Rock the City: A Midnight Fate Novel (16 page)

Both are the reason why I put chocolate milk in my cereal like I did when I was a kid, and enough Fireball in my coffee to make me gag. I sit in the middle of the couch with my hair piled on top of my head and my slippers on the wrong feet, my cotton pajamas mismatched—and I’m pretty sure, with the way they’re riding up, the bottoms on backwards.

I’m a complete mess.

I only intend on having one cup of coffee, but when my stomach warms from the inside out, I dump some more whiskey in the mug and forget about adding anything else to it. Taking small sips, I let the alcohol ease the tension in my body and calm my nerves.

The more I drink, the less I hurt, so I dump more and more in my mug so I never have to see the ceramic bottom. It’d be quicker to drink it straight from the bottle, but this makes me feel a little less screwed up—because everyone drinks from mugs first thing in the morning.

When noon rolls around and most of the alcohol in my house is gone, I realize I’m about to have a problem. I get out my laptop, firing it up and doing a Google search for liquor stores that deliver. Of course, there’s nothing like that around here, but if I were still in New York, I bet I could find something. “Fuckin’ Pennsylvania,” I mutter to my cat-less house.

“I want to buy a damn cat.”

I search for pet stores, wondering if there’s one close enough to walk to. It’s no surprise the closest one is at the mall about a half hour away.

All that’s left for me to do is open a bottle of Merlot I’ve had since Christmas. I don’t even like Merlot, but it was a gift from a woman who comes to see me every month at the salon. You’d think she would know me better after five years of the same conversations, but I’m as much a mystery to her as Lane is to me.

Gagging through the first couple sips, it loses its nasty fermented taste enough that I can get it down. I couldn’t read a book right now if I wanted to, but I climb the stairs to the loft, running my fingers over the spines that line the shelves.

When I finally had a house of my own, I knew I wanted a special reading nook where I could get lost in worlds that only exist between the pages of my romance novels. Lark thought it was ridiculous to fill a house with empty shelves, though I knew I’d have years to fill them up with authors I loved.

Since meeting Lane, I haven’t gotten as far as I wanted with my collection. With working all day and talking to him all night, my reading time was next to never. I laugh as I pull one of the dirtier ones out of its special slot, remembering I highlighted some naughty passages to share with Lane.

“He ties me up with my legs spread, my clit throbbing as he drags the neck of his beer bottle over my throbbing center.” I almost forgot how good this one was, so I sit down with it in my lap, trying hard to keep the words from scattering around the pages as I look at it. When I can’t make sense of the rest, I toss it on the floor, my eyes getting caught on the mouth of the wine bottle in my hand comparing it to what I just read. “No way,” I whisper. “That’d never work.”

By the time I get up and wander back into the living room, my doorbell rings. Right away, I think it’s Lark going against my wishes, coming to save the day. That’s why I don’t look through the peephole before I whip the door open, my wine almost spilling on the carpet. “Whatdya want, bitch?”

“Noelle?”

I stumble backward when his deep voice assaults every one of my senses. “Why are you yelling at me?” I ask him.

Lane stares at me, glancing at his watch. “I’m not yelling. How long have you been drinking?”

I shrug. “That depends what time it is.”

“It’s one in the afternoon.”

I do the math in my head, pretty sure I nail the figures when I tell him, “I got up at nine. So, six hours.”

“Baby, you haven’t even been awake for six hours if you got up at nine.”

Annoyed, I roll my eyes. He always has to be perfect, and why does he look so fucking good? “I hate math, Lane. Hate. It.”

“It’s not my favorite either. Can I come in?”

I stare at him, wishing I could yell at him the way I want to, but the words just won’t come. “No, you can’t come in. But you can take me to get a cat. A black one, ‘cause my luck is shit.”

“What do you want with a cat? You don’t even like them.”

“I can have anything I want, and I want a damn cat. And some more whiskey. This wine is total shit.”

“Anything else?”

I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling, reaching my arms out for something to hold on to so I don’t fall over. “I fucking want
you
, Lane!”

He steps inside the foyer, closing the door behind him. “Your neighbors are going to come and check on you if you keep yelling.”

I whip my head from side to side, thinking if I do it fast enough I’ll be able to see inside my own ears. “I’m not talking loud. I’m positive.”

“You’re wasted, babe. You’re usually a little loud when you drink.”

“Well, you’re hot when you drink, so I guess we’re even.”

Laughing, he reaches for me, but I push his hands away. “You can’t come in here and touch me. There’s no touching anymore.”

“Why can’t I touch my girlfriend?”

Hearing him call me his girlfriend, I try to think back to last night, wondering if I imagined the whole thing. Was I stuck in some nightmare and made it all up? I do the only thing I can think of when he doesn’t disappear, no matter how many times I blink—I poke him in the chest then pinch him on the arm. But he stands strong, never wavering.

He lets me do whatever I want before he finally asks, “What are you doing?”

“Checking to see if I’m awake. What does it look like?”

“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to pinch yourself.”

I consider his logic, and of course his flawless self makes total sense again. It only aggravates me more. “If this isn’t a dream, then why did you screw a stripper last night and ruin my happiness? You slaughtered my heart and made me get in a car with Juan Pablo.”

He backs me up until my thighs hit the arm of the couch in the living room, the intensity of his eyes so powerful I lose my breath. I stare at his lips so I don’t miss a word. “Let's get one thing straight, baby. I didn’t touch her.”

“I don’t believe you. You totally played Chutes and Ladders with her.”

“Noelle,” he says as he grips my arms, forcing me to hear every word he’s about to say. “Baby, she’s my damn sister.”

I’m hesitant to let go of Noelle, mostly because she looks like she’s about to pass out standing up, especially after what I just said. “Say something,” I beg her.

She claws at her throat, the redness seeping up her neck. “I want to believe you, but I think I’m having a heart attack.”

I glance at her chest, realizing she’s got half her clothes on backwards. It kills me to see her like this—like she’s depressed and drank herself numb so she could forget I ever existed. I knew Lemon would be a problem, but I didn’t imagine she’d think I gave up on what we have so fast.

Sitting down, I keep her in my lap. I expect her to run but she sags against my chest, curling into a little ball of brokenness. I rest my hand over her heart, the beats so strong and rapid I realize it’s only beating that hard because she believes me. It’s like life is slowly pouring back into her veins, reviving her and giving her back what she thought was nothing more than a memory.

“Just breathe, Noelle. I’m here.”

“You never left me,” she whispers. “You were still mine.”

“I’ll never stop being yours.”

The floodgates open and she cries softly against my chest, letting out all the hurt and anger she’s gathered over the hours we’ve been apart. It makes me realize how much she does care—even if it scares me how easily I could hurt her without even trying.

“I guess I won’t need a cat anymore.”

I laugh, thinking about what could have happened had I taken any longer to get to her. If I’d waited till tomorrow, she might have had ten cats scratching at the door. “I’ll buy you a stuffed one. Cats hate me.”

“How can anyone hate you?” she asks innocently, already forgetting how mad she was at me—and I’ve seen her mad. It’s no joke.

“Pretty sure you didn’t like me.”

“I mean forever. It’s such a long time.”

That’s one question I’d like to ask my own parents—if I knew where they were. “I don’t know, Noelle. I really don’t.”

“Will you tell me about your sister?”

I wrap my arms a little tighter around Noelle, thankful to have her back in my arms. “I’ll tell you everything, but you need to sober up first.” Mostly because I want her to remember every word I say, and I don’t think I’d have the strength to say it to her twice.

As I sit and rub her back, thinking how close I was to losing her, her breathing evens out and her droopy lids close. She passes out on me, no doubt as exhausted as I am from being up all night.

I’ve never been in her house, but I stand with her in my arms, walking down the hallway in search of her bedroom. Even though I’ve seen parts of it through her computer screen, I couldn’t tell you about any of the details other than the ones she’s shared with me.

The two rooms I come to first have touches of Noelle on the wall and in the furnishings, but neither are where she spends her time. When I find the largest of the three bedrooms with a poster of my face hanging above the bed, I smile. There’s no mistaking this one’s hers. She wasn’t kidding when she told me she kissed my face every single night while we were apart. There’s even a bright red imprint of her lips on my cheek.

Since the whole bed’s destroyed, I don’t bother trying to lay her on her favorite side; I just pick one and set her down. She snuggles into the pillow, her arm automatically reaching out for me. Her hand comes up empty and falls onto the sheets, but as soon as I take my shoes and pants off I slide in next to her, cuddling her close.

I may have been in a hurry to get back to New York, especially since Lemon’s there, but right now, I need this. I need my girl and I need some sleep. But not before I brush her hair away from her face and say a silent thank you to whoever was watching out for her until I got here.

A couple hours later, I open my eyes and find Noelle staring back at me. Fresh from the shower, her hair’s still wet. “How long have you been awake?” I ask her.