Beautiful Oblivion (Maddox Brothers #1)(56)
Author: Jamie McGuire

He bent over, grabbing his knees. He took a few breaths, and then nodded. “If he ever touches you again”—he stood up and looked straight into my eyes—“I’ll kill him.” He grabbed his keys, and then walked out the door, slamming it behind him.

I stood there for a moment in disbelief, and then I walked to my bedroom. Raegan was standing next to my door in the hallway, her eyes begging me for reprieve.

“Not now,” I said, walking past her. I shut the door, and fell face-first into my bed.

The door creaked open, followed by silence. I peeked up from my pillow. Raegan was nervously hovering in the doorway, her bottom lip trembling, and she was wringing her hands at her chest. “Please?” she begged.

My mouth tugged to the side, and I lifted the blanket and gestured for her to come to bed with a nod. She rushed over, crawled under the covers, and then curled up into the fetal position next to me. I covered her with the blanket, and then held her while she cried herself to sleep.

I woke to a gentle tapping on my door. Raegan walked in with a plate of pancakes slathered in peanut butter and maple syrup. There was a toothpick poking out from the center of the stack with a white napkin flag taped to it that read, SORRY YOUR ROOMIE IS AN ASSHOLE.

Her eyes were heavy, and I could see that she was hurting more than I was over what she’d done. Forgiveness was not easy for someone like me. When it was granted, more often than not, I was just giving someone a second chance to hurt me. Most people weren’t worth investing in. That wasn’t my childhood talking, it was the hard truth. There were just a few people I trusted, and even fewer who I would trust again, but Raegan topped both lists.

I chuckled as I sat up, and then took the plate from her. “You didn’t have to do this.”

She held up a finger, left the room for a few seconds, and then returned with a small glass of orange juice. She set it on my nightstand, and then sat with her legs crisscrossed on the floor. Her face was clean, her hair brushed, and she had a fresh set of striped flannel pajamas on.

She waited until I put the first bite in my mouth, and then spoke. “I never thought in a million years that Jason would have said anything, but that’s not an excuse. I shouldn’t have told him. I know how those guys talk at the frat house, and I knew better than to give them something to gossip about. I’m so sorry. I’m going to follow you to Skin Deep today and explain.”

“You’ve already explained, Ray. I think hashing it out at his job is a bad idea.”

“Okay, so I’ll wait for him after work.”

“You’ll be at work by then.”

“Damn it! I need to fix this!”

“You can’t fix it. I have royally f**ked up. Now Trent is talking about going to California and killing T.J.”

“Well, T.J. shouldn’t have come to my parents’ and kissed you. He knows you’re with Trent. Whatever you think you’re doing wrong, T.J. is right there with you.”

I covered my face. “I don’t want to hurt him . . . or anyone. I don’t want to cause problems.”

“You need to let them figure it out.”

“That scenario terrifies me.”

Raegan reached up and put her hand on mine. “Eat your pancakes. And then get up because Skin Deep opens in forty minutes.”

I took a bite and grudgingly chewed, even though it was the best thing I’d eaten in a long time. I barely made a dent in the stack, and then hopped in the shower. I walked into the shop ten minutes late, but it didn’t matter, because Hazel and Trenton were late, too. Calvin was there because the front door was unlocked, the computer was turned on, as well as the lights, but he didn’t even bother to greet me.

Ten minutes later, Hazel came through the door, wearing layers of sweaters and wrapped in a thick, hot-pink scarf with black polka dots. She wore her black-rimmed glasses and black jeggings with boots. “I am over winter!” she said, plodding to her room.

Ten minutes after that, Trenton arrived. He wore his staple puffy blue coat, jeans, and boots, but he had added a slouchy gray beanie and didn’t remove his sunglasses as he trekked to his room.

I lifted my eyebrows. “Good morning,” I said to myself.

Ten minutes after that, the door opened again and chimed as a tall, lean man walked in. He wore large, black gauges in his ears, and tattoos covered every inch of skin I could see from his jawline down. He had long, stringy hair, blond and fried at the tips, and the rest was light brown. It was probably less than thirty degrees outside, and he was in a T-shirt and cargo shorts.

He stopped just inside the door and stared at me with his hazel-green, almond-shaped eyes. “Morning,” he said. “No offense, but who the f**k are you?”

“None taken,” I said. “I’m Cami. Who the f**k are you?”

“I’m Bishop.”

“It’s about time you showed up. Calvin’s only been asking for you for two months.”

He smiled. “Really?” He strolled over to the counter and leaned in on his elbows. “I’m kind of big shit around here. I don’t know if you watch the tat shows or not, but I was featured in an episode last year and now I travel around a lot, doing gigs wherever. It’s like vacationing for a living. It gets lonely, though . . .”

Trenton walked to the counter, grabbed a magazine, and began flipping through it, still wearing his sunglasses. “She’s taken, shit dick. Go set up your room. Your machine has cobwebs on it.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Bishop said, leaving us alone. He walked to what I assumed was his room at the opposite end of the hall.

Trenton flipped through a few more pages of the magazine, tossed it onto the counter, and then headed back to his room.

I followed him, crossed my arms, and leaned against the doorjamb. “Oh, hell no. You don’t get to run Bishop off and then not even acknowledge me.”

He looked up at me, sitting on his stool on the opposite side of the client chair, but I couldn’t see his eyes because of his sunglasses.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to talk to me,” he said, sullen.

“Take off your glasses, Trenton. It’s f**king annoying.”

Trenton hesitated, and then pulled off his Ray-Ban knock-offs, revealing his bright red eyes.

I stood up straight. “Are you sick?”

“Kind of. Hungover. Drank my weight in Maker’s Mark until four this morning.”

“At least you chose a decent bourbon to get stupid with.”