit, to get our mouths aligned. She was an adorable package of sweet and sassy TNT, with thick curls of chocolate hair bouncing off her shoulders.

  “Such a sad sack, sitting over here alone. Are you going for the sympathy card with the ladies? Is that your game tonight, Wilde?” Meredith taps her small black flat with the little red bow lightly on the floor. God help me, even her tiny feet are adorable.

  “What? No. What are you talking about? And more important—what are you doing here?”

  “Here, as in, sitting here talking to you? Would you prefer to be alone? Am I ruining your chance to get with one of those eligible girls?” She motions at the crowded dance floor. “Because I can go.”

  “No. Don’t. Pleassse—shtay. I meant…” Damnit. Now I’m slurring my words?

  “I know, silly. I’m only teasing.” Meredith pauses and lets out a big sigh. “Why am I here? That’s a long, complicated story. One I have no interest in getting into at a place like this—and certainly not with you.”

  I offer her the bottle again as the air conditioning stirs a breeze, cooling the sweat on my neck. “Here, this will help. Besides, it may be better if you hold it for a while.”

  Reluctantly, she takes the bottle from my hand, sniffs, and then shudders. “Ohhh. I can’t remember the last time I drank liquor straight.”

  “Hey don’t sweat it. Just think, tomorrow, you won’t have that problem.” I laugh and immediately regret it as the chuckle combines with the bass from the music, reverberating through my body and into my head.

  Meredith takes a drink and coughs violently, holding the bottle as far away as possible. “Phew, that is…”

  “Good stuff, huh?”

  “Sure. I guess.” She shudders again. “Might be better if it were mixed with a big glass of 7 Up, or something.”

  “Nah. I say try again. I find the more you’ve had, the better it tastes.”

  “You are the last person on Earth I’d get drunk with.” Meredith rolls her eyes and hands me the bottle. “This was a bad idea. I just didn’t want you to hear about me being back from your mother.”

  “Wait. You’re back?” I ask as she stands to leave. “Hold on a sec. Don’t go. Look at me—I’m a wreck. Have pity. Please?”

  She turns back, looks me over, and lets out another breath. “You do look quite pathetic down there, all alone. Don’t you?”

  Steady Gabe, don’t stop now. “You were about to fill me in on what brought you back to good ole’ Logan county.” I nudge her chair with my foot. “Here, have a ssheat and talk to old Gabe.” Damn it, man—with the slurring.

  “Ha. You must be drunk. That is not remotely close to what I said.” Meredith stands with her hands on her hips.

  “Ahh. Don’t be shy. Once upon a time, I would have bet I knew you better than anyone else in the world. You can trust me.”

  Meredith crosses her arms and leans back. “I will agree to the first part—once upon a time—you did know me better than anyone. I’m not so sure about that last part, however.”

  I place my hand over my chest as if I’d been shot in the heart. “What would make you say a hurtful thing like that?”

  “Past history aside?” Meredith lifts a brow. “Let’s just say in the time I’ve been back, I’ve heard plenty about your...ahem…reputation.”

  “Reputation? What reputation? That I’m a stand-up guy? A real class act? I’m afraid I’m gonna need a little help here, Doll.”

  “Same cocky guy I knew all those years ago.” Meredith shakes her head. “No. Your reputation as a…hold on, let me get this right…a panty chasing heartbreaker.” She makes air quotes with her fingers as Hank comes dancing by with a little girl—all curls and flouncy skirt—on his feet.

  Note to self, find out who Meredith’s been talking to and kill that person. Slowly. “Who would go and say a thing like that?” Honestly, I couldn’t begin to put that list together. I doubt there’s enough paper at the ranch.

  “From what I hear, that would make for quite a list, my friend.” Meredith shoots me a knowing glare.

  Damnit, I just thought that. I really am going to have to track down her source.

  “Alright, maybe there used to be some truth behind it, but that’s all in the past. Besides, I have a good reason...not that you’d believe me if I told you.”

  “Oh, this ought to be good.” Meredith takes a seat in her chair, leaning in to me, elbow on knee, chin in hand.

  “Oh no. You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.” I pick the half-empty bottle up from the floor and hand it back to her. “Spill.”

  Hesitantly, she takes the bottle. “What are we, seven years old? You first.”

  “Fine. But you won’t believe me.” Maybe I’m too drunk for rational thought, but this feels like a cards on the table kind of moment. I have fantasized about seeing her again. Dreamt about having the opportunity to apologize and, in turn, feared I might not be strong enough to tell her the truth she deserves to hear. Right now, If I don’t take this opportunity to be completely honest with her, why should I ever expect to get another one? “It’s because of you.”

  Meredith scoffs. Her back stiffens and the look on her face suggests she is offended by the accusation. “Your philandering is my fault?”

  “No, not your fault. Not at all. And…I mean, for the record, I wouldn’t call it philandering.”

  She relaxes slightly. “Okay then, what would you call it? Exactly?”

  “I’m a flirt. Always have been. You know that.”

  Meredith raises her brow. “From what I’ve heard, you do more than flirt.”

  “Okay then. I’m a lover of women. Wait. Correction. I was a lover of women. But we’re getting off track. My point is…that’s all in the past.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Glad you asshked.” Careful cowboy, steady as she goes. “I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching. I mean, look at Chet over there. He’s got a damn smile on his face you couldn’t wipe off with paint stripper and a putty knife. Seeing him find happiness—real, true, happiness—it made me look at my life. And I’ve realized there was a void. But it had been there so long, I lost sight of it. I’d forgotten it was even there and thought it was just how I was built.” I take another pull from the bottle.

  “Okay, so you have recently taken a step forward, finally moving into adulthood, however delayed it may be. I fail to see where I fit in?”

  “Well. You know that void?”

  “Yeah?” Meredith leans in.

  “It’s in the shape of you.”

  She sits back against the chair and crosses her arms. “Wow! That is a solid line. Even for you. I admit, you had me going for a minute.”

  I drop the compress and look directly at her, despe
rate for her to see my sincerity. “That’s no line, Doll. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. Ever. I realize it was my stupid, bull-headedness that broke us. And I’ve regretted it every day since.” I offer her the bottle.

  Meredith takes a long drink. “I don’t know how to take you right now, Gabriel.”

  “I’ll settle for any way that keeps you here with me.”

  Chapter Six

  Meredith

  The light. It’s…so bright. I roll over in my bed, positioning my face as far from the glow coming from the window as possible. My head aches like I drank too much at the reception, but I don’t remember drinking. Through bleary eyes, I look around my childhood room for a distraction from the hurricane of not-good brewing in my belly. The alarm clock on the bedside table reads eight, but the way I feel has me wishing for the black of night. My eyes recognize the shelf of cheerleading trophies, standing proudly amid posters of my favorite bands from high school. Images of Brooks and Dunn, Clint Black, and Garth Brooks contradict those of No Doubt, Pearl Jam, and GreenDay. Clearly, I had no idea what I liked at seventeen. All of them stand in contrast to the Pepto-pink painted walls. It might be great to lie here reminiscing about those days if it wasn’t for the feeling I might throw up at any moment.

  Um, Meredith? Why is there a person-sized lump under the covers next to you in bed? I try to convince myself it’s something innocent, like a bunch of pillows, or stuffed animals, or something. But when the lump shifts I know better, even through the fog of a hangover. I strain to put the pieces of last night back together.