Carter Kids: Thorn Part 19

I believed him.

And I left him there to deal with it alone.

"Babe, come on. Calm down," Sean coaxed as he walked us both into his apartment and set me on the couch.

Dragging the throw off the back of the couch, Sean wrapped it around my shoulders before heading into the kitchen only to return with a ma.s.sive bar of chocolate in his hands.

"You know, I don't think I've ever seen you cry," Sean mused, when my cries had turned to sniffling. Sinking down on the couch beside me, he pulled me onto his lap. "What happened?"

"Noah happened," I whispered, clenching my eyes shut and burying my head in his chest. My mind flashed back to the scene I'd caused at the gym and a wailing noise tore through me. I was so ashamed. "I've screwed everything up, Sean."

"Noah?" Sean asked, confused, waiting for me to fill in the blanks.

"Messina," I muttered, forgetting that Sean didn't know the ins and outs of my tempestuous relations.h.i.+p with my ex.

His brows rose in surprise and he leaned back to look at my face. "As in the fighter?"

"As in my ex," I admitted sheepishly.

His lips curled into a perfectly O as he gaped at me, unblinking. "Well I wasn't expecting that," he breathed, eyes burning with curiosity. "You mentioned you had an ex from America, but I didn't realize you were talking about The Machine."

"He wasn't the machine when I knew him," I whispered sadly. "He was just...Noah."

Resting my head on his chest, I found myself confiding in Sean; filling him in on every dirty detail of my life starting from the night I watched my mother take her final breath in that car, to Liam breaking up with me when Uncle Max relocated us to Colorado.

I laid everything out there about my time at Thirteenth Street; the good, the bad, and the downright awful parts that made me look like a lunatic.

I told him about how I wrecked Noah's car with the paint, the night that had sparked this crazed obsession, and every other moment that had followed.

The nights I spent at the Ring of Fire, watching Noah take on men twice his age.

I told him about Noah saving me from Gonzalez, and the numerous occasions he had protected me from George and JD Dennis, taking beatings to be with me.

My face heated when I told him about the night in the elevator.

I broke down when I explained about the night Max disowned me.

I disclosed every slither of crucial information that had led me to this moment, every single event in my life that had brought me to this point, grateful to get it off my chest, and Sean listened intently, never judging, never interrupting.

"And then he broke my door down so I slept with him before throwing him out," I heard myself say and cringed. "But then I got mad because he left so I went to Frankie's and caused a huge scene." Groaning, I added, "I slapped him and he tried to drown me...and now I'm here."

Sean let out a whistle. "And all of this happened in the s.p.a.ce of twenty-four hours?"

"What can I say," I mumbled, cheeks burning. "We had a lot to catch up on."

Jumping to his feet, Sean went into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a pair of gla.s.ses in one hand and two bottles, one with vodka and the other with c.o.ke, stuffed under his arm.

"When I first saw you at my door, I thought chocolate and a Friends marathon would be enough to cheer you up." Setting the gla.s.ses and bottles down on the coffee table in front of us, he leaned over and pressed a kiss to the top of my head before pouring our drinks. "But now I'm thinking we need vodka to deal with this s.h.i.+t storm."

"Why do you have to be gay, Sean?" I asked with a sigh, taking the gla.s.s he was holding out for me. "It's not fair," I grumbled, taking a sip of my vodka and c.o.ke. "You're the perfect man."

Sean chuckled. "You have no idea how many women at the salon ask me that question." Settling down beside me, he clunked his gla.s.s against mine and sighed.

"Do you think I'm crazy?" Sitting cross-legged on the couch, I plucked at a loose thread off the cus.h.i.+on on my lap and said, "to be this...devastated over a man I dated for two months in high-school?"

"Officially two months," he corrected, pointing his finger in the air. "Unofficially a h.e.l.l of a lot longer and deeper than that."

"What if he can't get past it?" I squeezed out. "I've been going over and over it, and if I were in his shoes, I don't think I could." Covering my face with my hands, I stifled a groan. "And just say that he can forgive me. What if it's different now?" I whispered. "What if that f.u.c.ked up, bloodl.u.s.t chemistry between us fizzles out?"

"If you don't try, you're going to spend the rest of your life wondering and regretting," he told me.

I knew he was right, but I was terrified.

I never wanted to feel the pain of having my heart broken by Noah Messina again, intentionally or not. I wasn't sure I would survive that kind of aching twice in my lifetime.

"I'm nothing out of the ordinary, Sean," I admitted. "And Noah? He lives in different world to us. Supermodels drop their knickers for him like they're giving him his five fruits a day. There's no way I can compete with that."

"You don't have to compete with anyone, Teagan. That's what you don't seem to get," he said. "That man flew halfway across the world and landed on your doorstep." Shaking his head, he sighed impatiently. "That doesn't say end of the line to me."

"It doesn't?"

"No, Teagan, it doesn't," he shot back with an irritated tone. "It says the man is driven by desperation, devotion and love." Slapping his hand down on my thigh, Sean squeezed and said, "he's here. He's hot and he's f.u.c.king yours. So what are you going to do about it?"

I SPENT ALL DAY FRIDAY curled up in a ball on my bed ignoring phone calls from Liam and avoiding contact with the outside world, basically too ashamed to lift my head off my tear soaked pillow. I didn't eat breakfast or lunch. I didn't have the appet.i.te. Noah's voice remained in my mind; his face the fore point of my every waking thought all day long and I couldn't stop tormenting myself with the ugly truth.

Noah had done serious time in prison.

Because of me.

He broke his f.u.c.king bail.

Because of me.

Max had pressed charges on him.

Because of me.

He was at the quarry that night.

Because of me.

He gave up his own freedom to keep me safe.

Kyle Carter had been right all along. I hated the way that man was always freaking right. It was so infuriating. I should have listened to him. I should have listened to my heart and not my stupid pride. Look where pride had gotten me. Seven years of bitterness and regrets.

"I wanted to prove a point. I wanted to see if I could still get you on your back with your legs spread open, and it turns out I can. You were an itch I needed to scratch Teagan. That's all."

Pride and stubbornness kept me from running back to him from throwing myself at his feet and begging for forgiveness. The hurt in his eyes haunted me. I saw it in those brown depths. I saw the pain I had caused when I questioned him. I also saw the truth.

To be honest I couldn't understand why he had given me the time of day, let alone taken all my c.r.a.p when I had let him down in the worst possible way. I was emotionally drained and feeling sorry for myself, and no amount of chocolate and alcohol stemmed the pain.

By Sat.u.r.day afternoon the depression had well and truly set in and so had the hunger. I made a pot noodle in the microwave and I ate it half raw, not bothering to cook it any longer. I didn't deserve fully cooked meals anyway. When I finished my crunchy pot noodle I did something I hadn't done in years.

Taking my guitar out of its case, I settled the strap on my shoulder and grabbed a pick. I hadn't played since I was eighteen, I couldn't bear to; but the moment my fingers touched the strings, I realized it was like riding a bike.

Allowing my fingers to glide over the strings, I closed my eyes and sang my own acoustic version of Johnny Cash's Ring of Fire, finger picking my way through the instrumentals, falling into the sweet melody.

Feeling every note right down in my core, meaning every lyric that spilled from my lips, I belted out the chorus at the top of my lungs, releasing with it all the unspoken words festering inside of me.

"...I fell into a burning ring of fire..."

My front door flew inwards and I fell off the couch, mid song, taking the hit to my body in my bid to protect my guitar. "Jesus Christ," I hissed as I lay on the flat of my back gaping up at Sean who was standing in the doorway of my apartment. "How'd you get in?"

"It was unlocked, babe," Sean announced cheerfully as he sauntered into my apartment with a bunch of beauty products in his arms. Dropping what he was carrying on the kitchen countertop, he made his way over to me. "Nice voice by the way," he added, taking my guitar from me and setting it back in its case. "I didn't know you played."

Climbing to my feet, I rubbed my hip that was stinging from breaking my fall. "I used to play," I muttered, confused. "I was sure I locked that door." In fact I was certain. Hope and I had many arguments over the years because I was so, and I quote, 'a.n.a.l' about keeping the apartment secured. In my defense, Hope had never been kidnapped out of her sleep by a tattooed muscle head, or chased down by the mob. I reckoned my habits were well justified, which was why I was so surprised at myself for leaving the door unlocked last night.

"Stop delaying," Sean said, shoving me down the hallway and into the bathroom. "Get your a.s.s in that shower," he ordered, flicking it on. "I'll find something for you to wear."

"What...Hey stop," I hissed, slapping his hands away when he tried to forcibly remove my t-s.h.i.+rt. "What are you doing, you Perv?"

"Teagan," Sean shot back, rolling his eyes. "Trust me when I say that you have nothing I want to see. No offense."

"None taken," I grumbled, slapping his hand away when he moved for my s.h.i.+rt again. Forcing Sean to turn around, I stripped quickly and climbed into the tub before pulling the curtain around me. "So tell me why you've barged into my apartment and manhandled me into the shower?"

"I'm staging an intervention," I heard him call out, and then the sound of drawers clanging open and shut filled the air. "No way in h.e.l.l am I allowing you to wallow in your own self-pity for another night."

"Sean?" I asked nervously, when the sound of a hairdryer roared to life. "What are you doing out there?"

"We are going to Stephanie's birthday bash with our friends," he informed me. "And you are going to be the best dressed female there."

"No, I'm not," I groaned, leaning my head back, letting the water wash over me. "I can't "

"You're coming out with me, Teagan," Sean said in a warning tone. "If I have to drag you there kicking and screaming." Seconds later, a razor was thrust around the shower curtain and into my hand. "Shave," he ordered. "Everything."

LESS THAN TWO HOURS LATER, I was hairless and had been poked and prodded in more places than I cared to remember. Thanks to my flamboyant friend, I was feeling tipsy from our pre-pub drinks and coated in a fresh layer of fake tan and dolled up more than I'd ever been in my life. Sean had insisted on curling my hair so that it was flowing loosely down my back, with little sprigs of glitter and tiny clear colored jewels in it. He had completed my look with smoky eyes and clear glossy lips.

"Well, you are a miracle worker," I conceded as I admired myself in the full-length mirror in the bathroom. Dressed in a short white dress with sky-high beige wedges and a matching beige blazer, I had to admit Sean had mad skills in the style department. "Jesus," I breathed in amazement, cupping my tiny b.r.e.a.s.t.s that looked amazing with the bold plunging neckline of the dress. "I actually look like I have more than fried eggs."

Sean threw his head back and laughed. "Your b.r.e.a.s.t.s aren't small," he a.s.sured me as he clamped his hands down on my shoulders and led me back into the kitchen. "They're perky," he offered, smothering his laugh with his gla.s.s of vodka and c.o.ke. "Men like perky."

"They do?" I c.o.c.ked one finely shaped brow and grabbed my gla.s.s off the counter before taking a sip. "Name one man who'd take small and perky over big and bouncy?"

"Oh I don't know," Sean teased. "Perhaps a particularly fine-a.s.sed fighter kind of man?"

"Don't," I whispered, cringing at the thought. Dropping my head, I felt what small semblance of excitement I had built up disintegrate. "I f.u.c.ked everything up," I whispered, feeling more disappointed in myself than I had felt before. "He hates me."

"Babe, I am no where near close to being drunk enough for round two of that conversation," Sean announced, draining the last drop of his vodka and c.o.ke and setting the empty gla.s.s down. "So just put him on the back burner for tonight," he added before grabbing his jacket and shrugging it on and heading for the door. "Tomorrow you can go right back to moping around in your pajamas."

As I trailed after Sean, a long, thinly shaped box on top of the counter caught my eye. "Hang on," I called out, making a beeline for the box. "What's this?" I hadn't noticed the box being there earlier, but then again, Sean had dumped so much on the counter it made it sort of impossible.

"Oh yeah, I found that outside your door when I got here," Sean replied, walking back to me. "I forgot to mention it." Shrugging, he added, "Well hurry up and open it."

Lifting the lid of the box, my eyes widened when I saw the lone red rose inside, with a single thorn on its stem. Resting beside it was a small white card.

"It's from Noah," I whispered, biting down on my lip, cheeks burning. Only Noah would send me a rose that resembled the tattoo he bore on his side. Excitement fluttered inside of me as I picked up the card and read the inscription.

I'm coming.

"I'm coming?" Sean, who was looking over my shoulder, asked. "Wow, that's...romantic?"

"What do you think he means?" I asked quietly as I lifted the rose out of the box and cradled it to my chest.

I knew I looked like an idiot, standing in my kitchen clutching a jagged edged rose like it was my lifeline, but to me it was a lifeline. This stupid flower was giving me hope and I couldn't stop grinning like an idiot.

"It's beautiful, Teegs," Sean placated as he took my rose and placed it back in its box. "But I didn't spend the last two hours slaving away so that we could a.n.a.lyze a f.u.c.king flower." Grabbing my keys and purse, Sean thrust them into my hands before shoving us both out the door of the apartment.

"What do you think he meant by that?" I asked, struggling to maintain balance in my skysc.r.a.per wedges as Sean half dragged me down the stairwell.

"Maybe it's a sign," Sean replied when we got outside. Waggling his eyebrows, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and chuckled. "His way of telling you it's only a matter of time before he rocks your world again."

I wasn't sure, but I had a definite bounce in my step for the rest of the evening.

I SPENT THE NEXT TWO DAYS training like a G.o.dd.a.m.n animal and punching my way through my problems, fighting my frustrations away. By the time Sat.u.r.day evening rolled in, all I wanted to do was find Teagan and try and work through this s.h.i.+t bomb of a relations.h.i.+p we had created. Enough time had pa.s.sed by for us both to cool down, and now it was time to work this s.h.i.+t out. But apparently I didn't have a say in my plans for the night because Nick Leversteen, the CEO of the MFA had flown in to Cork and was on his way to speak with me in person.

He was due to arrive any minute and I was dressed like a f.u.c.king idiot to welcome him. Honest to G.o.d, I felt like I was being pimped out here.

"Why am I dressed like this?" I growled, glaring at my coach who was responsible for my attire. Pulling roughly at the tie I had on, I loosened it before rolling up the sleeves of my black s.h.i.+rt. I wasn't a suit man. I was too big and they were always too f.u.c.king tight. My arms were constricted in the fabric of my s.h.i.+rt, and my thighs were bulging against the material of my black suit pants as I paced the floor of my suite. I was an ex-con, illegal fighter turned professional fighter not a f.u.c.king businessman.

"Do you know what this means for your career?" Quincy declared for the fourth f.u.c.king time in the s.p.a.ce of an hour and I had to resist the urge to strangle him. "Having the big man himself meet you in person?"

No, I didn't f.u.c.king know what it meant because the stupid old fool hadn't explained to me what the h.e.l.l was going on.

Lucky, who was sitting calmly on the couch sipping on a beer and smoking a cigarette, winked at me. Oddly enough, his calm disposition was having a soothing effect on me and I sank down next to him. Patting my thigh, he pa.s.sed me his cigarette and I took it gratefully, inhaling a deep drag.

"None of that s.h.i.+t now, ya hear?" Quincy warned me, swiping the cigarette from my hand and stubbing it out with his thumb and forefinger. "Keep those toxins away from my boy, Lippy," he growled, glaring at my ex cellmate. "He's conditioning right now so keep your degenerate antics to yourself."

Lucky threw his head back and laughed. "Hear that, Messina?" he asked, highly amused. "General d.i.c.khead thinks I'm a bad influence on you."

A knock sounded on the door of the suite and I smothered my laugh as Quincy's expression changed from murderous to enchanted. "Be on your best d.a.m.n behavior," he told me, leaning down to rearrange my tie. "And let me do the talking. And you," he hissed, pointing at Lucky. "Keep your trap shut."

Lucky shook his head when Quincy rushed off to answer the door. "What f.u.c.king ever, man," he muttered, nudging my shoulder before taking another sip of his beer. "Just be yourself, man."

"Nick," Quincy welcomed. "Long time no see, old friend. Come on in."

Standing up, I walked over and greeted the three men standing with Quincy each one kitted out in finely tailored suits.

"Noah Messina," Nick Leversteen announced, eyes alight.