A Seductive Melody (The Kelly Brothers Book 5) (16 page)

It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, but she seemed to pull herself together. Her breathing slowed, and some of the color returned to her cheeks.

He stood in front of her and leaned against the wall. “Funny. Claire said the same thing.”

He waited for her to expound on the encounter, but all she did was crack open one wary eye.

“So, what’s the story?” he asked, determined to get to the bottom of the situation.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit, Becca. I watched you all night long, and something about that woman made you lose your cool.”

“Just drop it, okay?”

“No, I’m not going to let up until you at least tell me who she is.”

She let out another heavy sigh, this one full of exasperation, and opened both eyes. She continued to look up at the ceiling while her body squirmed and the toe of her shoe tapped against the floor. “Claire is my stepmother.”

“What’s your problem with her?”

“Nothing at all. I like her. She’s the only mom I’ve ever known, and she’s probably the kindest person you’ll ever meet.”

“Then why did you run away from her?”

The tapping of her toe quickened, and Becca bit her bottom lip. “It wasn’t her I was running away from. It was my father.”

A protective urge rose inside him so quickly, he forgot to breathe. His vision clouded with red vengeance. What had that asshole done to her to make her this terrified? “Why?”

She pushed off the wall, still avoiding his gaze. “Listen, Ethan, it’s complicated, and I don’t want to drag you into it.”

“Too late.” He corralled her back against the wall, his arms fencing her in. “I’m your boyfriend, remember? I’m already involved.”

She finally looked at him, and the tension in her face softened into affection. “I know, Ethan, but—”

“No buts.” He tilted her chin up. “Now, what happened between you and your father?”

She chewed her bottom lip and tried to turn away, but every time she did, he guided her attention back to him. After a minute of trying to avoid his question, she said in a quiet voice, “I avoid my father because he’s my trigger.”

The air whooshed out of his lungs, and the angry rigidity in his arms slackened. “Are you planning on taking a hit?”

Her face drew up in disgust. “Absolutely not! I’ve been clean for too long to relapse just from something like this.”

“Then tell me why he’s your trigger.”

She opened her mouth, everything in her body screaming in protest, but he stopped her by placing his index finger on her lips. “You helped me when I was in a bad place. Now it’s my turn.”

That brief glimpse of gratitude bloomed in her eyes, and he knew he’d done the right thing pressing the issue.

She took a deep breath, her toe still tapping its rapid beat, and then grew still as she exhaled. “My mother was a heroin addict, too. She overdosed when I was a baby, so I have no memory of her. But my father did. And it became apparent at a very early age that I was just like her.”

Becca played with one of the tiny beads on her skirt as she continued. “My father thought that if he controlled everything, if he kept me on the straight and narrow, I wouldn’t end up like my mother. What started out as a gesture of concern became smothering. If I walked in a minute past my ridiculously early curfew, I was punished. If I made a B instead of an A, I never heard the end of it. If I had a hair out of place or gained a couple of pounds, I was lectured on how my appearance reflected negatively on the family. By the time I got to my teen years, I lived in constant fear of him finding some fault in me. And he always found something wrong.

“My relief came through a skiing accident. I broke my ankle and got Percocet for the first time. And oh my god, what an epiphany it was. When I was on the meds, I didn’t care about anything. I could be in my father’s company and not suffer the gut-wrenching panic that I’d do something wrong. It was the release I’d been searching for, and for once in my life, I felt peace.”

Ethan’s heart squeezed a little tighter as he listened, knowing all too well what she was talking about.

“I went through the first bottle, then the second, then the third. My ankle healed, but the craving never went away. I started raiding my parents’ and grandparents’ medicine cabinets for more. I faked a back injury. I found contacts at school who could supply me with more Percocet. But when the cost got too high, I was introduced to the cheaper fix from heroin.”

She gave a rueful laugh. “I’d been using for well over a year before Claire noticed the track marks. Daddy had a shit fit when he found out and forced me into rehab, but we both know what happened next.”

He recalled her story of how she almost died before going clean for good.

“The night I overdosed, I was at a charity event like this with my parents. My father criticized my dress for being too revealing, so I retreated to the bathroom and shot up so I could make it through the rest of the evening.” She drew in another deep breath. “The rest is history.”

Part of Ethan physically ached for her. He’d always wondered why someone as privileged as Becca would turn to drugs, but he’d just assumed it had been out of boredom or to fit in with her fellow partiers. “So that’s why you avoid him?”

She nodded and stared at the toes of her now-still shoes. “I realized during my second stint in rehab that I’d be better off not dealing with the constant pressure he put on me, so I cut myself off from him. I have lunch with Claire once in a while, and I talk to my younger brother, Jacob, at least once a week, but I haven’t spoken to my father in almost two years.”

He couldn’t imagine cutting himself off from his family. Yes, his old man had given him a hard time growing up, but he’d also encouraged Ethan’s love of music and stood behind his decision to forgo college and hit the road with the band. And as much as his mother and brothers annoyed him with their constant need to check on him, he knew it was because they cared. He was thankful to have a large family that gave a damn about him.

Now he just had to help Becca realize her family did, too.

“So what’s this about Thanksgiving?” he asked.

“Jacob called a couple of weeks ago and asked me to join the family at our cabin in the Catskills for Thanksgiving. I tried to tell him no, but he wouldn’t back down until I at least said I’d think about it.”

“Sounds like both he and Claire would like for you to be part of the family again.”

“Yeah, but look what a mess I became when I saw my father across the room. Now imagine what would happen if I was sitting at the table with him for an hour or more.”

He cradled her hand in his own and kissed her knuckles before pressing it against the spot in his chest where his heart beat. “I’ll be there with you.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “Really, you don’t have to do that. My family is fucked up, and I’m sure you’d much rather spend Thanksgiving with yours.”

“They’ll understand.” He closed the space between them until their foreheads touched. “Please, Bec, let me help you the way you helped me. I’m not suggesting you have dinner with your father every Friday night, but I think we can get through Thanksgiving dinner together.”

Her eyes glistened with tears, but she managed to blink them back before they fell. She squeezed his hand in return. “Okay, then. Together.”

“Good.” He took a step back and looped her arm through his. “Why don’t we tell Claire she’ll need to set the table for two more guests?”

Becca shook her head and gave him the first smile he’d seen since she’d bumped into her stepmother. “Oh, no. Not tonight. I’ll text her tomorrow. Right now, I just want to forget about my father and enjoy the rest of the evening with you.”

“I can live with that.” They went downstairs and joined Ari at a table, not bringing it up again for the rest of dinner.

Chapter Twelve

“I’m going to be sick.”

“My driving isn’t that horrible,” Ethan teased as he drove the rented Mercedes G-class SUV along the snow-covered country road.

She only wished she could blame it on being in a car for the last two hours. The closer they got to her father’s cabin, the tighter the knots in her stomach squeezed. In a couple of miles, she’d be ready to hurl.

As though he knew what she was worried about, he reached over and wrapped his hand around hers. “It’ll be okay, Becca. We can get through this.”

Not her.
We
. For some strange reason, he was in this for the long haul, and her heart did a little flop. Every other guy she’d dated had been so terrified of her father, they’d take off at the first sign of his presence. But Ethan had not only agreed to come to the Catskills for Thanksgiving dinner, but for the whole weekend. She just hoped that he wouldn’t come to his senses halfway through and say, “Forget this.”

“Let’s find something to distract you,” he suggested.

Yeah, something besides how good it would feel to shoot up and block out this whole weekend.

“Um, how did your last recording session go?”

“Really well.” He grinned, his eyes never leaving the road. The snow fell heavier as the SUV wound up the mountainside.

“Care to expand on that?”

“I played with some new riffs, and it added a whole new level to the song.”

They hit a patch of ice under the snow, and the rear end of the SUV fishtailed. Becca gripped the door handle and clamped her jaw shut, so scared that if she opened her mouth, she’d puke. When her pulse returned to normal, she asked, “How so?”

“It created more depth.” He slowed the car down as the incline grew steeper. “It’s strange doing this solo album. On one hand, I still miss collaborating with Ty and the other guys, but on the other hand, it’s so freeing. I’m finally getting to make music I like, to record the songs that speak to me.”

“Any chance I can hear a demo soon?”

He shook his head, just as he had every other time she’d asked. “Not until it’s ready.”

“And when will that be? When you launch it on iTunes?”

He laughed. “No, Bec, I’ll let you hear it before then. I’m just still trying to sound it out, if you know what I mean. Sort of like how you don’t let your editor see your rough notes for a story. You wait until you think it’s polished before turning it in. I feel the same way about my music.”

The GPS dinged, and he slowed down to a crawl. “Is this where I turn?”

She nodded, the queasiness reviving tenfold.

The car passed the metal gates that marked the beginning of her family’s property and inched up the narrow lane through firs that bowed down under the weight of the snow. She’d almost talked Ethan out of going this morning when the weather report called for a winter storm in the Catskills, but he’d shrugged it off by telling her he grew up in Chicago and could handle the snow. The trees cleared to reveal the sprawling Arts and Crafts style home surrounded by three smaller bungalows.

Ethan let out a low whistle. “I thought you said it was a cabin. Unless, of course, you were referring to one of those smaller ones there.”

She gave him a playful shove and found herself chuckling. “You should see the beach house in the Hamptons.”

“I have no room to talk. You should see my family’s ‘cabin’ on Geneva Lake. It had to accommodate all nine of us growing up.”

“This was actually one of my great-grandfather’s first hotels. When the area fell out of fashion in the seventies, we turned it into a vacation home.”

Ethan parked the SUV behind the other cars and turned to her. “Ready?”

“No,” she whimpered. She doubted she’d ever be ready to deal with her father.

“Come on, Bec, you’re strong enough to get through this. I’ll be on my best behavior and charm the socks off them.”

She wished she could agree with him. She wasn’t sure which one of them her father would attack first. At least Ethan had toned the rocker look down for the weekend. The cream-colored fisherman’s sweater he wore looked like something from an L.L. Bean catalog—perfect for a rustic weekend in the mountains. It covered his tattoos, and even though he hadn’t shaved this morning, his stubble appeared neatly groomed.

But he wore his favorite boots, much to her delight. She was grateful he was willing to fit in with her preppy family, but still retain part of himself.

She gathered her courage along with her weekend bag and nodded. “Let’s go.”

The warm scents of roasted turkey and maple-glazed sweet potatoes greeted her when she opened the front door. She breathed it in and focused on how tasty the meal would be instead of how torturous. “Hello?”

Mrs. Cordero, her parents’ housekeeper, appeared in the foyer with outstretched arms. “Rebecca, you made it.” She pulled her into a vicious hug that expelled the air from her lungs. “How are you,
mai
?”

Becca unraveled her scarf while she caught her breath. “Good, and you?”

“I can’t complain.” She took Becca’s coat and turned to Ethan. “And who is this?
¡Estás bueno!”

Ethan grinned at the middle-aged Puerto Rican woman batting her eyelashes at him and flirted right back. “You first,
bonita
.”