Chapter Eight
Isla
"Christ, Isla," Brantley groans, his eyes on fire as he lifts me up and down his cock. "You look so goddamn beautiful riding my cock like it belongs to you."
I moan his name, slamming myself down on him so I bounce against his thighs. We both groan in ecstasy, lost in each other. Lost in the pleasure. I don't ever want it to end. With him, I never do.
But my body never listens to what I want. Within moments, I'm crying out his name as I shatter around him, waves of bliss roaring through my veins.
He snarls like a wild animal when he feels it, tumbling me over onto my back. He lifts one leg up over his shoulder, pounding into me again and again. I claw down his back, screaming his name as he throws me from one orgasm into another.
"That's it, little bird," he groans. "Keep coming all over my fucking cock just like that." His hips surge against mine again. And then again. "Christ, maybe I'll stay right here, keep you coming all night."
"Yes," I sob, clawing at the comforter.
He dips his head, wrapping his lips around my nipple. A sharp bite sends me hurtling over the edge again.
"Fuck!" he snarls, fucking me without rhythm as he follows me over this time, pumping into me as his cock jerks, liquid heat spilling deep in my womb. "Fuck, little bird. Fuck."
"Brantley," I whimper, boneless beneath him. "I love you."
His gaze flies to mine, his beautiful eyes wide. "Say it again."
"I love you."
"Christ." He seams his body to mine. His lips land against the side of my throat, his body shuddering. "I love you too, little bird."
I groan, wrapping my arms around him. He holds me just as tightly, his breath pelting my skin. For long moments, neither of us speaks or moves. We just cling to one another, coming down together. Lost in one another.
And then he groans, rolling us to the side.
"I'm keeping you, Isla," he whispers, brushing sweaty tendrils of hair away from my face. "Don't care what I have to sacrifice, I'm keeping you."
"Who says you have to sacrifice anything?"
His lips run across my crown.
"Love isn't a sacrifice, Brantley. It's a gift. You don't have to give up a single thing to deserve it." I touch his cheek. "I wish you knew that."
"I'm learning, baby."
"You sure?" I ask, narrowing my eyes on him. He's been…quiet since I met his mom the other day. Tense. Sometimes, it's like he's a million miles away, fighting a battle I can't help him with. When I ask, he tells me that he's fine. But I don't think that's true. I don't think he believes it, either.
There was another article about his dad yesterday.
It kills me that it's still front-page news when, every damn time he sees it, he's forced to relive things he shouldn't ever have to think about again. And I know he is. I see it in his eyes.
I've never hated anyone before, not even my bio-mom. I think I hate his father. I hate that people admire him. I hate that people sing his praises. I hate that his memory lives on, tormenting Brantley and his mom. They deserve peace. And they're never going to get it like this. But I don't know what to do about that because it's not my decision to make. I can't tell their truth for them.
If I could, I'd shout it from the freaking rooftops and make sure every single person in Nashville knew exactly what kind of man Bellamy Hill really was. He doesn't deserve to be celebrated. He doesn't deserve to be mourned. Maybe he helped build this city and this industry. But this city and this industry are better off without him.
"You're teaching me, Isla. More than I realized I needed to learn," he says, his voice soft. "But I'm learning. Be patient with me."
"As patient as you need," I promise, smiling at him. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Yeah, you are."
My brow furrows in confusion.
He chuckles softly, smoothing it with a fingertip. "If you aren't home soon, Mac is going to lose his mind. It's getting late."
"Crap," I groan, squeezing my eyes closed as regret rushes through me. "I don't want to go."
"I know." He brushes a sweet kiss across my bottom lip. "But it isn't forever, little bird. Soon, you'll be mine forever."
"Forever, huh? I like the sound of that, Brantley Hill."
He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. It rarely does lately, and I'm not sure why. That worries me. I'm not sure what's going on with him, but he's hiding something. Struggling with something. And he won't talk to me about it.
I'm not sure he's talking to Daniel about it either. At least not judging from the lines of worry etched around the cowboy's eyes. They're slowly growing deeper. Daniel is worried about him too. Really worried.
"Are you sure you're okay?" I ask.
"I'm fine, baby," he says. "But we need to get you home."
I hesitate and then sigh quietly, giving up for now. I can't force him to talk. All I can do is wait him out. Sooner or later, he's bound to talk…right?
"Tell her," I order myself, sliding into the chair to call Bella on the VPN one of Cormac Carmichael's MC brothers set up so she could talk to us without the video feed being traced. "You have to tell her the truth about Brantley and Bellamy today."
I've been meaning to do it for the last three days. Every single time we talk, I open my mouth to tell her that I'm in love with Bellamy's son—the man she thinks is responsible for his murder. I open my mouth to tell her that the man she admired was a monster. But the words get stuck in my throat, refusing to dislodge.
The truth is, I'm a coward. I'm terrified she's going to hate me once I tell her the truth. So I just…don't tell her. But I can't keep it from her forever. Sooner or later, we have to talk about it. I want her to know Brantley—not the man his dad told her he was, but the man he really is. And I want her to be okay with the fact that I'm crazy about him.
But I don't even know where to begin having that conversation when Brantley doesn't want anyone to know who his dad really was. How do I tell my sister the truth and keep his secrets too? I already told my mom more than I should have about what he went through because I needed someone to know that he's not who everyone thinks he is. But his story isn't mine to tell. It isn't up to me to decide how and when to tell it. That has to be his choice. I don't think he'll ever truly heal until he decides to tell it.
But I'm worried he may never do that. Especially with the way he's been acting the last few days. Whatever is on his mind is heavy. Really damn heavy.
I hit the button to connect the feed.
"Iz!" Bella cries, her face popping up on the screen a few seconds later, her blonde hair piled up on top of her head in a messy bun. She's in Cormac's kitchen, seated at the island. She smiles brightly when she sees me, her eyes lighting up.
"Hey." I narrow my gaze on the screen, my lips twitching when I notice Cormac's massive hand sneaking into frame from the left. He's perfect for my sister. He's a little wild and bossy as hell, which is exactly what she needs because she's the same exact way. She needs someone like him to settle her, someone not afraid to tell her no or fight her when she's being unreasonable. And someone willing to be a little wild and crazy with her, too. If I could have chosen a man for her, it would have been one exactly like him.
"I swear to God, Tiny," she growls at him before he even manages to touch her. "If you don't stop touching me, I'm going to murder you in your sleep."
"I'm not touching you, Mischief. I was just reaching for my keys," he lies, his deep voice a rumble a sound.
"Oh, really. Are your keys attached to my boobs?" my sister retorts, scowling daggers at him.
"I don't know. Tell your sister to close her eyes so I can check."
"Oh my god!" she cries. "Get out!"
Cormac rumbles laughter, popping into the frame to kiss her. "Jesus, Mischief. Settle your little ass down. I'm going." He snags his keys off the island, jiggling them as if to make his point. And then he flashes a shit-eating grin at me. "Hey, Isla."
"Hi, Cormac." I grin at him, waving.
He winks at me, kisses Bella again, and then disappears from the frame.
My sister looks at me with wide eyes. "He's been doing that all day," she mutters. "It's driving me nuts."
"It's the new bra." I nod at her chest. "They're sitting pretty in that thing."
She glances down at her chest and snorts, rolling her eyes. "It's not the bra. It's the man. He's obsessed."
I giggle, not really surprised. You can tell by the way he looks at her that he's head over heels. It's kind of adorable.
"Start grabbing his junk every five minutes. He'll get the point."
"You clearly have not met him if you think that," she says and then she giggles too. "Maybe I'll do that anyway. Might be fun for me."
I groan, shaking my head. "I do not need to hear this."
"Fine. I won't tell you how awesome sex is." She smirks at me. "But just so you know…ten out of ten. Highly recommend."
"I…" I bite my lip, glancing down. Now is my chance to tell her the truth. I know how awesome sex is. I've been having it with Brantley every chance we get. But yet again, the words stick in my throat.
"Okay, that's it!" she cries. "What's going on with you?"
"What? Nothing," I lie.
"Uh-huh." She crosses her arms, glaring at me. "You're a terrible liar, Isla Marie Sterling."
"Am not."
"Are too."
"Am not."
"What aren't you telling me?"
"Maybe it's not your business, did you ever think of that?" I snap, scowling at her. "Maybe whatever I'm not telling you has nothing to do with you and I don't want to share it."
"Fine, don't tell me."
"I won't."
"Are you done being a brat now?" she asks.
"Depend. Are you done trying to boss me around now?"
"I guess so."
"Then I guess I'm done being a brat."
We scowl at each other for a minute before she cracks with a sigh. "I'm not trying to boss you, Iz. And you're allowed to have secrets. I just worry about you, especially since I'm not there right now."
"I know," I whisper, feeling guilty all over again. "I just…I'm dealing with stuff." Stuff I'm afraid you're going to hate me for when I tell you. And I can deal with a lot, but I can't deal with you hating me.
"Just promise me that you'll tell me when you're ready?"
"I promise," I whisper.
"Good. What else have you been doing since we talked?"
"Not much. I had lunch with Marion yesterday."
"You're allowed to call her mom, Iz."
"I know. It just still doesn't feel right." I shrug. "Honestly, I'm not sure it'll ever feel right." I hesitate. "She asked about you."
Bella narrows her eyes on me. "What did you tell her?"
"Nothing," I promise. "You know I wouldn't do that." I promised Bella when I agreed to meet with Marion the first time that I wouldn't discuss her. She wants nothing to do with her, and I respect her decision.
Bella nods. "Did you have fun?"
"Not really. I don't know. It's like the more I get to know her, the more I realize I just…don't want to know her?" I shrug a shoulder, not sure how to explain it. "I think she regrets what she did. She's grown up and changed. But I guess I just feel like…maybe it's too late? I'm not sure. It just doesn't feel right."
In a way, it feels almost like she regrets her choices only because they ruined her life, not necessarily because they ruined ours. She's remorseful. She feels bad that she hurt us. She wishes she could take it back. But would she feel the same guilt if she hadn't spent years in prison? If she hadn't lost our dad? I don't think she would. She's lonely, desperate for a connection. But that isn't the same thing as love.
I've seen real love. We have a mom who loves us unconditionally. I've seen the way Brantley's mom loves him and how much guilt she carries because of what Bellamy did to them. She was a victim too, but she still carries so much guilt. Our mom was never a victim. She's the one who hurt us. Yet she doesn't carry even a tenth of the guilt Maureen Hill lives with. I saw it the day I met her. So sitting across from Marion yesterday was hard. Because I could see the difference. After meeting Brantley's mom, it was impossible not to see it.
Our bio-mom is trying to do the right thing, but I think she's trying for the wrong reasons. And I'm not sure I want to be a part of that.
"You don't have to see her," Bella says. "You don't owe her that."
"I know," I say quietly. "But it was never about her. It was about us."
My twin nods.
"It's boring here without you."
"Duh!" She laughs loudly.
My phone buzzes. I glance down at it, my heart leaping into my throat when I see Brantley's text.
Brantley: I need you, little bird. Can you come?
I asked him to reach for a lifeline if he needed it. Is this him doing that? I'm not sure, but the possibility that he's reached the breaking point worries me.
"Bella, I gotta go," I mutter, glancing up at my twin on the computer screen.
"What? Where?"
"I forgot about an appointment," I lie. "I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"
Her face falls into a pout. "Fine. But you better call me."
"I will. Love you."
"Love you too."
I quickly end the video feed and then scoop up my cellphone to text Brantley back.
Me: I'm on my way.
Brantley: I'll be waiting.
I grab my stuff and hurry from the room, praying that whatever is going on with him doesn't break us. It feels a little bit like it could. It's felt that way for days. I'm just not sure why.
By the time I reach his office, I'm a bundle of anxiety and raw nerves. I hurry down the hall with my heart in my throat, only to draw to a stop outside his door when I hear him and Daniel inside.
"You're walkin' a razor wire here. You gotta tell her the truth, man," Daniel says. "You know you have to do it."
"I know," Brantley growls. "I plan to tell her. I just wanted to make sure I could fix it first."
"This is a bad idea."
"So you keep saying," Brantley snaps, frustration in his tone. "But it's my money, my choice. I've made it."
"Jesus Christ," Daniel mutters. "There's no talkin' to you sometimes, Brant. You're hellbent on punishing yourself, and no one can talk you out of it."
"This isn't about punishing myself."
"No? You saw them in the parking garage, but you drove off anyway. Now, you feel guilty about it. We both know you're lettin' people say the shit they do because you feel guilty. It's not about protectin' your mom. It's about punishing yourself. Same way the drinkin' was. Same way the fights were. It's what you do, Brant," he says. "You've still got his voice in your head, tellin' you that's what you deserve, so that's what you do. You punish yourself."
I gasp quietly, covering my mouth. Brantley was in the parking garage that day? He could have stopped what happened and didn't?
"No," I whisper, my heart threatening to crack in half.
"You don't know what you're talking about," Brantley snaps.
"Yeah, I do because I know you, motherfucker," Daniel says, exhaustion in his voice, as if he's had this conversation too many times to count. "And you know damn well I'm right. But there's no talkin' sense into you until you're ready to hear it. And I guess that day ain't today."
"What do you want me to say, Daniel?" Brantley growls. "That I'm fucking glad he died? I am! That I feel like shit because Bella got caught in the middle? I do! But I'm not fucking punishing myself."
My stomach churns. I reach out, grasping the wall as a wave of dizziness sweeps through me. He knew. He freaking knew they were in the parking garage and he just…what? Walked away? Left his dad there alone with them? Left Bella to find them there?
I can't wrap my mind around it. Brantley wouldn't do that. No matter how much he hated his father, he wouldn't do that. Would he?
He did. He just confirmed that he did exactly that. He walked away, left his father to die…and left my sister to walk into the middle of it.
And he's been keeping it from me the entire time.
I choke on a sob.
"Shit."
I glance up…into Daniel's eyes. He's standing right inside the door, staring at me, his expression full of remorse. Of resignation. Like he knew this was going to happen eventually.
I place my finger over my lips, silently pleading with him not to tell Brantley that I'm here. I can't face him right now. Not with the truth still ringing in my ears. Not with my world crashing around my feet.
Daniel hesitates for a moment and then nods reluctantly.
I back away from Brantley's office, turn…and then flee, tears rolling down my cheeks.