Reverse (Bittersweet Symphony Duet #2)

EIGHTEEN “Lost in You”

EIGHTEEN

“Lost in You”

Phillip LaRue

Natalie

S lumping back into my seat next to the table, Benji frowns as he reads my dread-filled expression. “I’m sensing you didn’t want me to know that?”

Technically, Stella’s not his aunt by blood, but I have zero doubt that she has been present in his life in a way blood isn’t at all relevant.

Easton’s eyes catch mine before I flit them away, jaw tightening.

“If it helps,” Benji says, “I can tick off at least a dozen things we haven’t made our parents privy to.”

Easton remains silent as I begin to fume, face burning in response, unsure of how much has already been revealed. All it took was a trip to the bathroom for him to break my confidence. Benji continues, a smile growing on his face as he pauses his gun. “So, you blackmailed my boy into a story to get dirt, huh?”

“Jesus, really, G?” Easton snaps as Benji’s eyes challenge me for an answer.

“I . . . I,” I falter as I try to decide whether to flee or attempt damage control.

“It’s okay,” Benji assures, placing two black latex-covered fingers across the outline before running the needle along the pattern on Easton’s side. I can’t even look at him for fear I’ll take Benji’s gun and start working on a different sort of art. “It’s cool, Natalie. East explained it, and believe it or not, I get it. My own parents are a shitshow.”

“Well, apparently, it was poorly explained because mine aren’t,” I snap, standing and glaring down at Easton. He stares back at me, remorse shining in his eyes. “Is this fucking funny to you?” I shake my head, not believing that he sold me out so easily. “I guess I deserve it,” I shoulder my purse, “but I assure you, your secrets are still safe with me . Have a nice fucking life.”

“Fuck, man, sorry,” Benji whispers as I stomp toward the door.

“Natalie, stop,” Easton calls as I push out of the parlor and glance around, having no idea where I am or which direction to go. Choosing right, I lift my phone and start to order a car when it’s ripped from my hands. Keeping my eyes down, I refuse to look at Easton as I go to retrieve it from his hand, his bare, heaving chest in my line of sight as he easily holds it out of reach. “Hey, hey, it’s not like that.”

“It’s exactly like that,” I snap. “You told him everything!”

“I’m sorry, okay, he’s a dumpster fire at subtlety.”

“Well, now it’s obvious where you get it.” I’m so pissed, I still can’t look at him, but I hear the shake in my voice. “If you’re intent on humiliating me as payback, you’ve done an amazing job already, and maybe I do deserve it, but game over, okay? This can’t get back to my dad, Easton, or your mom, not ever.”

“That type of shit is not in my makeup,” he snaps. “I’m not capable of manipulating a situation that way.”

“You mean not like I have? Do you even realize you just insulted me, again ?”

“That’s your guilt twisting the words into something other than I intended.” He grips my shoulders. “Look at me.”

I flick up my gaze as Easton stares down at me in earnest, a glint of the panic I felt last night reflecting back at me.

“Benji is as real as they come, and he gets shit like this—people like us—who live a little emotionally further above the surface than most.”

“That’s not me.”

“No? Maybe it wasn’t, but it seems to be now.”

I exhale as he squeezes my shoulders in prompt.

“He’s a brother to me in every sense but blood. I trust him with my life , just like I’m trusting you, fucking blindly, I might add. All I’m asking you for is the same.” He exhales harshly as I trail the goosebumps erupting across his exposed skin. Gripping the sleeve of his jacket, I go to return it, and he stops me, his voice sharp. “Don’t.”

“It’s freezing.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the jacket,” he snaps. I look up at him and see the same soft expression he’s given me glimpses of in our time together. “I’m the one you chose,” he rasps out softly. “Like it or not, for some reason, I’m the one you chose to come to, to work this out with. Benji’s a little older than me, not by much, but he might have some insight that I don’t. That’s why I told him. I’m sorry I didn’t give you the heads-up.”

“Fine. I’ll try, but do you mind telling me why you’re so moody today?”

“Do we need to hash everything out right now while I’m standing half-dressed in the fucking street?”

“No . . . sorry,” I say, screwing up my lips. “It just seems like you’re out to hurt me today.”

“Then you aren’t reading the situation correctly. Come on,” he says, his jade eyes imploring. When I remain where I am, posture tense with indecision, he cups my cheek with a gentle palm, bending so we’re eye level. “This time, I’m the asshole for blindsiding you. I’m owning it.”

“It’s not just that, but Easton,” I damn near close my eyes at the feel of his thumb whispering along my cheek, “maybe I should just go. I mean, I’m leaving tomorrow anyway.”

“You don’t want to go,” he fires back with conviction, gripping my hand and jingling it within his. “And I don’t want you to go, either.”

His admission stuns me briefly as he looks down at me the way he did last night when we nearly combusted outside the hotel. Judgment clouding and damned near seduced, I don’t argue as he turns abruptly and leads me back to the shop. We glance at each other as he opens the door, the slight lift of his lips fueling my steps inside.

“Cool,” Benji says, seeming unfazed by my outburst. Easton releases my hand and takes his place back on the table, his watchful eyes pinned on me as I sink back into the seat.

“You look like you could use a drink,” Benji says, readying his gun. “Pour yourself a beer. There’s wine in the cooler, too.”

“You’re right. You two want one?”

Benji shakes his head. “He can’t drink as he’s getting inked, and I won’t while I’m inking him. The bar is more for those waiting. We’ll take waters.”

“Got it,” I say, deciding it’s not the worst idea. Tipping the glass into the nozzle, I pour myself a Smoked Porter overhearing a little of their heated exchange, grinning at the “stupid motherfucker,” curse coming from Easton as the music changes. Beer in hand, I grab two bottles of water from the fridge before walking back over and passing them out. Benji thanks me as I place his on the counter of the station next to where he works, and hand Easton his. His eyes probe me as if to ask, ‘we okay?’ and I nod easily. His shoulders visibly relax, and the sight of it warms me further. We hold our connection as I resume my seat and tip my beer. Gun buzzing in short bursts, Benji speaks up after grabbing more ink.

“The reason I admitted my parents’ relationship is a shitshow,” Benji says without looking up, intent on his task, “is because if their history is screwing with your head, I can relate.” Stopping his gun, he scoffs and shakes his head before pressing the needles back into Easton’s skin. “Their relationship has been a thirty-year saga.”

“How so?”

He looks at me pointedly.

“Anything you say is off the record. You have my word.”

He weighs my promise, and I speak up again.

“I have a paper to inherit, and I’m not gambling it or my integrity away for any story, no matter how in demand it is.”

Benji dips his chin. “It’s not like it’s a secret anyway. They’ve been on and off my whole life. To this day, they live separately but are crazy, and I mean fucking craaazzzyyy in love, which, for them, has never really been a good thing.”

“If they’re so in love . . . why aren’t they together? Is it because of her infidelity?”

“Yeah, after Mom purposefully sabotaged their relationship because of her insecurity, Dad was never able to forgive her, but neither have ever really let each other go.”

“So, they haven’t been together since?”

“Yeah, they have, but not long term and never exclusively. I guess that’s Dad’s fucked up way of punishing her over the years, and Mom’s so stubborn that she’s never fully admitted to him that punishment has worked all too well. Dad went as far as to get engaged, even though he was still clearly in love with her. This is also the reason neither have ever married. I would love to say I came out of their drama unscathed, but it’s not the case. In fact, it’s no secret to those who know me well that I would rather shoot off my cock than get serious with anyone. That’s what I was trying to convey—”

“Fucking horribly,” Easton scolds over the buzzing gun and music.

“Fucking horribly,” Benji concedes, tossing an apologetic expression my way. “So, all due respect to tía Stella and both of

your relationship examples,” he looks between Easton and me, “I have other ideas on how to live without the weight of commitment. And I can guarantee I’m going to be the groomsman ready with the getaway car.”

Drawing on my beer, I nod.

“So, tell me what really brought you here, Natalie Butler,” Benji demands.

The sound of my last name has me tipping my beer back further, hoping it will loosen me up enough to speak as candidly. I’m not at all at ease with Benji the way I am with Easton, and it’s becoming more evident by the second.

“She likes to be the one to ask questions,” Easton interjects. Translation— it’s hard for her .

He’s dead on. I’m not all that much a ‘share my feels’ type of girl. At least I wasn’t until Easton challenged what I thought was a truth about me.

When I’ve been hurt in the past, I usually use it as fuel to better myself somehow. Incorporating the ache in a new workout routine or using it to push myself harder in my studies or work. Using my pain to better myself has always been my method to come out stronger. Only when I’m truly at my lowest do I confide my hurts to Holly or my mom. When I do that, that’s when they know I’m down for the count—at least temporarily.

From what I’ve gathered, these two seem completely comfortable sharing things that seem highly personal. Easton managed to draw my truths from me like no one ever has, peeling me back easily, layer by layer, in just a few days.

“I think I’m going to need another beer first,” I admit. “I don’t have that swinging dick honesty you two seemed to have pegged.”

Easton and Benji glance over at me with raised brows.

“Or maybe it’s already working, damn,” I grin, holding up my pint. “What is in dark beer?”

Benji chuckles. “It’s the man’s version of red wine. Women don’t talk about the difference in the buzz between a chardonnay or merlot, but it’s legit. Two glasses of red will get your blood pumping like no other and can make a hard day a little more bearable.”

“In that case,” I down the rest of the beer, and they both chuckle. I strain to see Easton’s accompanying smile and miss it because of the way he’s laying. I stand to get another beer. “Sure you don’t mind, Benji?”

“Not at all. It’s what it’s there for.”

Benji projects his voice as I draw another beer. “So, I’m guessing you figured out who I was before you came out of the bathroom?”

“Yeah,” I say, walking back toward my chair, trying really hard not to notice the bulge of Easton’s bicep as his hand cradles his head.

“I guess I’m just surprised the place isn’t crowded with groupies, but I guess that’s partly a result of your parents keeping you all out of the spotlight?”

Benji nods. “Our whole lives. When the Sergeants stopped releasing and then touring, the paparazzi started to lose interest in all of us, making it easy for me to open up shop. To most who walk in here, I’m just the hot-as-fuck blond who inks excellent tatts.”

Easton rolls his eyes, and I grin.

“Well, to credit your parents, they did their job. The only reason I pieced it together is because I crammed in as much research as possible before I got here and watched the movie.”

The bitter edge in my tone rings clear as they both glance my way.

“The movie was more about the evolution of the band and Stella’s career,” Benji explains simply.

“Yeah,” I agree curtly, and Easton doesn’t miss it, doing the prodding voodoo thing.

“Hollywood,” Benji says, dipping for more ink. “Only they could make my parents’ story seem romantic when it’s anything but.”

“But the whole of their start and their relationship took place before you were born, right?”

“True,” he agrees, seemingly unconvinced. “Which places tía and your dad’s relationship before the movie, too, right?”

I shake my head.

Understanding flits over his features. “Ah, so that’s why you’re curious.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” I admit. “So, you’ve never heard about my father or his role in Stella’s life?”

He squints as if in thought and shakes his head. “Sorry, can’t say that I have.”

“It’s okay.” I wave the apology away. “I thought as much. It just threw me for a few days, that’s all.”

Easton’s expression calls bullshit as I harden my gaze on him. “I guess it’s just the journalist in me. I’m not really a bits-and-pieces type of girl.”

“But you won’t ask your dad?”

“No, I don’t want to bring up anything from his past that might hurt him.”

“But it’s hurting you,” Benji fires back point-blank.

“It’s my own fault for prying. But it’s more the mystery of what happened that is bothering me. It’s like watching a movie halfway. Even though you know the end, you still want to see how they all got there. I blame a lot of it on the journalist in me.”

“I get it. I do.” Benji stops his gun and cracks his neck. “All right, you’re doing good, but let’s take a little break, man.”

Easton shakes his head. “I’m good.”

Benji snaps off his gloves and trashes them. “Well, I need a piss and a smoke, so sit tight.”

Easton lifts to sit as Benji looks between us. “You two hungry?”

“We’ll probably grab something after this,” Easton states, though it’s news to me. I watch as Benji makes a beeline for the back door of the shop, pulling cigarettes out as he goes. The door closes as I stare into the foamy head of my beer feeling Easton’s watchful gaze on my profile, knowing what’s coming.

“Downplaying your need for answers won’t help you get them.”

“He doesn’t know anything anyway. I told you I was going to drop it, and I will as soon as my plane wheels go up tomorrow. I was never here,” I say. “I have to let it go for my own sanity.”

“If you say so,” Easton mutters, clearly disbelieving.

“Has your mother ever mentioned my dad?”

“I thought about it last night. Growing up, the stories I paid attention to, no, but I wouldn’t expect her to talk about him if they were as serious as you say they were—”

“They were engaged , Easton,” I clarify for both our sakes, beating it into my psyche as I try to keep my gaze averted from the living, breathing temptation feet away from me. “It doesn’t get much more serious than that.”

Easton nods as he shifts on the table, clasping his hands between his knees.

“So, yeah, I don’t think Mom would mention him much. If she has, it’s probably been in the context of her old editor.”

I nod. “You could have invited Benji to dinner,” I attempt to change the subject.

“I didn’t want to,” he admits readily, and I lift my gaze to his.

“What pissed you off about the movie?”

“You really don’t miss anything, do you?” I sip my beer.

“You’re really not that great at hiding what irks you. What is it about the movie that bothers you?”

“From what I read in their emails, he helped shape her into the writer she became,” I shake my head. “She didn’t even acknowledge him in the movie. Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it was intentional because she didn’t want to hurt him. I wonder if she reached out or just decided to leave him out altogether.” I brave a look at him. “Are you even remotely curious about this?”

“I’m confident in what my parents have and know they’re in a good, solid place, but yeah, I’m growing more curious because it struck you hard enough to get you here.”

“I don’t want to project what I’m feeling on you.”

“That’s a needless worry. I don’t let others’ perceptions change my mind about anything unless I agree with it.”

“It’s that simple for you, huh?”

Silence. That’s my cue to look at him. Right now, I can’t because the beer is not only loosening my tongue, it’s making me more aware of his effect on me.

“Look at me, Natalie.”

Jesus, the way he rasps out my name. It can’t sound so good, but it does.

“Natalie,” he repeats, “look at me.”

I don’t. “It’s not just that he helped shape her as a writer . . . they seemed solid, and I think—”

“What?”

“I think Reid . . . I think your dad—”

“Broke them up?”

“Maybe he had something to do with it. To be fair though, it’s pretty clear from the emails that your mom made a choice because she and my dad broke up months before she moved to Seattle and stumbled upon your dad at that house. I’m just unsure of what broke them up in the first place. After reading in their own words how much they loved each other, it was hard to imagine that anything or anyone could come between them.”

The back door of the parlor slams shut just before Benji closes the bathroom door behind him.

“Keep talking,” Easton prompts.

“The last email between them was an apology from your mom about the headlines regarding your parents’ engagement,” I relay, blinking up at him. “As I was reading, it was like experiencing the heartbreak myself . . . after they broke up, it hurt like hell. It was so strange. It was like, as my dad’s heart was breaking, mine was too. How can two people who claimed to love each other so much just walk away from each other?”

“Natalie. The only way to know is to ask him .”

“I can’t. Trust me, I wanted to at first, but I can’t help feeling like he hid this because it’s too painful for him to talk about and he buried it so he wouldn’t have to.”

“But your parents’ marriage—”

“A rough month here and there, but . . . good,” I grip my beer and sigh, “this is ridiculous.” I toss the rest of it back as Easton eyes the glass in my hand, knowing I’m purposefully numbing. “It’s a stupid, unhealthy fixation on a past that doesn’t even belong to me. I need to shake it off and let it go—”

“But if you don’t . . .”

“I have to. My entire future—every dream I have envisioned for myself, is based around my relationship with my father, and that’s by my choice. He didn’t raise me to follow in his footsteps. My love for storytelling came naturally, and my admiration for him is what led me on this path in the first place. Now that I’m a year or two away from inheriting his legacy, losing his trust would be detrimental—not only to the future I have waiting but, most importantly, to our relationship. I want that paper, Easton, and I want my father to trust me with it. It’s my career dream.”

Easton hums his understanding, and Benji joins us as we stare off, reading the room. “You guys need another minute?”

“Yes,” Easton says.

As I answer with a firm “No.”

I widen my stare at Easton in a plea to stop as Benji snaps on new gloves before resuming the needling along Easton’s side. As Benji resumes working on him, I search his face for any sign of discomfort. “Does it hurt?”

“Not really, no. It’s like being pinched.”

“Wait until I get to your ribs, motherfucker,” Benji grins, keeping his eyes on his task.

Even as he taunts him, brotherly love is stamped in both their expressions. Loving the look of it, I soak it in until dark jade eyes flit to mine with a sadness of reality seeping in. I won’t ever see Easton again after tomorrow. My heart grows heavy at the thought of it. Somehow, in the short time I’ve known him, I’ve grown attached to our budding friendship and easy connection, and it’s becoming painstakingly evident.

It seems reciprocal— has to be , because he stopped me from leaving. He forgave me for a deception he shouldn’t have. He could have let me go last night, but he didn’t. Instead, he’s been adamant I stay with him—and in his jacket. Not only that, it seemed to pain him when I tried to take it off earlier. The woman in me shamelessly rejoices in that slight show of possession on his part. But that’s what I feel now as I stare at him, possessed by this inescapable attraction and the need to get closer to him in every imaginable way.

But this isn’t a game, and I no longer have a lack of sufficient sleep to blame for my behavior. I showed up a shell of myself, questioning everything, and he’s been nothing but a beautiful sanctuary—a comfort to me. A comfort I’m becoming dangerously needy for. Yesterday, we bared our souls to one another. More than that, we revealed our hopes for our futures while exposing our biggest fears.

Easton pinpointed the sum of mine to me last night, one of which opposes his own. Though I don’t exactly want to become a headline, I want to live a headline-worthy life. My other fear coincides with my first—I’m afraid I’ll settle for less down the line, in life, in my career, and more importantly, in love. Gazing back at him, I find myself grateful for his presence in my life—even if temporary—while mourning the fact I don’t get to know him after today.

“Neither of you has said a word in five minutes,” Benji speaks up, embarrassing us both. Easton and I have been staring at each other the entire time, even knowing that—we don’t break our gaze. The ache churning in my chest intensifies as I imagine he’s feeling what I am, what his eyes are conveying.

It’s insanity. The last few days have been a whirlwind of confusion and revelation. I couldn’t imagine a better human soul to be with, and I find myself grateful. His expression softens as I pray that he can read as much from mine.

Not long after, the buzzing of the gun stops. Benji begins aftercare and instructions, wiping the tattoo down before covering it with salve. Easton inspects it in the mirror, his flawless olive skin only enhanced by the tattoo. Appreciation for it runs clear in Easton’s features as Benji wraps his muscular torso in plastic.

“Fucking sick choice, man,” Benji prompts as I study the finished project, my fingers itching to trace and soothe the lines of the angry, red skin. Easton turns back to me.

“It’s beautiful . . . and wicked.”

“I agree,” Easton says, buttoning his shirt and turning to Benji. “Thanks, man.” Easton plucks his wallet out, and Benji holds up a hand, his eyes filled with a hard edge.

“Don’t fucking insult me.”

“I’m going to get you paid one way or another.”

“Someday, I’ll call in a favor,” Benji assures him.

“Bet,” Easton says as they clap each other’s backs.

Benji grins at me over Easton’s shoulder as they separate. “How about you, Texas Belle? Up for a little ink tonight?”

Smiling, I shake my head. “Not for me.”

“You sure? It’s on the house,” Benji offers as Easton glances over to me, brows raised.

“Some other time.”

Benji chuckles. “You mean the next time you have a meltdown and fly to Seattle on a whim?”

I can’t help my return smile, the beer buzz prominent as I reply. “Exactly.”

“Bet,” Benji grins as the parlor door opens. A good-looking and beautifully inked man—who looks to be in his late twenties—saunters in, his eyes zeroed on Benji before he glances between the three of us.

“You need me to come back?”

“You’re good. We’re just finishing up,” Benji replies to the new arrival while giving him a look that’s anything but friendly. It’s more a look that says he’s about to devour him.

Oh.

Oh.

“We were just leaving,” Easton assures him as a searing sexual tension fills the room, and my blood starts to heat from the loaded looks being exchanged.

“I’ll text you tomorrow,” Easton says to Benji as he turns to me, a rapid storm brewing in his dark ocean eyes.

“Nice meeting you, Tex, and don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

“Same,” I say with a smile. “Promise.”

I stand, discarding my empty pint glass as Easton grips my hand and guides me toward the door while Benji walks us out.

“Stay safe, love you, bro,” Benji adds, clicking off the parlor lights and locking the door just after we both step out of the shop, the only light coming from a nearby streetlamp.

Sliding into Easton’s truck, unable to help myself, I peer into the parlor as two shadows collide in a heated kiss just behind the reception desk. I manage to make out just enough so that my eyes bulge before I turn to Easton, whose gaze is trained on me. I let out a nervous laugh and a “Wow,” my face rapidly heating. “I’ve never seen two men kiss. I mean, I have, but not like that .”

“Yeah?” One side of Easton’s mouth lifts. “And what do you think?”

“Honestly, it’s hot as hell.”

“Into voyeurism?”

“I just may be if it’s that hot . Others though, not my own.”

“Poor bastard,” Easton glances up briefly as he turns the engine over.

“Is Benji really that bad?”

He sighs as he puts the truck into gear. “He warns every single one of them, but they fall anyway. He was being one hundred with you when he admitted he has no plans of falling for anyone. But what he omitted is that he already fell, a long time ago.”

“Who is he in love with?”

“A girl we grew up with.”

“Girl?”

“Yeah. He has no preference other than what he’s attracted to. He’s got nearly two years on me, so I’ve laid witness to his bed being a revolving door since he was fifteen. Shit,” he glances over at me. “He would fucking kill me if he knew I told you that.”

“You’ll learn in time that his secrets are safe. I can only promise you in the here and now, they are.”

Nodding, Easton pulls out as I let my inner perve go a little wild, imagining what’s happening back in the parlor.

“And you?”

“Me what?” He draws out with a knowing smirk. “You can’t even say it.”

“Do you like a little cock on occasion?” He brakes in the midst of pulling out and floats a dead stare my way. I can’t help my dark beer-induced giggle. “I’ll take that as a no .”

“I have a very specific preference,” he admits readily. “I’m not hating on him in the least, just the way he goes about it. He’s unapologetically reckless.”

I lean back in my seat, rolling my window partially in unison with Easton. As he presses the gas, I unabashedly drink him in. “Easton?” I don’t wait for his reply as I grip the hand he has resting on the seat and squeeze. “Thank you for today.”

His eyes flit to mine. “It’s not over yet.”