Page 30

Chapter 30

Juliette

“On a scale of one to ten, how bored are you after I blabbered on about how to distill whiskey?”

Constantine and I were sitting on the bed eating. I was a little surprised he trusted me to eat pasta on top of the luxurious bedding in my current state (heck, even without alcohol) and not make a mess.

He paused mid-perfect twirl of the spaghetti noodles, eyes on me. “Oh, at least a twelve.”

“Mm.” I smiled. “Thought so.”

“It’s not every day I get to learn how bourbon is made from start to finish.” He abandoned that perfect bite and set aside his silverware, and I did the same.

I was incredibly grateful he’d had me change out of my jeans before eating so I didn’t have to unbutton the top. I was beyond stuffed.

“Well, since I can’t hold down my liquor, my dad made sure I could hold down the facts about how to distill it. I’m a walking encyclopedia about whiskey, but ask me to walk while drinking it, and we’ll have problems.”

His smile morphed into a light laugh, and that sound was bliss. “Just so you know, there’s nothing you could ever share with me about yourself I wouldn’t want to hear.” He held up his hand. “Aside from that, of course.”

“Right. Men from my past are a no-go unless I want their hands detached from their bodies.” I licked my lips, checking for marinara sauce, and he tracked the movement of my tongue. “Key word, though, past.”

“Very important distinction, you’re correct.” I wasn’t sure if that gruff hitch in his voice was because he was remembering my brother’s friend who wanted a one-nighter with me or because he wanted to kiss me. “So.”

“So,” I echoed back, smirking.

He hit me with one of his killer smiles in response, and I was on the verge of blurt-begging him (it was a thing) to go ahead and kiss me now, not when I was sober.

“Your dad.” He cleared his throat, doing his best to offer a redirect he clearly sensed we both needed. “He’s from Scotland and learned to make whiskey there, but has he ever taken you to visit?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He closed one eye briefly. “Is that a yes or a no mm-hmm?”

My laughter was interrupted by an annoying hiccup. “A yes , he’s from Scotland. A no, I’ve never been there to visit.”

Ugh, that flirty look from him was going to send me back into that feeling of lust, especially when he followed it up with a teasing, “That mm-hmm makes perfect sense now, my apologies.”

“Well, you should be sorry.” I leaned forward, poking his hard chest.

He lowered his chin to where I kept my finger firmly connected with his pectoral muscle.

I know, I know. Hands to myself. I sighed as if that’d help compel my heart, mind, and body to behave. “My, um, dad refused to take me because of a falling out he had with his father.” Curling my fingers into my palm, I slowly returned my hand to my lap.

“Let me guess, was it because of whiskey?” He cleared our plates, setting them on the floor by the bed. Great, now nothing was separating me from temptation itself.

“Mm-hmm.” I teasingly rolled my eyes in response to his smile at my use of syllables as a response. “Yesss, you’re correct. Granddaddy owned a Scotch business in the Highlands. They disagreed on the aging process, and I’m sure a few other things, and one day, they had a blowout. I’m pretty sure Daddy moved to Kentucky to make bourbon just to spite him.” I slapped a hand over my mouth, realizing I’d gone full Southern on him there.

He clasped my palm, letting our locked hands rest between our legs. “I love it when you let your accent slip out. Why do you hide it?”

“I don’t, not really. Kind of fizzled and went away when I lived in Florida. I become all Kentucky when back home, though.”

“Or drinking.” He smoothed his thumb in small circles over my hand as he held on to me.

“Thankfully, I get to hear yours, bourbon or not. But it thickens when you’re upset or passionate about something.”

“It does, does it?”

“Mm-hmm.” Crap . I chuckled. “I’m not saying that on purpose, I swear.”

He echoed those syllables back at me, arching his brow.

My stomach became all fluttery as he stared at me as if he could will away the effects of the alcohol so he could forge ahead with that much-needed kiss.

Silence filled the air for the first time in nearly an hour of eating and talking.

My gaze slipped to his arm. More specifically, to his scars there . I wanted to bring my lips to one particular one I’d seen earlier on the inside of his wrist.

“Not self-inflicted,” he said in a gravelly voice.

I bent my head and brought my lips to the light white line marking his skin there.

“I never hurt myself, but the man who did all of this . . . I did ask him to kill me.” That was all it took to banish the flirty banter between us and sober me up enough to focus on only his pain and suffering.

“Who did this to you? What happened?” I whispered, a shudder rolling through me.

He frowned. “Are you sure you want to know? It’s not a good story. Your distillery lessons are much better.”

“Please.” I nodded for emphasis. I’d do anything to help take away some of his pain, and unless he shared it with me, I’d never be able to help.

He angled his head, scrutinizing me. Not a sobriety check, but a “can she handle the truth” one.

“If, at any point, you need me to stop, say the word.”

“Okay,” I promised, and he pulled his hand away to remove his shirt, revealing his hard, toned body and even more scars.

“The ones you can see aren’t the ones that hurt. The phantom pain comes from what else happened in that room.”

He took my outstretched palm and covered it with his, drawing our hands to his chest.

Eyes closed, he shared, “I was captured by someone, taken as their prisoner.” His chest jutted forward as a harsh, pained sound escaped his lips. “He forced me to watch him hurt people. Mostly women, and I was powerless to help. Strapped down and restrained, I listened to their screams, begging for help. The bastard even had my eyes physically forced open so I couldn’t shut them.” When his glossy eyes met mine, I caught a single tear falling with my thumb.

My body trembled, and my chills magnified.

What he’d said was beyond . . . well, just beyond what anyone, especially such a caring man like him, should ever have to endure.

I unfolded my legs and crawled onto his lap and brought his naked chest flush to mine. I hooked my ankles at his back and held on to him. I’m so sorry felt like a pebble in a very big pond of pain, but I didn’t know what else to say.

He shifted my hair to the side and buried his face at the crook of my shoulder. We stayed like that for a few quiet moments before he continued.

“My brothers saved me, but he got away. The PTSD after was bad. I didn’t want to burden anyone, so I kept it to myself. It ate at me. Destroyed me. I’d wake up in a sweat, hearing their cries and pleas for help,” he choked out, his voice stripped down to nothing but pure raw pain as he held on to me. “One night, I woke up and went to get a drink in my office. I stared at the bottle of Legacy Ridge, and memories of you calmed me down. I felt at peace for the first time in over a year.”

A harsh sob rattled free from my lungs as I held him as tight as I possibly could.

“Anytime PTSD hit, I focused on you instead,” he began again as he continued to remain a rock of strength. “You became my refuge—the memories of you, your sweetness and innocence, the opposite of everything that happened in that room.”

His warm breath at my neck slipped over my skin as he stroked my back, consoling me when I needed to be offering him solace instead.

“I had my designer create this room as a physical place to escape the pain when it was too much. So, you see, you helped me get better. Helped me fight my demons and come out on top.”

He eased back and cupped my face, his eyes glimmering as he allowed one more tear to break through his defenses. Meanwhile, I was an absolute disaster.

“You saved me.” He brought his forehead to mine. “You saved me, and you didn’t even know it.”

I sniffled, doing my best to calm down so I could talk. “Please tell me he’s dead.”

“Last year, I killed him. Slit his throat and shot him myself.” His breaths quickened as if he were losing the battle to keep his emotions in check. “He got his hands on my brother Alessandro but we found him in time before Rocco could do everything to him that he did to me.”

He righted his head to look at me. His lashes were wet, and his eyes were coated in a liquid sheen, but he wasn’t surrendering more tears, just holding them captive.

Those dark pools of sweet humanity focused on me, and another stuttering breath passed from my lips to his skin.

I’d give anything to convey everything I was feeling and sum those emotions up into words that held more weight than a singular apology. But how?

While I tried to think of what to say, he switched gears and shared in an anguished tone, “The number of times I thought about tracking you down after that . . . but I was weak. I was terrified you’d be happily married with kids, and then I’d lose all I had—the memories that’d been keeping me from losing my mind.” That honest truth swelled between us, carved its way through my chest, and grabbed hold of my heart. “Then you’d be gone for good, and I’d have to accept the only woman in my life ever to make me feel anything like you did was gone for good.”

He freed a tear.

Then another.

A slow, slow fall down to his lips, and he slid his tongue over his bottom lip to catch it as if shocked it was there, that it was real.

“I’m here now.” I hugged him. “I’m not going?—”

A loud, screeching alarm startled us both, shocking my shoulders back.

Before either of us could say or do anything, Colin hollered out, “Sorry! That was just me trying to go out.” We didn’t have a chance to untangle ourselves before he appeared in the doorway, the alarm still blaring.

“It’s not what it looks like.” Constantine discarded any evidence of his emotions so fast I almost missed it, then shifted me from his lap.

Colin leaned against the interior doorframe, stroking his jaw, smirking. “Sure, sure. Because what it looks like to me is that Mom was sitting on your lap while you’re shirtless.” His teasing smile dissolved the second he made eye contact with me.

My puffy, swollen eyes would be a good indicator that sex was the last thing on our minds.

Colin straightened, arms dropping nervously as Constantine stood and killed the alarm. “You okay? Someone die? What happened?” he quickly fifty-questioned me. (Okay, more like three.) But after everything I just went through with his father, it might as well have been that many. My head was still spinning.

“Everything’s fine.” Constantine put on his shirt and faced him. “ Except for the fact you were trying to leave. What were you thinking? Where were you going?”

“Oh, right, that.” He tore a hand through his hair, fiddling with the ends. “The PlayStation is in the lobby with the security dude. I need to sign for it.”

“You mean I need to sign for it. You did use my card, right?” At our son’s nod, he added, “Don’t try and leave like that again. No going anywhere without me until I say it’s safe, got it?”

I went to stand, and Constantine didn’t miss a beat. He was at my side in a second, helping me up.

“I'll sign for it. Stay here and watch over your mom.” Just like that, the man had flipped a switch, acting as though he hadn’t shared something so traumatic with me.

Colin angled his head, studying me. “Watch you, why?”

“I had a few drinks.” I was about to be parented by my son. “I’m ninety percent fine now.”

“I’ll be right back.” Constantine took off, and I had a feeling he was grateful for the excuse, needing a minute to pull himself together.

“What made you want to drink? That’s not like you.” Colin wasted no time starting in on his lecture.

“Things.” I frowned.

“Like what kind of things?”

I stepped around the dirty dishes to sit. “I drank because of a call with your uncle, and as for your dad, he didn’t have a shirt on because he was talking to me about his scars.” Nothing good ever came from a lie. I had to be truthful with him if I expected the same in return.

“Oh.” He dropped on the bed beside me, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his legs. “Do I want to know about either of those things?”

I rubbed his back. “Your uncle’s happy that your father’s in your life.”

He glanced at me without sitting up. “Really?”

“Really,” I affirmed. “The scars . . . that’s for your father to tell you when or if he’s ready.”

“At least he felt comfortable telling you.” He lowered his gaze to the floor. “Did Uncle Easton say anything else? Like compare Dad to?—”

“Carter?”

He peeked at me again.

“Kind of.” They both have dangerous baggage. That was information I’d leave out for a while. It would only concern Colin, making him worry about how it would negatively impact me.

“I mean, he is like him, though. Billionaire. Former military. Bad guys piss their pants at hearing just his name alone. Fights like John Wick but tries to keep people alive when he does.”

I was well aware of that fictional character’s name. He’d made me watch the first movie, and I still hadn’t recovered from having to watch a dog die.

Before I could respond to his observations, Constantine reappeared, holding the PlayStation box and two video games on top of it.

“Thank you.” Colin stood, stepping around our dishes, ready to accept the gifts, but Constantine shook his head.

“I need your fake ID first.”

“You have a fake ID?” At this point, why was I even surprised?

“It was just to get into clubs to dance,” Colin remarked, far too nonchalantly for me, before reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Thankfully, he handed it over to Constantine without protest.

Constantine stuck to the deal and swapped the PlayStation and games for it. “I was wondering if I can play Call of Duty with you?”

“Like now?” Colin’s shoulders went back in surprise.

“Yeah. But it’s been a minute since I’ve played, so you’ll need to go easy on me.” He smiled as he pocketed the fake ID.

I stared at the two of them as more pieces of my broken heart repaired and slid back into place, knowing damn well the same held true for these two strong men in front of me who desperately needed one another.

“I’ve seen you in real life. You’re not fooling me. It’s you who probably needs to go easy on me.” Colin laughed, and I could cry happy tears to hear that sound pass between him and his father.

Constantine shot him a knowing smirk, then gestured with his head to the hall. “Go get it set up in the game room. I’ll join you in a minute.”

Colin nodded, and I knew he was trying to play it cool even though he’d waited a lifetime for this moment. “Yeah, uh, okay.”

Once he was gone, Constantine knelt to pick up our plates. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention the ID before. We keep getting distracted.”

“Oh gosh, that’s okay.” I stood as he set the plates on the nightstand. “Are you, um, going to be all right?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I will be, now that I have you two.” He gently tugged me into his arms before I could respond to his sweet words. “Do you mind if I hang out with him? I feel bad leaving you.”

“Mind?” I fake-scoffed. “Are you kidding?” I gestured with my head toward the hall. “You’re making him happy, which makes me unbelievably happy. So, you could say I’m more than good with being left alone.” I kissed his cheek, and he fully faced me, nearly catching my mouth in the process.

His brows pinched as he stared at me, our lips impossibly close. “You’re even better than I imagined,” he whispered. “You. Colin. Us together. It’s more than I knew it ever could be.”

I was right there with him on that. “I feel the same about you.” I wet my lips and swallowed, and he zeroed in on the movement and groaned.

“If only you were one hundred percent sober.” He closed his eyes, letting a gruff breath fall between our too-close lips.

“All-or-nothing deal before I get that kiss, hmm?”

“Mm-hmm.”

I couldn’t believe it, but he made me laugh after all that heavy talk. “Mm-hmm,” I murmured back. “Such a stubborn man.”

“More like the most patient man on God’s green earth.” His eyes opened, and he stared into my eyes while huskily saying, “But, sweetheart?” He swallowed. “My patience is about to run out.”