Forgiving Gia (Rocker Series Book 2) (25 page)

That was the Italian version of many a mornings with my broody alpha. However, after the beautiful day and evening we spent enjoying each other, I woke up to a fucked up mess of epic proportions. It started innocent enough. I had to pee for like the fifth time. I had candy on my mind and remembered we never opened the basket the hotel sent up. While enjoying my mid-night snack…I noticed a paper underneath the front door.
Curiosity got the best of me. Plus, I’m a nosey bitch. I walked over, picking it up. Italy’s version of the celeb enquirer had Abel with a young girl across the front cover.

“What. The. Fuck!” I yelled. I flipped on the lights, needing to be sure my eyes were seeing what the fuck I was seeing. I was. I thumbed to the article featuring yours truly. I didn’t need to read Italian to understand the pictures of him. A girl laid out on a pool table with her skirt pulled up above her panties. His fucking hand on her skirt or leg or panties. I couldn’t tell. I rolled the magazine into a roll stomping to the bedroom. He slept like the dead. Not that I was being quiet.

“Wake up, motherfucker.” I whacked him in the head with the magazine.

“What the fuck, Gia?” He batted my hand away. “I’m not trying to fucking play with you.” He rolled over. Yeah, I don’t think so.

“I kicked the side of the bed so hard it rebounded me on my ass onto the floor. I was pissed. I got to my feet. “Get your lying ass up, motherfucker,” I screamed, flipping on all the lights.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he yelled at me.

“Oh, he’s not here to help you, fucker. Don’t you fucking pray to him.” I threw the magazine at him. With his sleepy hands, he rubbed his eyes awake.

“What. The. Fuck. Is this?” he bellowed. Oh, hell no to the alpha thing. I didn’t want to be dissuaded by his Don-juju. I knew it would do nothing but get me off track. I was so angry I was shaking. “Okay, Beauty. Sit down. You’re shaking. Please. I can explain,” he begged. I watched as he threw on his sweats, driving his hands constantly though his hair. God, that was annoying and distracting.

“Don’t you what-the-fuck me, Abel,” I roared. He was stunned. That’s right; it was my turn. He went right for his phone.

I don’t think so. I ripped it out of his hands. “Calling for backup? Not.” I threw it across the room.

“Gia, I’m trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. I’m not doing anything but looking for answers, like you.” He came at me with his hands up.

“Don’t you touch me, scumbag.” I batted his hand down and away from me. I wanted to hurt him. Like he hurt me. He needed to hurt. I palmed my face, digging my fingers into my eye-sockets. Fuck. My. Life. “I knew you were too good to be true. I knew it,” I cried. I didn’t want to cry. I was a mess of snot and tears. Fuck. I looked up at Abel. Tears ran down my face like a facet of sorrow.

A knock at the door came swiftly and he ran for it.
Oh, no you don’t
. I ran ahead of him, shielding the door. “No one comes in here until you tell me why you’re such a lying motherfucker.

“Stop calling me that. I’m not lying to you. I swear,” he pleaded.

“Baby girl, open the door and let me in,” Chance begged. “I know what happened. Do you want to know?”

I didn’t know what I wanted. My brain was going to explode. I held my head in my hand in an effort to stop it from happening. I didn’t help. The pressure was too much.

“I need to sit down,” I said aloud.

Abel frowned, moving closer to me.

“I don’t need you.” I moved the opposite way from him.

He let Chance in and closed the door with a slam. Good. He was pissed. How’d he think I felt? I sat on the sofa, putting a pillow next to me. It was juvenile but I didn’t want him sitting near me. Fuck. My stomach hurt. I leaned over onto my arm in an effort to stop the cramps. One breath in. One long breath out…

“Sweetie, remember the night in Amsterdam when you woke up and Abel was out? It was only a short time. We had ginger snap tea…” He nodded like he wanted me to remember. I did remember that night. So?

“What’s this wag the dog? I don’t want to hear all the conspiracy theories you two are going to spin. I don’t!” I was so mad I started to cry again. Jesus, what was going on with me? I face-planted in my palms. I didn’t want to look at him. I needed to hide and think.

“Answer me, please,” Chance asked again.

“Yes. And?” I said through gritted teeth.

“Okay, well that night, Ender had a soiree,” he explained. And?

“Party,” Abel offered.

I peeked through my fingers. “Really, we’re going to do this now?” Chance asked him. I shook my head. Did he ever stop?

“A fete, celebration, affair, or fucking soiree,” Chance amended. He rarely cursed. I wanted to smile, but I didn’t.

“Anyway, there was a girl who was intoxicated. She threw herself, offering herself to not only the broody alpha, but to Woody, Ender, Jack, and everyone else. Our broody alpha only helped cover her back up after she pulled her skirt up, showing her goods to everyone. I know, really trashy.” He shook his head.

I dropped my hands but started picking at my cuticles. I needed something to bleed. So what if it were my fingers. A loud bang sounded in the direction from the door. What the fuck?

Abel went to see. Woody. Of course. Backup. The relief pitcher to close the game. Our version of Mario fucking Rivera. Abel stepped aside letting him in. His face was white with worry.

“I just floated a serious air biscuit,” he stammered. Ugh, I wanted to gag. Gross. Just fucking gross.

“Lovely.” Chance’s face the epitome of disgust. Now, that I wanted to laugh about. Chance was such a girl.

“Why ya fanny-farts waking me up at this ungodly hour?” His voice still slurred from sleep.

Abel went to the bedroom to retrieve the magazine, throwing it at him. He caught it…eyeing it thoughtfully. No doubt the Irish wheels were spinning, looking to help a brother out.

“Fucking hell,” he said, walking over to bar. There wasn’t anything but seltzer back there. Abel didn’t drink anymore…and well, I umm…I chose not to as well. “What the fuck? No libations? Chance, make yourself useful, and call the lad. Have him bring it up straight away.”

Chance hopped on the phone, ordering up whatever the Irish closer wanted.

The brawny Irishman came to rest next to me, removing the pillow blockade I built. He grabbed my hand. “I want to tell you a little story, sweets.” His tone was serious. He was very much awake. “Before I get started. I have to say. All that beer last night is really tugging on the old fart-strings, Lad.” He looked at Abel, cracking a smile.

Oh, I got it. He wanted to defuse Nuclear Abel. Humor went a long way between the boys. I shook my head. Unbelievable. I set out a long sigh. I was in a nightmare and he was telling fart jokes.

“Sorry, my dear,” he continued. “That wasn’t part of my story. Just a side-note,” he explained. Ah, yeah. Great. This is what I have to deal with being surrounded by men. They were really just big toddlers who still laughed about farting. “He didn’t have intercourse with that betty,” he continued casually.

“Oh, thank you fucking God. Really, Woody?” I grabbed the pillow, throwing it at Abel’s head. Fucker. He caught it, putting in down carefully on the other coach.

“Let me start again. The girl was a fucking mess. She offered herself to anyone who wanted a sniff. We were not interested.” He looked at Abel, nodding. Abel nodded back in agreement. Christ, these two were parrots of each other. I started cracking my knuckles. I did that when I got anxious.

“Don’t do that. My mum did that and had knuckles like a fucking bloke,” he clarified. Great, now that that’s out of the way… He was stalling until he thought of something I’d bite. No thank you. I sat back, closing my eyes.

A long sigh escaped me. “Why were his hands on her?” I asked. This should be good.

“They were on her skirt technically. I asked the fella to help me right her. She was a mess. I have a heart. She’s someone’s daughter, right?” he asked, trying his best to convince me.

Oh, my God. He was going for that angle. Now they were good Samaritan’s. Typical. Why had I thought this might go any other way?

I stood from the coach. I had enough bullshit from them. “Sit your ass down. We’re not done here. Not by a motherfucking longshot,” Able roared.

I sat. I didn’t want to, but his angry face scared the fuck out of me. Chance opened the door, cheerfully greeting the server who brought Woody’s beer.

He handed Chance a bottle. “Aye, thank you, lad.” He cheered Chance with his bottle. Chance being Chance, smiled appreciatively. Mental eye-roll to the highest order. I’d remember to kick him down a flight of stairs.

“He boxed off her…umm box. And I covered her fun-bags,” he continued. Well isn’t that interesting. Fun-bags. I nodded to Abel, who was whiter than white.

“Just shut the fuck up, Wood. Your translation’s making it worse.” He knelt before me. “Beauty, why would I ever want another? Ever?” he asked.

Good point. Why? I crossed my leg, putting as much distance between us.

“I pulled down the slut’s skirt. She was all exposed. Woody closed her top. Someone must have taken the picture just as my hands were on her skirt. Her skirt—not her. I’d never touch another. I swear it.”

“And the other pic with the blonde?” I asked, waiting for his explanation.

His hand now rested on the back of his neck. “On my way out, a girl asked me to take a picture with her. That’s the honest truth. I did it because I was being a prick to everyone the whole time I was there. I felt guilty. You know I haven’t been doing press. I can’t be bothered by those whores. You’re my life now.” Simple, but it doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I don’t need elaborate explanations. The truth’s on my side.

“That right there was beautiful.” Woody pointed at Abel. Chance agreed readily. Oh, brother. Well, he certainly sounded sincere. But was he?

“Swear to me?” I asked, looking him dead in his chocolaty eyes. It was the true test. I didn’t know him to be a bold faced liar. Funny, right? It was if you thought about it. Yet, there I was, demanding it from him.

“I swear it.” He crossed his heart. He crossed his heart so he had to be telling the truth. “Beauty…” He grabbed my face with both of his ringed hands. “I plan on showing you really soon, baby.” He pressed his lips to mine.

“Goodnight, pricks.” Woody abruptly got off the couch. “Not you, my dear. These other two lads.” He pointed at Abel and Chance.

Chance beamed essentially. He was thrilled that Woody was even talking to him. He usually took a wide birth.

“It’s the way of my people.” Woody bowed, closing the door behind him

“You good? You need me to stay? I could stay out here if needed,” Chance continued fretting.

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll text you in the morning.” I got up to kiss his cheek. He really was a dear friend. But what I wouldn’t give for a little Cindy-time. We walked him to the door. “Goodnight.” I squeezed his arm, silently thanking him. I decided to leave the two of them for a few minutes. I just wanted to crawl into bed and think…

That was not the way I liked to woken during the night. Good fucking God up in heaven. I called a meeting with the band first thing in the morning. This time I couldn’t fault the cancer bitch Morgana. Or Commando. He’s been effective in protecting my beauty. However, someone very close to me was purposefully fucking with my life. I peeked into the bedroom, watching my beauty’s form cuddled around all her pillows. She didn’t feel secure. I knew by the amount of pillows she surrounded herself with. One of the many secrets she’s shared with me. We promised to share a secret a night. I knew in my gut that she was holding something big back. I felt it. However, I refused to push. I wanted her to tell me as organically as possible. Trust. It’s important that we grow it mutually.

I was going to wait on proposing, too. But I’m not sure that would be wise. Then again, I also didn’t want her perceiving it as a gesture of guilt. I needed to think. Needed some clarity. So, I sucked it up and called the old man for advice. I explained the story. He agreed that right now it would come off to Gia as a
Wag the dog,
as she called it. She’d say I was making something of secondary importance improperly take the place of something of primary importance. Talk about a mind-fuck. She did remind me at times of my own version of Amy Dunne.