Crazy, Stupid Love Page 2

  “Stop doing that,” she says.

  I move my eyes back to hers. “Doing what?”

  “Looking at me like that. It’s like I have no control over my body when you’re around.”

  “That’s a bad thing?”

  Her lips part and then snap shut, and she looks down at her hands. “No, it’s not a bad thing.” Head tilted to the side, she glances up at me through thick, dark lashes. “And for the record, I’m glad you offered me a ride home that night. I just wish it hadn’t taken you five years to notice me.”

  Is she crazy? “You think I didn’t notice you?” I admonish.

  She shrugs, but that’s not good enough. I’m in knots over her, have been for months—years if I’m being honest. “Trust me, sweetheart, I noticed.”

  “Oh yeah?” She arches an eyebrow and pushes up from the bed. With her eyes locked on mine, Adley bends over, scoops her shorts off the floor, and steps into them. Her silky underwear ride up her ass, leaving very little to the imagination. Slowly she stands, dragging her shorts up as she does, and the conversation fades into something I’m much more comfortable with.

  This I can handle.

  She wiggles her ass. “Is this what you noticed?”

  I slide an arm around Adley’s waist and lower my lips to her ear, tickling the soft skin with the scruff on my jaw. “Wiggle that ass again, and it’ll be mine.”

  She turns in my arms. “It turns me on when you get all possessive. Makes me want to do it again just to test you.”

  “Do it. I promise you won’t make it to whatever appointment you have today, and you’ll be walking funny tomorrow.”

  Her eyes widen, lips part, and for a second I think she’s going to take me up on the offer.

  “Monroe will never forgive me if I miss our appointment at the bridal shop.”

  I kiss her sweet lips and smack her ass before stepping away. “Get out of here before I make us both late.”

  “Fine.” She pouts but grabs her shirt off the floor where I tossed it a couple hours ago.

  She came by after her final test, and I was more than happy to help her celebrate.

  Pulling her shirt back on, she looks up at me. “What are you doing this afternoon?”

  “I need to run by Dad’s, and then I’ll head over to The Barn for a few hours to get some training in. Is your gas tank full?”

  She grins and slips her shoes on. “Yes.”

  “Good girl. Text me when you get to Heaven.”

  “Always,” she says, turning toward the door. “Goodbye, Lincoln.”

  “See ya, sunshine.”

  She blows me a kiss and slips out the door.

  I’ve always been a man of control. I know when to bend and when to stand strong. I make my mind up about something, and I stick to it, no matter what. But Adley tests that control.

  She tempts me to wish for more—to hope for the things I’ve told myself I’ll never have. She’s so sweet, her skin so soft and supple, her body so inviting… Letting her walk out of my home is getting harder and harder.

  2

  Lincoln

  An hour later, with grocery bags hanging from my arms and Adley’s sweet scent still clinging to my body, I climb the three concrete steps to my Dad’s one-bedroom house. It sits at the end of a quiet street filled with other small, modest homes.

  I purchased the place four years ago when Dad foreclosed on our childhood home. Had I known there was a problem, I could’ve tried to bail him out. Unfortunately, by the time he told me, the damage had been done, and he needed a place to stay.

  Living with me wasn’t an option, and there’s no way I was going to let him mooch off of my little sister, Chloe, which is why I took out a small loan and got him a place of his own. It’s not much, but it’s a roof over his head. He lives close enough to me that I can get here quick if there’s an emergency—but far enough away that he can’t walk to my house.

  Well, he could walk, but he’s just too damn lazy, and driving isn’t an option since he lost that privilege years ago after one too many DUIs. Alcohol is his kryptonite. It’s the reason he lost his home, his job, his wife, and I believe firmly that it’s what drove him to discipline Chloe and me with an iron fist.

  Discipline is probably too soft a word for the things he did to us. I learned early on that his hatred for Chloe was stronger than his dislike for me. Maybe it’s because she looks like our mother—the woman who walked out, leaving him to care for two kids he didn’t even want.

  I was twelve when she left. Chloe was only seven. That night was the first time I threw myself between the metal end of my dad’s belt and my little sister. I couldn’t stop the beatings—they were coming whether we liked it or not. But I would do anything to keep Chloe safe, even if it meant taking the brunt of our father’s drunken rages—rages I’m not even sure he remembers.

  On my sixteenth birthday, I got the courage to fight back. Dad was drunk, so it wasn’t hard to overpower him. A right hook to the jaw sent him to the ground, and he was just as stunned as I was. I braced myself for his attack, but it never came.

  “About damn time you fight back, boy. At least I know I didn’t raise no pussy,” he said before stumbling off to bed.

  Aside from a slap to the face here or there, he never raised a fist to either of us again. The physical scars of our childhood have faded over time, but the emotional ones never go away.

  His anger has waned in his old age. Maybe it’s because he knows without Chloe and me he’d be a starving, homeless, lonely old man. Or maybe he’s seeing things a bit clearer with the beer goggles off and a death certificate just waiting to be signed.

  Stopping at the door, I take a deep, fortifying breath and glance at my watch.

  Twenty minutes. In and out.

  I knock twice and open the door. Every light in the house is on, the TV is blaring, and Dad is in his normal spot on the end of the couch. Head tipped back, mouth open, he’s snoozing away. I grab the remote to turn the volume down and walk into the kitchen, wondering if I can get the groceries unloaded and slip out before he wakes up.

  Hoisting the bags onto the counter, I unpack them, tucking everything in its rightful spot, knowing he’ll rearrange it as soon as I leave. I’m restocking the lazy Susan when a can of green beans slips from my hand and smacks the linoleum floor.

  Dad startles awake, wipes the drool from his cheek with his arm, and glares at me from across the room.

  “What the hell did I tell you about sneaking up on me like that? Doesn’t anyone know how to knock? You’re just as bad as your sister. Where the hell is she anyway? Haven’t seen her in days.”

  This is how dad talks. Bitch, bitch, bitch with a question or two thrown in there that he doesn’t give you a chance to answer, followed by… Wait for it…wait for it…

  “You deaf, boy? Answer me.”

  “I wasn’t sneaking up on you. You were sleeping, and I didn’t want to wake you. Yes, I know how to knock, but what’s the use? You’re too lazy to get up and answer the door. And Chloe is busy with school, which is probably why you haven’t seen her in a few days. Although, it could also be because you’re mean. You make it hard for anyone to want to come see you.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  I give him a look. “You know what that means. You’re angry, demanding, and rude. We do everything for you—pay your bills, buy your groceries, maintain the house and lawn, make sure you’ve got everything you could possibly need even though you don’t deserve it, and not once have you said thank you. Would it kill you to show a little gratitude?”

  “I wouldn’t be so damn crabby if you’d buy me a bottle of Jack.” He nods toward the groceries on the counter. “Don’t suppose you stopped by the liquor store on your way here, did ya?”

  Did he even hear a word I said? “No, I didn’t stop by liquor store. Why would I do that when you’ve been sober for a month?”

  “Six weeks,” he mumbles.

  “What was that?
”

  “Six weeks,” he yells. “It’s been six damn weeks. Worst six weeks of my pathetic life.”

  I glance at my watch. Ten more minutes. In and out. And while I’m at it, I grab my phone. Still nothing from Adley. Dammit. I’m giving her twenty more minutes, and then I’m calling her.

  “Just remember what Dr. Pollard said.” I tuck my phone back in my pocket.

  Dad grunts, waves me off, and grabs the remote. He turns the volume up, making it impossible to carry on a conversation, which is fine with me.

  Four years ago, dad had a little scare. He ended up in the hospital, and Dr. Pollard gave him a grave warning: “It’s alcohol, or your life. Pick one.”

  He’s gone through rehab, attended countless AA meetings, and I’ve watched him pour bottles of liquor down the drain. But it never lasts, and there’s no reason to believe it will this time either.

  Like every other time he’s quit, I’ve offered to get him help or find him some form of support, but he’s flat-out refused. I have no idea what spurred the change in him this time, and quite frankly, I don’t care.

  He’ll either stay sober and enjoy what’s left of his life, or he’ll fall off the wagon and drink himself into an early grave, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

  Tucking away the cereal, I shut the cabinet door and grab the dirty rag off the counter, along with a string of clothes littered throughout the house.

  Dad’s eyes track me across the living room. “I don’t need you to clean up after me.”

  Lucky for him, I’m still riding the high of having Adley in my bed, and I’m in no mood to argue, so I don’t respond. I continue to the back of the house, toss the dirty laundry into the washer, pour in detergent, and press start.

  Looking at my watch, I smile. Time’s up.

  “I’m out,” I say, striding through the living room. “Don’t forget the fabric softener. Call if you need anything.”

  Dad grunts the way he normally does. I’m halfway out the door when he switches up our routine and calls out to me.

  “Linc?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  It isn’t an easy thank you. His face is pinched as if it physically pains him to say those two words, and there’s a bite to his voice.

  I frown. “For what?”

  He shrugs, but doesn’t make eye contact. “Everything, I guess.”

  “You guess,” I mutter, running a hand over my jaw. “Dad, don’t say thank you if you don’t mean it. And don’t say it because you think it’s what I want to hear. I don’t expect a damn thing from you.”

  “Then why the hell do you keep coming back?”

  “Because I want to be better than you,” I shout. “I’m trying to be a better person. I’m trying to be better and do better than you and Mom ever did. And maybe…maybe I’m trying to prove Mom wrong.”

  Bile rushes up my throat as I remember my mom’s parting words. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, Linc. You’ll either be a drunk deadbeat like your father or a whore like me. God bless whatever woman ends up with you.”

  Dad’s eyes dart to mine. His face turns beet red, and I see a familiar tick in his jaw. “Get the hell out of my house, boy.”

  “Gladly.”

  I shut the door between my past and present and curl my hands into tight fists on the front porch. I’m wound tight and ready to brawl, and since Adley’s pussy isn’t readily available for me to relieve some tension, I drive to the only other place that brings me peace.

  3

  Lincoln

  The Barn is exactly that, an oversized, red barn on the outskirts of town. Equipped with a full gym, sparring ring, and bull simulator, The Barn is the go-to place for local bull riders—both professional and wannabe—which also makes it a cesspool of assholes from all walks of life.

  Owned by bull-rider-turned-professional-trainer Roy MacElroy, The Barn has been my home away from home for as long as I can remember. When I was young and angry at the world, Roy gave me an outlet. He helped me channel my emotions into something worth fighting for.

  Myself.

  He taught me that strength isn’t about size by introducing me to my first bull.

  Lucy was fifteen hundred pounds of wild muscle. The first time I got the nerve to climb on her back, she tossed me around like a rag doll. I only stayed on for two seconds, but it was long enough for me to fall in love with the sport.

  Bull riding is a combination of reaction, reflex, coordination, flexibility, and core strength. Through weight training, cardio, and stretching, Roy taught me how to use my scrawny frame to my advantage—although at six-foot-one, one hundred and ninety-five pounds, no one today would dare call me puny.

  With Roy’s guidance and training, and a heavy dose of determination, I made it to the PBR, where I met Adley’s brother, Rhett. He climbed to the top of the ranks, going so far as to win three world championships before getting back together with his high school sweetheart and deciding the life of a professional bull rider wasn’t for him.

  While he was closing out his final season, I was being booted out of the PBR lineup, and without the backing of some giant sponsors, there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

  Now, instead of competing against the new wave of arrogant young pricks, I’m helping train them. I shouldn’t complain. It’s a job, and right now I need all the money I can get.

  So anyway, while I’m here to blow off steam, I’m also here to work.

  I enter The Barn through the back door, rather than the front, a perk of being like a son to the owner.

  Roy is standing at the back of the locker room, restocking the shelf with clean towels. “Hey.”

  I nod in his direction. “Is Hunter here yet?”

  “Yup. He’s out there waiting on ya.”

  “Good. I hope he’s ready to get his ass handed to him.”

  Hunter Bradley is one of those pricks I’ve been training. He’s cocky, rich, and insanely talented.

  Flinging a towel over his shoulder, Roy looks at me. “You just came from your father’s house, didn’t ya?” he asks, walking across the room.

  “How can you tell?”

  “You always have this wild look in your eye after you leave his place. I take it the visit didn’t go well.”

  “Does it ever?”

  Roy frowns and pats my back. “You’re a good son, Linc. A much better one than he deserves.”

  “Tell him that.”

  “My guess is he already knows; he’s just too stubborn to swallow his pride and admit to it. Oh, your sister is here. She’s at the front desk waiting to talk to ya.”

  “What’s Chloe doing here?”

  “Don’t know. Didn’t ask. But she’s been out there about twenty minutes or so. I reckon you better get out there before she leaves.”

  I toss my gym bag onto the bench and walk across the muggy room. Roy stops me before I make it to the door.

  “She looks happy. Happier than I’ve ever seen her. Said she has one more final and she’ll be done with school.” I nod, and he continues. “You should be proud.”

  “I am, but Chloe did all the work.”

  Chloe worked hard for her teaching degree. It took a little longer than expected because money was tight, but we got her there.

  “Nah.” He looks down and shakes his head before bringing his eyes back to mine. “She might’ve put in the work, but you made it possible.”

  “Yeah, illegally.” I laugh, although it isn’t at all funny.

  At the beginning of Chloe’s senior year of high school, I asked her what she wanted to do with her life. Her answer pissed me off.

  “What life?” she’d said. “Dad can’t afford to put me through school. I’ll probably end up knocked up and cleaning hotel rooms like Mom.”

  I told her to try again, to imagine what she’d like to do if she had the money for college.

  She shrugged her shoulders and looked off in the distance. “A teacher. I’v
e always wanted to be a teacher. But it’s just a dream, Linc.”

  It was a dream I was determined to make come true.

  That was the year fellow bull rider Carlos Romero introduced me to the world of illegal, unsanctioned bull riding. Turns out rich men like to gamble on the lives of men like me, men crazy enough or desperate enough to mount a pissed-off bull in a run-down barn in the middle of a forgotten field.

  I made enough money at the first ride to pay for Chloe’s first semester of college, and I kept showing up until I had enough to get her through the first two years.

  When Roy found out what I was doing, he was pissed. It took a forceful slap upside the head for me to realize illegal bull riding wasn’t the answer to my problems, even though it sure did help ease the burden. Truth be told, I was risking my career and my freedom.

  Now that my career is shot, it’s an option if times get tough.

  Roy clears his throat. “Rose and I were talkin’, and we’d like to throw Chloe a little party. Nothing fancy, just something here at the gym. A few close friends and some cake. Somethin’ to celebrate her graduation.”

  “She’d like that. Let me know what you decide, and I’ll help out however I can.”

  “This one’s on me. All you have to do is show up.”

  Roy smiles and walks out of the locker room. I follow close behind. I don’t immediately see Chloe, so I walk toward the front door, hoping she didn’t already leave.

  “Hey, Linc.”

  I look over and smile at Rose. She’s sitting at the reception desk with a pencil tucked behind her ear and spreadsheets scattered on the desk. Roy has two girls, and they couldn’t be more different. Violet is five years older than Rose, and she’s the free spirit of the family. She hightailed it out of town the second she turned eighteen, determined to conquer the world. But not Rose. Rose is a homebody. All she wants is to settle down in the town where she grew up and be close to her dad.

  “Hey, Rose. Did Chloe leave?”