The Harder You Fall. Gena ShowalterЧитать онлайн книгу.
us to hide our involvement.” Back then, they’d lived by a strict code. What one requests, the others do. The end. But West had soon found himself trapped in a prison of a different sort, one built from guilt and shame. “Especially me. You expected me to move to Massachusetts, to finish school and start a family with Tessa.” He released a sharp breath. “I never even set foot out of Oklahoma. And you know what happened to my girl.”
“I don’t regret my decision. I never have.”
No. Not true. “You must.” Emotion clogged his throat. “Beck and I used to visit you every week. I saw your bruises...know what happens to young, scrawny boys behind bars...” At eighteen, Jase had been extremely scrawny.
A muscle jumped in his friend’s jaw. “That’s the past. Over. Done.”
“Is it?” Sometimes West woke up to Jase’s screams.
Shouldn’t have brought this up. Too painful for us both.
I can do this. He pasted on a happy face and rolled with the punches. “You’re right. Of course. Over and done. Now drink your breakfast like a good boy.”
Jase peered at him for a long while, silent, before finally sighing. He tasted the shake and grimaced. “What’d you put in this thing? Arsenic?”
“Can’t be that bad.” West took a swig and shuddered. Yeah. It was that bad. “Arsenic would taste better. Brook Lynn awake?” The girl was magic in the kitchen. She could throw together—
“She left earlier this morning for a dress fitting. Something about gaining a pound and seams busting.”
Women and their weight. When would they realize skin-and-bones only impressed other women? Men preferred soft and lush...like Jessie Kay, rounded in all the right places.
Down boy. “Maybe Harlow—”
“Nope.” Jase shook his head. “She’s helping Jessie Kay with breakfast deliveries.”
First he’d thought the name. Now he’d heard the name. Can’t escape her.
“Oh, and before I forget,” Jase said, mercifully changing the subject, “I selected a construction company.”
“Good.” A few weeks ago, they’d decided to build two additional homes on the acreage. One for Jase and Brook Lynn, one for West and his misery. Beck and Harlow would keep the farmhouse since she’d grown up here and loved the place almost as much as she loved her fiancé. “What do you need me to do?”
“Call the owner on Monday and tell him what you want. I’ll text you his number.”
Beck stumbled into the kitchen. He was dressed and ready to go, but his hair was unkempt and his eyes rimmed with red. “What are you two yakking about?”
“Your bachelor party,” Jase deadpanned. “You want one stripper or four?”
“Dude.” Beck scratched his chest. “My life was a bachelor party. I don’t need another one.”
Jase snickered. “Afraid the little woman will protest?”
Like he wasn’t just as whipped.
“Actually, I’m afraid the little woman will ask the strippers for tips and I’ll die of a heart attack before I have the privilege of saying my vows.”
West handed him a shake. “Stop bragging about your love life and drink your breakfast, Becky. You need it.” The guy was an attacking midfielder, his skill with a ball unsurpassed. He remained calm under pressure, dishing out all kinds of abuse. “You step into the arena half-asleep and you’ll have your ass handed to you.”
“I should be so lucky.” Beck drained half the glass without reacting to the bitter taste. “It’s a nice ass.”
“Your modesty humbles me.” West was fast and agile, so he played center forward, stealing the ball—his ball—whenever it needed stealing. And it was his ball. Always. When he stepped onto the field, a sense of possession overtook him. Mine. Which was probably why he ended up the top scorer of every game.
That, and his skill, tenacity and strength. He spent a good portion of every day in the gym. He would never be weak again. He despised helplessness almost as much as he despised chaos.
“My modesty is just one of the many amazing things about me.” Beck finished off the rest of the shake. “Good stuff. Thanks.”
West glanced at his wristwatch. 9:28 a.m. All right. “Time to go.”
He grabbed the duffel containing a change of clothes and climbed behind the wheel of his Mercedes. Jase had called eternal dibs on the front passenger seat, so he claimed his prize and Beck settled in back, all without protest or complaint. The two respected West and his schedules.
My soul mates.
He drove through the town square, where different families meandered along the sidewalks. Everyone was bundled up for warmth, and everyone paused to smile and wave as he passed.
To West, it was a scene straight of out a movie, too picture-perfect to be real, but he smiled and waved right back.
“Who we playing today?” Jase asked as they crawled along the highway. Ice had been sanded and salted, but there were still slick spots. At this rate, they’d reach the downtown Oklahoma City arena in fifty years.
“The Ball Busters.”
“Last year’s league champions.” Beck grinned, the baring of teeth a little evil. “That’ll make our win today a thousand times sweeter.”
“Exactly. Show no mercy.” West adjusted the air vents, ensuring blasts of heat reached the backseat. “After we wipe the field with their faces, they’ll be knocked out of this year’s play-offs.”
“Trash talk already.” Jase nodded his approval. “I raised you boys right.” A beep from his phone. He checked the screen and cursed.
“What?” West and Beck demanded in unison.
Jase rubbed the back of his neck. “Brook Lynn will be late to the game.”
Such an extreme reaction over so little? As if the guy couldn’t go half a day without seeing his girl?
If West ever dated Jessie Kay—
Are you kidding me? Could he not go one day, one hour, without thinking about her? Without hating her and craving her, practically foaming-at-the-mouth eager to get his hands on her. To shake her and learn her... And anything else that came to mind.
“Jase, my man, I love you. I really do.” West turned on his blinker before changing lanes. “But codependency is an ugly bitch.”
Beck reached out to pat Jase on the shoulder. “What he said is true, but it doesn’t matter. Bitches adore us.”
Very true. Young, old, single or married, females simply couldn’t get enough, bad boys like Beck and Jase their kryptonite. West attracted his fair share of attention, but never in droves. The multitude must suspect he wasn’t just a bad boy; he was damaged beyond repair.
When he reached the arena, he parked in back, grabbed his duffel and beat feet inside, the frigid air like needles against his skin, smelling of car exhaust and burning wood rather than wild strawberries, a scent that somehow pervaded Strawberry Valley even in winter. A scent that had somehow come to represent home.
When Jase had voiced a desire for a fresh start in a small town with wide-open spaces and the sense of community he’d never gotten in foster care, West had panicked. Leave his penthouse apartment? His routine? Never! Except at the behest of his friends. Then he’d do both in an instant. He owed Jase and Beck his life, and by all that was holy, he would pay his debt.
Always better to be the lender rather than the borrower.
At first, he’d hated Strawberry Valley. Residents considered his personal life a reasonable topic of conversation, and his bank