I swat his hand away. “Got into it with a couple assholes at the show. Got kicked out and took the first flight out of JFK.”
A pair of small, warm hands curls around my stomach from behind. “Hey, Keanu. I was hoping you’d be here.”
I turn around, groaning. Fuck. Will this day from hell ever end? “Casey.” I give her a curt nod as I remove her arms from my body.
Undeterred, she steps into me, pushing her oversized fake tits into my chest as her hand lands on my butt. “Fuck me, baby. I’m so wet for you.”
I step sideways, shucking her off me as I shake my head, my frustration growing. “It’s not happening. That was a onetime thing, and it was months ago. C’mon. You know that.” God knows I’ve told her enough times, but the message is not getting through.
“I’ll fuck you,” Kent says, reeling her into his body.
“Hey.” The blonde on the counter pouts, glaring at Casey.
Kent pulls her down, tucking her into his other side. “Don’t worry, baby, I’ll fuck you too.” He slams his lips against hers while keeping his arm firmly around Casey on the other side. She levels me with a seductive look as she glides her hand over my brother’s stomach, slipping it under the band of his jeans. If she thinks I’m jealous, she’ll realize quickly that I don’t give a flying fuck.
“Get everyone out, Kent, or I’m calling the cops,” I warn, and I’m just pissed enough to do it.
“You’re no fun anymore, bruh,” Kent complains, dragging his mouth away from Blondie.
“You don’t need me for fun,” I reply, pointedly looking at the two girls draped around him. Casey’s hand is pumping hard behind the denim of Kent’s jeans, and she’s done me a favor because now he’s horny as hell and raring to go, so he wastes no time getting everyone out of the place.
The girls titter as they follow Kent up the stairs. Casey shoots me a longing look over her shoulder. “You can join us if you like.”
I grit my teeth. “Hard pass,” I say, shaking my head. My days of threesomes and foursomes with my reckless brother are a thing of the past.
“Your loss,” she says, pouting as she traipses up the stairs after Kent and Blondie.
I survey the mess with tired eyes, deciding it can wait until morning. I grab a fruit bowl from the fridge, along with a bottle of water, and head up to my room.
Although my bedroom is on the second level, along with the guest room, my study, and the guest bathroom, and Kent occupies the master suite on the third level, unfortunately, I can still hear sounds of his rowdy sex session.
Locking my door, I strip out of my clothes and then stand under the pelting hot shower for ten minutes before drying off and getting ready for bed.
I crawl under the covers, popping my earbuds in, and scroll through the music collection on my cell. I quickly pick one of my Selena-inspired selections, because I’m in the mood for some self-inflicted torture tonight. Removing the photo album from my bedside table, I lie on my side, pulling the covers up under my arms as I flick through pictures.
I haven’t looked at this in a while because the pain is like a red-hot coal imprinting on my skin every time I take a trip down nostalgia lane.
There are literally thousands of pictures of me and Selena, from our KA modeling days, but this album is the one I’m drawn to time and time again because it depicts our personal journey.
I flip to my favorite photo. It’s from Christmas three years ago, and it was taken at the Boston Common Frog Pond. I’d taken Selena ice-skating for the first time. I’d booked out the rink and paid to ensure this area was cordoned off from the public, so we had complete privacy. Sel doesn’t do well in crowds so I usually had to be creative.
I run the tip of my finger over the picture, lingering on the wide smile on her face. We were both bundled up in puffy jackets and wool hats. I’m holding her in my arms, her back is to my chest, and we’re both smiling at the camera. Our cheeks are red from the biting cold, but I remember I’d never felt warmer.
Because it was the first time I’d ever seen her laugh like that. It was a guttural, belly-deep, unrestrained, joyous laughter that came straight from her soul. Her radiant smile melted my heart, and I knew in that instant that no other girl would ever match up to the girl in my arms. I remember wanting to freeze-frame the moment. Because some innate part of me must’ve known those precious moments were drawing to a close.
I snap the album shut and close my eyes, fighting the onslaught of tears. A slicing pain makes mincemeat of my heart, and a heavy pressure sits on my chest. I don’t know how much longer I can continue pretending everything’s okay. Like I’m not utterly destroyed on the inside.
I can’t exist without my angel.
And I want to fight for her. For us.
But I don’t know how to do that with the demons Selena is still battling.
And I can’t do anything to undermine her recovery.
I curl into a ball, hugging a pillow to my chest, wishing it was the woman I love with every part of my being.
Begging someone for some divine intervention.
