The trust factor, p.29
The Trust Factor, page 29
She grabbed the back of my head and kissed me again. This one was much more eager than the first, and when I had to turn us toward the wall so I could steady myself, I knew the words weren’t coming out before we left. She tugged gently on my bottom lip with her teeth and smiled.
“If you keep doing that, you’re gonna have to stay in tonight,” I murmured, putting some space between us. “Pick me out a shirt, Brooks.”
Lyla spun around and pulled my plain black V-neck from the hanger. When I scanned her choice of color, she removed one of her necklaces and placed it around my neck.
“There,” she stated proudly. “Now you’ve got a little bit of green and a little bit of me.”
I wanted all of her, but I filed that cheesy admission away for tomorrow. Today was about celebrating and enjoying our last holiday at BG. My eager inner thoughts would have to wait until a more sober occasion.
When Michelle and Keira confirmed that Tiki Bar was open, we headed out twenty minutes later. It was an outdoor bar near the end of the strip and a crowd favorite when the weather was nice. It was a comfortable sixty-eight degrees, and in Bowling Green, Ohio, that meant the shorts and T-shirts were out to stay until October.
The bar was packed with groups of people dressed in various shades of green. I lost count of the number of shamrock headbands and shiny strings of beads I saw throughout the dance floor. Lyla’s outfit choices fit right into the scene, and when giant cups of green beer were served to us from across the bar, it finally felt like a holiday.
“Cheers!” Lyla shouted over a song that featured a fiddle and a man singing about whiskey.
I grinned, tapping my plastic cup to hers. “Cheers, baby.”
She scanned the bar as she took her sip and pointed to a table in the corner. “There they are.”
I turned to see Nathan and Andre approaching the table with a few other guys I recognized from our pregaming sessions. Charlie lit up at the sight of Andre, and I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t smile at their interaction.
“I think I want to get another round of Fireball for everyone. Can you take these over to Charlie?” Lyla pushed two cups of green beer to the edge of the counter for me to grab.
“I can wait with you,” I offered as Lyla delivered her order to the bartender. I watched her slide her card back across the counter. “You aren’t going to be able to carry them all by yourself.”
“Have you seen this place?” She gestured to the crowd around us. “They aren’t going to have these ready right away. I’m going to go to the bathroom while you get Charlie and Andre their drinks, and when I get back, you can help me.”
Before I could respond, the corners of her mouth fell, and she focused on something over my shoulder. “Come here,” she said quickly through a shy smile.
Lyla cupped my chin and pulled me in for a kiss. She tasted like cinnamon whiskey, and my heart thumped loudly against my chest. If my hands weren’t occupied with the green beer, I would’ve leaned her against the counter.
She pulled away and squeezed my shoulder. “Cassie just walked in.” I narrowed my gaze, and she shrugged. “I’ll be right back.”
Cassie. Lyla hadn’t asked for an update since Valentine’s Day, and I never offered one since there was nothing to report.
I tried to dodge the cheering frenzy I received when I dropped the beer off at the table for Charlie and Andre. The guys were so drunk I was positive anyone could’ve shown up at the table and received the same greeting.
There was a tap on my shoulder, and when I turned around, Cassie was all smiles with shamrock stickers on her dimples. Her blue eyes had enough gloss to tell me she was well into her St. Patrick’s Day celebration, and her white tank top popped against her tan skin. She must’ve gone to Georgia with her family over spring break.
“Hey you!” she beamed, throwing her arms around my neck and hugging me.
“Hey,” I said awkwardly, taking a step back. I could feel Michelle’s eyes drilling into my back. “It’s loud over here. Let’s move away from the speaker.”
We walked to a much less crowded corner of the bar. Once we had some space, Cassie’s tipsy gaze flooded with a different expression. I recognized the redness in her cheeks and how she looked at the ground.
“What’s up, Cass?” I prompted softly.
Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them away. “I miss you.”
She reached for my hand, but I pulled it away. “Cassie—”
“Just let me finish,” she pleaded. “I feel like we’ve both had our chance to have some fun and see what’s out there. I watch you with Lyla, and I think you really like her, but there isn’t a single part of you that misses what we had?”
I shook my head. “I spent all of last summer and the first month of school missing you, Cass. But then I met Lyla and—”
“Why her?” she snapped, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “I know what kind of girl she is, Deacon. She sleeps around and parties and does whatever she wants, and nothing about her makes sense for you. You never came to Georgia with my family for spring break because you said traveling gave you anxiety, but you’ll go with her to Miami?”
It wasn’t uncommon for Cassie to use things I shared with her as ammunition when I did or said something she disagreed with. I hadn’t realized how often she did it until I noticed that Lyla never did.
I took a deep breath to keep my composure. “You don’t know what makes sense for me,” I stated. “And you don’t know Lyla.”
“We should at least talk about us, though—”
“I’m done with this, Cassie,” I said calmly. “I wish you the best, I really do. I hope we can keep in touch after graduation—as friends.”
She flinched as the word “friends” left my mouth. I might as well have invited her into a vat of snakes. “Do you love her?”
I pressed my lips in a firm line. There was no way I’d admit how I felt about Lyla to anyone else before I said it to her.
“Yeah, friends.” She nodded and looked out into the crowd on the dance floor. “Bye, Deacon.”
I watched the girl I had planned my entire life with cross the dance floor, and a weight shifted in my chest. Seeing someone you thought would be in your life forever settle as a piece of your past was an odd feeling. They became part of the foundation instead of the structure you built your life with. Their impact would be permanent, but you knew you’d never see them again unless you needed to repair the damage from which you started.
When I passed our table to help Lyla with drinks, Charlie waved me over to her. I hesitated, but when I saw Lyla bent over the counter laughing with the bartender, I knew I had some time. The way her ass poked out in those jeans reminded me of our hotel room in Miami. My chest was against her back as she bent over the—
“Did you do it?” Charlie asked, sipping her green beer.
My mind officially left the gutter. “Do what?”
“Did you get back together with Cassie? You were over there for a while.”
I glanced around our table to check for any familiar faces. Charlie might as well have yelled the question to Cassie before she left the bar.
“Relaaax,” Charlie sang through a naughty grin. “It’s just us. Lyla told me her dad pushed the paperwork forward for her trust, so that means you got back with Cassie, right?”
I laughed at how casual and judgemental she could sound simultaneously. “Cassie told me she missed me and that she wanted to talk about us, but I told her no. I told her I was done.”
The straw fell from Charlie’s lips. She looked across the bar at Lyla and then back at me before flashing a sweet, closed-mouth smile. “You broke rule number one.”
“You know about the rules?” I exclaimed, bumping my shoulder against hers. “I thought those were our thing.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Charlie patted my shoulder. “I helped verify the rules once I found out! Lyla might have written them, but every important document needs a second set of eyes.”
“I think it’s the first rule I’ve broken since I got to BG,” I admitted.
“Oh my god.” Charlie swooned, putting her hand over her heart. “Lyla is going to freak.”
I chuckled at her reaction. “About what?”
She shook her head in disbelief. “When she discovers that she fell into a fucking rom-com.”
Chapter sixty
Lyla
If I had a dollar for every time a man spoke to me without me wanting them to, I would no longer need my trust fund to buy my bookstore in Chicago.
The man with meaty hands and a horrific bro tank featuring a giant leprechaun was still going on about something I really didn’t give a shit about. All I wanted was to get the shots I ordered and return to the table to check in with Deacon. There was a reason Cassie stumbled into this bar, and I had a hunch that Deacon was the one who brought her here. But what could be unreasonable about that epiphany? Cassie was Deacon’s endgame, and I was a stop on the way to his happy ending.
I hated how much it hurt to say the words on repeat in my head. I was afraid if I stopped the track, there would be a piece of me that thought this could end differently.
“Anyway, did you want to head over to The Attic?” Bro Tank prompted. “A few of my friends and I are making one last stop before we call it a night.” His hand rested on my thigh, and I immediately slapped it away. The only thing worse than a man with unwanted words was a man with entitled hands.
“Well, that’s disgusting,” I said, brushing his attempt off with a laugh. “Don’t touch me again.”
My stomach churned when I still felt where his hand gripped me through my jeans. Even though the sun was beating down on my leather jacket, a chill ran through my chest. The belt began to tighten, and I felt my breath hitch in my throat.
No. No. No. All because an asshat decided to make a move? This couldn’t be happening, not on the holiday weekend.
Bro Tank’s eyebrows pinched together, and the same set of eyes that glazed over my bare stomach looked at me like I was wearing a trash bag. “Why you gotta say it like that?”
“Because I don’t want to have to say it twice,” I snapped.
He went to rest his hand on my elbow, and I shifted so it hit the counter. He stood a little taller and shook his head. “You don’t have to be a bitch about it.”
I stepped back, ready to take the loss of the round of shots I ordered. I’d have another comment on deck if the panic weren't setting in. Another step to the left, and I felt him—the lavender and cedarwood loosened the grip around my ribcage, and my shoulders relaxed.
Deacon stepped between me and Bro Tank. “What the fuck did you just say?”
Bro Tank held up his hand for a high five. “It’s all good, man.”
A condescending smile spread across Deacon’s face. “It’s not. I don’t know what she already had to tell you, but her voice should’ve been enough for you to stop the first time.” Deacon took another step forward. “That never seems to be enough for assholes like you. So this is me telling you again.”
Bro Tank muttered something under his breath as he merged into an incoming group of people.
Deacon searched my face for the answers I wasn’t giving him as the bartender returned with our shots and my card. When she noticed my hand was shaking, the corners of her mouth fell to a concerned frown. I plastered on my best fake smile and slipped my wallet into my bag. The familiar thumping started behind my ears, and my mouth went dry. If I took this shot, I’d throw up.
Deacon put his arm around my shoulders and picked up the tray. “Let’s drop these off, and we can head out, okay?”
The crowd around us was becoming more intense. As the afternoon slowly melted into the evening scene, people became rowdier after day drinking, adding new energies to the mix. Heavy bass and upbeat tempos replaced the casual country and festive Irish music. I wanted to sink into my bed and pull the blankets over my head.
Deacon placed the tray on the table, and everyone grabbed their shots.
Charlie moved so she could whisper in my ear. “Is it happening? Do you need to leave?”
“I just need a second,” I said through a broken smile, “but take this for me.”
I handed her my shot as everyone else took theirs. Cheers erupted from the table as one last country song came over the speakers. Who knew “Wagon Wheel” by Darius Rucker would be such a college bar hit?
When I sensed Deacon following me, I peered over my shoulder. “You don’t have to leave. It’s St. Patrick’s Day. You should stay.”
Deacon grabbed my hand and led us through the crowded bar until we were on the street. It was like every student in Bowling Green was out to celebrate.
“Sheesh,” Deacon said, peering over the incoming swarms of people. He tugged on my hand, and I looked up at him, his warm gaze reminding me that we were on flat ground. “Do you wanna head home for a little bit? Get some space?”
Home. Hearing that slip so effortlessly from his lips brought butterflies to my stomach.
I nodded, and as we weaved our way to the side streets to avoid traffic, I focused on getting air in my lungs and keeping the nausea at bay. Now and then, Deacon would glance over to make sure I was okay, but he didn’t force me to talk about it. This wasn’t the first time he witnessed me losing my mind.
The living room was littered with White Claw cans, solo cups, and empty juice cartons. A bottle of vodka sat unbothered next to the sink, and pieces to the blender sat in a puddle of cloudy pink water. The place looked like a disgusting episode of Kitchen Nightmares.
Deacon cracked open the back windows before turning on the TV for background noise. I felt him watching me as I took a bottle of water from the fridge, taking slow sips as I tried to realign my senses. The last thing I wanted to do was draw attention to something that would pass in an hour.
“I’m sorry for all the walks we seem to take together,” I offered casually. “I really could’ve walked back by myself. ”
His mouth lifted into a slight smile. “I wouldn’t have let you leave by yourself. You know that.”
A lump formed in my throat. “I just feel bad.”
He crinkled his brow and leaned his elbows on the counter. “Why?”
“Because it seems like I always need you.” I looked up to meet his gaze, and his expression softened.
“You don’t need me, Lyla. You have me, and there’s a difference.”
I created space between us by going into the living room. I was already struggling to keep my heart rate down, and being near the first man who made me feel like it was okay to crumble wasn’t helping.
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry. I just need a second, and then we can head back out.” The knots in my stomach tightened, and suddenly, the words were leaving my mouth before I could think through them. “I know it’s dramatic—”
“It’s not dramatic,” Deacon interrupted gently, crossing the room so he was in front of me. “Stop downplaying something that happened to you because you’re afraid other people won’t think it’s heavy enough. Pushing away how you feel about something doesn’t make it go away, Lyla. Until you let yourself feel it, it will follow you no matter where you go.”
Everything was adding up. The shit I tried to ignore but couldn’t. Trying to move past things like they weren’t always coming back. Hunter. Anna. My mom and the bookstore. My dad and the trust fund. Deacon provided the perfect description—heavy. I was tired, and I didn’t want to carry it anymore.
“It took almost a year of therapy for me to learn that after Dominic passed away,” he said as his thumb grazed my chin. “Sweetheart, I’m just trying to help you. If I’m overstepping, please tell me, but I care about you too much not to try to help you.”
“It’s like every time I don’t have control, I’m suffocating,” I admitted as another staggered breath left my chest. “There was something about the way that guy touched me. It wasn’t you, and I didn’t like it.”
A pained expression came over him, and he turned so he could rest his hands behind his head. He pressed his lips together and exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as he waited for the wave of anger crashing through him to pass.
I had seen Deacon work through emotion before. Anger, sadness, confusion—everything he tried to process whenever he talked about Dominic. Something about this was different. His warm brown eyes met my gaze before he took my face in his hands and leaned his forehead against mine.
“I didn’t know that he touched you. If I would’ve known that—” He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “If anyone ever touches you like that again, you need to tell me, understand? I don’t care how little something might seem to you. I want to know about it. You’ll never be too much for me, Lyla.”
The more he spoke, the more I felt at ease, wanting to be pressed against him—wrapped in his arms where I was safe, and the weight would be gone for a moment.
“Why do you care so much?” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I couldn’t fathom why someone who walked into my life six months ago would care as much as Deacon did.
His mouth parted slightly, and the electricity in the room was intimidating. I couldn’t focus on anything but the sound of his soft breaths and the look in his eyes as they searched for a reason not to say what he was thinking. He was going to say something to me that would answer all of the questions floating around in my head. He was going to tell me how he felt, and while half of my heart begged me to listen, the other half of me was scared to hear it.
“Lyla, I—”
I shook my head. “Don’t answer that.”
“We don’t lie, Brooks.”
My knees threatened to buckle when his sexy smirk accompanied his reminder. I kissed him before he could say anything else. “We don’t lie.”
There might not have been words, but I didn’t need them. I knew in the way his body spoke to mine and how he took his time. I knew when his hand cupped my face while his other rested on the small of my back, hugging me to his chest as he rocked his hips. It was sweet, slow, and all other forms I wasn’t used to. The thought of someone else’s eyes staring down at me felt foreign. I didn't want it if it wasn’t Deacon who smiled right before he kissed me.
