Pricked (Page 35)

“Glad you guys like Brighton, but we’re not that serious.”

His jaw turns slack. “Hate to break it to you, but you’re a fucking moron if you’re not serious about her. She’s an eleven. Straight up. No shitting you. Intelligent. Kind. Hot as fuck. The trifecta. It literally doesn’t get any better than that and here you are, sitting around all smug like you could take her or leave her, like she’s some piece of ass you picked up at O’Callahan’s on a Saturday night.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Newsflash, Madd. She’s too good for you. Hold onto that with everything you’ve got and don’t you ever fucking let go.”

I arrange the magazines on one of the tables in the waiting area before grabbing one off the top and paging through. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

“Shit. If you don’t want her, give her to me.”

My gaze flicks up from the glossy pages in my hand. I see red before I see him.

A wide grin covers Pierce’s face. “See. You do like her.”

“I never said I didn’t.” I wish he’d drop this entire fucking conversation, but he won’t let it go, like a mutt with a bone.

Even if I accepted the way I’m beginning to feel about Brighton, it won’t change the fact that our pasts are painfully intertwined.

I don’t blame her for what happened. She was just a kid. Completely innocent. And I’d never hold any of this against her, but how would she feel knowing I’m the son of the man who brutally murdered her beloved family members … the son of a man who probably would’ve killed her too had she been awake to witness it.

My father’s a monster.

And I’m the son of a monster.

And she deserves so much more than anything I could ever give her.

Pierce slaps my shoulder before motioning toward the door, where a tall man in an expensive tailored suit, shiny shoes, and dark sunglasses walks toward the shop with wide, confident strides.

“Who the fuck is that douche lord?” Pierce asks.

I toss the magazine aside and fold my arms across my chest.

“That,” I say, “would be Brighton’s father.”

The bells on the door jangle as he walks through, and he scans the front of the shop before yanking off his glasses and pointing his intense stare at me.

“Mr. Karrington,” I say, remembering I’m still his daughter’s “boyfriend” in his eyes. “How can I help you today, sir?”

I sound like the biggest jerkoff, but I remind myself this is all for her.

“Was hoping I’d catch you,” he says. “I’d like to have a word with you.”

Brighton’s dad looks at Pierce, who throws his hands up in the air before walking to the back and making himself scarce.

Charles’ lips press into a flat line. I’m a few inches taller than him or he’d probably be looking down his nose at me about now.

“Brighton’s doing well,” I say, “if that’s why you’re here. Her new job—”

“—no,” he interrupts, placing his hand out. “I came here to tell you to break it off with her.”

I try not to laugh in his face. This guy can’t be serious.

“Not happening.” I widen my stance, hands on my hips.

“She needs to come home,” he says. “She doesn’t belong here. With you.”

“Yeah, well, unfortunately she’s an adult and she’s allowed to make those kinds of decisions on her own, so …” I nod toward the door. “Was nice seeing you, Chuck.”

He doesn’t budge, and his face is turning a shade of reddish-purple. If he were a cartoon character, he’d probably have fire coming out of his ears right now. I’m sure this prick isn’t used to people talking to him like this. That Armani suit might garner him respect in his own boardroom, but fancy clothes and his Rich Dick attitude doesn’t mean shit in my shop.

“Look,” he says.

Oh, now he’s going to try to level with me, man to man. Like he didn’t just march into my shop and demand that I break up with his daughter.

“Let her go,” he says, eyes softening. It’s clearly an act of a desperate, pathetic man. “She has a family who loves her more than you ever could and a future brighter than anything you could ever give her.” He stops for a second to gauge my reaction, but I maintain my stony exterior. He wants a reaction from me so he knows where to take this little act of his next, but I’m not giving him a damn thing. “You’ve known her, what, a couple of months? I’ve known her for twenty-two years, so let me tell you something about my daughter. She’s got a heart of gold. She’s spent her entire life volunteering for anything and everything she could get her hands on. All she wants is to make everyone around her happy. She puts everyone else before herself and she genuinely wants to make the world a better place.” He lifts a fist before pointing a finger at me. “And she was going to be a pediatric oncologist until you showed up.” Charles shakes his head. “She was going to save lives. Instead she’s shacking up with some small-town tattoo artist.”

I shrug. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

“She has so much potential,” he says, voice lighter than it was before. “So. Much. Potential.” He sucks in a long breath. “And now she’s going to spend the rest of her life in Olwine working some nine-to-five while her pre-med degree collects dust on a shelf. It isn’t right. How can you not see how selfish you’re being?”

The irony isn’t lost on me, but I keep my mouth shut because the less I talk, the more frustrated he gets and it’s entertaining as hell.

“If you love her,” he says, “you’ll let her go. You’ll let her live the life she deserves.”

He begins to say something else but stops himself.

And then he leaves, his last words playing on a loop in my head.

As much as I can’t stand the guy, I know he’s right. He didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know, wasn’t already thinking myself.

39

Brighton

I’m sitting alone in Pierce’s living room Friday night, half-watching the sports highlights on his giant TV, half-peeling at the label on the bottle of beer in my lap.

Madden’s in the kitchen, leaning on the island where Missy and her friends always perch. They’ve been warming up to me more and more, but I’m still very much an outsider to their tiny little circle and I’m fine with that.

I’ve been an outsider my whole life, really. It’s nothing new.

But at least now I don’t feel like they’re talking about me every time I walk out of the room, and really, what more could I ask for at this point?

The girls giggle, their over-lined, over-mascara’d eyes glued on Madden’s every word. They think everything that comes out of his mouth is comedic gold, and trust me, he’s not that funny. He might have a lot of things going for him, but his sense of humor is a little further down that list.

His back is to me. I can’t tell if he’s lapping up their attention like a kitten to milk or if he’s just being cordial, but I’m trying not to get bent out of shape about it because we’re not together. He’s allowed to talk to whomever he wants. He’s not under any obligation to sit in here with me like a personal companion.

I take another sip and peel the rest of the label off, folding it into several squares until it won’t fold any longer. I’m bored. And I didn’t want to come tonight, but I skipped out last weekend because I was so exhausted and wanted to go to bed early, only to wake up an hour later with a second wind and spending the rest of the night bored and stranded.

At least now I’m not stranded.

I know if I asked Madden to take me home, he would, no questions asked.

But we just got here. The night is young. I’ll sit tight for now.

I pull up my phone and check my email for lack of something better to do. An appointment confirmation from Sheridan Property Group pings my inbox—a reminder that I’m supposed to tour one of their units tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.

I received my first paycheck yesterday along with a sizable sign-on bonus, enough for me to put a deposit down on a studio apartment and fill it with IKEA furniture.

Checking the time, I calculate that we’ve been here approximately forty minutes now and he’s been in the kitchen this entire time. Judging by his comfortable stance, I’d say he’s there to stay, at least for the foreseeable future.

Returning my attention to my phone, I shoot a couple texts to my brothers to say hi and to tell them that I miss them. And then I glance back at Madden. I know I could walk over there and include myself, but I’m not in the chattiest of moods and I don’t want to seem like some ‘insecure girlfriend’ hanging on her man because he’s surrounded by other women.

I’m sure those girls would have a field day with that.

Eben responds to my text first, asking how the new job is going. I tell him I love it, even if I only just like it so far. It’s still new and I’m still learning and I’m sure with time it’ll grow on me, but right now it’s too new to conclude whether or not I love it.