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Kieran snorts, walking past with a piece of pepperoni pizza hanging from his mouth. “Sneak out. No one will know,” he says nonchalantly like he doesn’t even fucking care we’re in this predicament because of him.
He’s why Whispered Words is failing, and it hasn’t gone unnoticed by Callum either. Sometimes I wonder what life would have been like if we had never met River. We wouldn’t be here, that’s for sure. But we’d still be brothers and damn happy about it, too, unlike now, where we can barely be in the same house without bickering or wanting to throw punches. Or, in Callum’s case, beating the shit out of Kieran every chance he gets. Been there. Done that. Cleaned up enough of their blood to last a damn lifetime.
“Why? So, you can move on without us?” Callum asks in a low, deadly voice, cracking his knuckles.
Kieran grunts, tearing into his pizza again. “Going to kick my ass again? Hmm?” He raises a haughty brow, practically begging Callum to punch him in the face. I’m rooting for that. Maybe it’ll knock him back a peg or two and pull his ego out of his ass. Stupid fucker.
“No fighting. You’re an asshole. Go eat your damn pizza and leave them alone,” Asher gripes, walking past with a plate of pizza. He shakes his head when Kieran narrows his eyes at him, grinding his teeth. “Just shut the fuck up. We’re here to stay. Get over it,” Asher says, softening his voice. “This is our last opportunity. If we don’t take this seriously, then we can kiss our music career goodbye.”
“Not if I can fucking help it. I’ve got my agent on the lookout for better contacts. Away from that lying, cheating, manipulative…”
“Don’t be so insulting,” Callum grumbles, cutting Kieran’s words off.
“Right, because you still love her?” Kieran asks, stepping into Callum’s face. “How can you love someone who went behind your back and kissed and fucked and cuddled another man? Why?” Kieran growls every word, pressing his nose into Callum’s as they face off.
“I don’t,” Callum growls back, pressing further into Kieran.
“Right,” Kieran scoffs like he isn’t still pining for his childhood best friend.
“Fuck off,” I say, laying a hand on Kieran’s chest and pushing him away from Callum’s rage-filled body. “Go eat. Leave him be,” I growl, narrowing my eyes at Kieran, who smiles through the whole damn altercation like he has since we left Central City. River did a number on his ass, and I can’t wait until someone fucks him up and straightens out his attitude problem. Fuck. My fingers curl. A man can dream, right? But could I forgive River for what she did? I don’t fucking know.
Once Kieran saunters away and shuts himself in his upstairs bedroom with the slam of his door, I can finally breathe. Turning to Callum, I put a hand on his shoulder and level him with my best serious stare. “Don’t get caught, okay?” I mumble, squeezing his shoulder, and he nods. I know he needs this more than anything, especially after the two days we’ve had under River’s rule. But fuck me if he gets caught sneaking out. “Be discreet or some shit. There’s a guard, remember?”
“I never do,” he mutters, pushing my hand off his shoulder, and heads into the basement, where the gym punching bag calls his name as he prepares for what the night has in store for him.
Tension rises through my body, locking my muscles in a tight grip. Now more than ever, I need to hop on my old bike and ride until I can’t feel this black hole swirling inside me and swallowing my insides. I swear, she decimated me—all of us. They may not admit it, but I know it’s true. Callum resorted to violence to take his ache away. Kieran’s attitude needs a good fucking punch, and if he didn’t have such a talented voice, I’d sock him one. And Asher? He’s completely flipped from the man I knew in Central City. Sure, he’s still domineering and anal, but for someone who didn’t even like River as he claimed, he’s been a wreck ever since, mostly keeping to himself. The same vibe we had on stage has not carried over since we left Central City. It’s like all drive, passion, and love stayed behind. Now, we’re a shell of who we once were.
I walk out into the garage and run my fingers over the worn paint of my beloved bike; I couldn’t leave it behind. We only made it back to Central City once after winning the Battle of the Bands, and this is what I brought back with me before the real work began. I knew I’d always need it, no matter how much money I made and how many new bikes I could afford. This one holds a special place in my heart for various reasons. Not only did it help me win multiple times on the racetrack, but it’s where she sat with me and helped me christen it for good luck. God. I’m so hopelessly fucking in love with her still.
Fuck! How? Why does my heart continue to squeeze like it’s been put in a vise, draining it dry?
Even after the heartbreak and all the shit she did to us, I can’t help myself but to think of her and feel flutters. Stupid heart. Stupid fucking dick. Why can’t I work her out of my system? She cheated on you with that scumbag! And then, when I’m almost to the point of getting over her, she shows up in a short, come-fuck-me dress, begging me to tear it up to her hips and fucking punish her for breaking my goddamn heart. I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath.
The video of her and Van screwing lingers in my memories in the background. As always. Yes, I absolutely will always love River West. But fuck. My heart cracks into tiny pieces again. Usually, I take that emotion-filled feeling inside me and utilize it the best way I know how—beating the shit out of my drums. I can never seem to shake her, though. She’s a ghost living rent-free in my mind whenever I close my eyes. And it’s very fucking irritating not being able to let go and long for someone who was a passing phase in my life and fucked us over so hard.
Rifling through a tall box situated near my bike, I throw on my helmet for safety and ignore the burner phone vibrating in my pocket. At least I made one good decision since I got famous, never giving out my real phone number to groupies.
Since there’s nothing other than the sandy beach on her side of the road and a mile-long driveway down to the gate, I’ll have to stay on the pavement or take a joyride through our grass lawn. I smirk, imagining her yelling at me for being so damn loud and tearing up her grass. I’d love to get her all fired up and witness it once again.
Once I’m seated on my bike, the entire world disappears. It’s nothing but me, the wind in my mullet—or my helmet since I’m a responsible guy—and the long road ahead of me. I rev my engine and book it down the light-up drive, going full speed until the gate comes into view, forcing me to stop suddenly. With heavy breaths, I can’t help but to let my head fall back and laugh to myself. Shit. This is what I needed to let loose.
Adrenaline pours through my veins, breaking a grin across my face. Happiness and relief I haven’t felt in days lifts me to the clouds like a damn drug keeping me in its grip. Thank fuck. I revel in the heady feeling when I race up the drive again, jostling over rogue rocks and tiny bumps in the road. I whoop, returning to the road’s end nestled between each house, and my heart soars with excitement and pure fucking joy.
“Rad!” I whip my head toward the figure standing at the edge of her grass, clutching a large sweater around herself. Hell, even dressed down in her starlight pajama bottoms, a messy bun, no makeup, and a scowl—she’s still hot as fuck. It’s too bad she went and broke my damn heart.
“Can’t hear you, Pretty Girl!” I yell, cranking up my engine again as I sit and watch her with amusement. A smirk pulls the edges of my lips when she narrows her eyes, sparkling in the bright moonlight. Yes, Pretty Girl. Give me all your anger, baby.
“It’s nine-thirty at night, Ashton!” she barks, stomping toward me with determination.
“I still have thirty minutes, Mommy!” I shout again, revving it until she’s standing right beside me and clasping my wrist.
“Yeah. You still have thirty minutes until you’re grounded,” she quips, shaking her head. Running her fingers over her bun, she finally meets my eyes when I throw my helmet off and give her my best grin.
“Then give me thirty more minutes to blow off some steam. Unless you want to help with that, Pretty Girl?” She sucks in a breath, and her eyes dilate before she shakes herself out of it.
Huh, she’s still horny for the Rad Ride. I’ll store that in the back of my mind for later, whenever I need it. Like tonight, when Mr. Fist meets Mr. Dick, and they come together with Mrs. Strawberry lube. It’s a fantastic union, and she’ll be the center of my fantasy.
“Not happening, assface,” she says, glaring at me when I shrug.
