Seven Sleepless Nights Read online

  "Obviously not, Cash," I shot back, nuzzling Lee's neck, as I slowed my thrusts. "Now, go downstairs."

  The door handle turned and we both froze, holding our breath. "Your door's locked."

  We both sagged in relief.

  "I know," I bit out. Now, fuck off.

  "Why'd you lock me out, Dad?"

  "Because Mom and Dad are having quiet time."

  "Why?"

  "Just go downstairs, Cash."

  "Why?"

  "Are you all breathing?" I barked.

  "Uh, yeah?"

  "Is anyone bleeding?" I demanded.

  "Uh, not at the moment?"

  "And what's Dad's rule?"

  "Dad…"

  "What's my rule, Cash?"

  He huffed loudly. "Unless we're bleeding or not breathing, don't bang on the door when Mom and Dad are having quiet time."

  "Very good," I shot back. "Now, go downstairs."

  "But you weren't being quiet," he argued from the other side of the door. "You sounded like you were fighting. I could hear lots of banging and Mom was crying out."

  "We're not fighting," I groaned. "We're fine. Now, go on down and have Colton make your breakfast."

  "But why can't Mom get my breakfast?"

  "Because Mom's busy, she's not your slave, and you're big enough to pour yourself a bowl of cereal."

  "I like it when Mom does it for me."

  "So do I," I bit out. "Now please go downstairs."

  "Why?"

  "Because I said so."

  "But why?"

  "Because Dad's busy."

  "Doing what?"

  "Mommy," I grumbled.

  Lee's eyes widened and she slapped my chest. "Kyle!"

  "Cash. Go!" I roared, knowing it was a lost cause when Lee pushed at my chest. With a huff, I pulled out and rolled onto my back. "Goddamn!"

  "But what are you doing in there?" he pressed. "Why's Mom yelling your name?" There was a pause and then, "Are you hurting my mom?"

  I turned to Lee. "I'm gonna kill him." Exhaling a heavy sigh, I sat up and threw the covers off my body. Leaning over her, I pecked her lips. "You can live with five, right?"

  Chuckling softly, Lee covered my mouth with her hand. "Cash, honey, we're both fine. Dad will be down in just a sec. I’m just going for a shower first."

  I narrowed my eyes in betrayal and licked at her palm, causing her to yank her hand away. "Are you sure we can't cull out the mouthy ones?"

  "They're all mouthy," she pointed out, laughing softly. "Now, go tend to your spawn. I need a shower."

  "Bad idea, bro," Colton's voice came from the other side of the door. "I wouldn't stand there unless you want to be scarred for life with the sound of our father ramming his –"

  "Don't you dare finish that sentence," I warned, jerking off the bed and moving for my sweatpants. "Now, take your brother downstairs and make some bacon."

  The sound of my son's laughter filled my ears moments before footsteps retreated from the door. "Come on, kid. Let's go downstairs and I can tell you about this stripper named Hayden I met the other night."

  "What's a stripper?"

  "Colt!"

  "A special kind of dancer."

  "I like dancers."

  "Colton!"

  "Me too, brother. Me too."

  "That one." I turned to Lee and pointed an accusing thumb towards the door. "That one right there is gonna break my damn heart."

  Read about Kyle & Lee's journey

  in the Broken Series,

  available now.

  2

  Monday

  Denver, Colorado

  Logan Carter

  With my hands hanging limply at my sides, I slumped against the tower of pillows at my back and kept my eyes, the only fucking decent part of my anatomy these days, trained on her.

  Brooke Kennedy.

  Black hair, pulled tight in a functional bun.

  Doe brown eyes shielded behind the thickest lashes I'd ever seen.

  Baggy blue scrubs, hiding silken skin the color of the sweetest chocolate.

  She kept her chin tucked close to her neck, her gaze cast downwards, as she readjusted the ugly-ass stockings on my legs, the ones to prevent clots, and then spent an ornate amount of time fussing with my blankets.

  She didn’t speak today.

  I didn’t mind.

  I wasn’t much of a talker myself.

  I was even less interested in mindless, fill-in-the-gaps chitchat.

  In a weird way, I almost preferred when she had days like these.

  I could read her better.

  On her good days, her smile could light up the whole hospital wing. It wasn't real.

  On her bad days, like this morning, she tried to hide the sadness in her eyes by keeping her head down and her bruises concealed, but I could see it all.

  Every shuddering breath.

  The change in her posture.

  The way her shoulders slumped.

  How she flinched.

  The look of desolation in her eyes when she dared a glance at me.

  She was never more real than she was on days like today.

  Or more beautiful.

  "Logan, stop," Brooke whispered, speaking for the first time today. "Please don’t do that."

  "Don’t do what?" I replied, already knowing the answer. See? Being a cripple had its advantages. From a young child, when I realized that my body wasn't going to work the same as my identical brothers, I learned how to strengthen my mind. I learned how to read everything. I developed my own version of armor.

  Knowing that I could never strike with a punch without risking a relapse, I taught myself how to strike with my mind. "What am I doing, Brooke?"

  "You're trying to crawl into my head." Satisfied with her unnecessary straightening of my blankets, she moved for my chart, snatching it off the foot of my bed. "There's nothing in there that'll interest you."

  "We both know that's a lie."

  She flicked her big brown eyes my way and a shiver ran up my spine.

  Maybe I imagined it.

  Maybe it was purely a memory.

  But I felt it.

  She made me feel things.

  Physically.

  "I'll leave," she warned, snapping my chart back into place.

  "I'm glad you remember you still can," I replied, keeping my eyes on hers. "Leave, that is."

  Her cheeks flushed. "You don’t know what you're talking about."

  If I could have, I would have folded my arms across my chest, but since my limbs had given up on me, I settled for arching a brow. "Another lie."

  "How are you feeling tonight?" she changed the subject by asking. "Any muscle movement?"

  "I'm just back from a 10k run," I shot back. "Feeling great."

  Her lips twitched as she tried her best to smother her smile.

  "Do it," I teased, smirking. "Smile, Brooke. I dare you."

  Her armor slipped and she released a labored breath. "I'm sorry." Sinking down on the edge of my bed, she placed her small hand on top of mine. "I'm being mean."

  Now I felt that.

  Her touch.

  I felt it down to the deepest part of my discombobulated nerve endings.

  "Any feeling?"

  Age old habit had me trying to shake my head. Quickly adapting to the lack of movement, I used my words. "I can feel you, Brooke."

  Her brows furrowed. "In general, or just me?"

  "There's nothing general about you," I replied.

  "Logan –"

  "Just you."

  She sighed heavily and it sounded like a great weight had settled on her chest.

  I knew the feeling well.

  "I wish this wasn't your life," she whispered then and I watched the way her fingers traced my wrist, working my brain to both memorize the visual and remember the old sensation. "It's not fair."

  "Great pep talk," I mused, trying and failing to turn my hand over and entwine our fingers.

  Using every ounce
of mental strength inside of me, I willed my hand to move.

  Nothing.

  I tried again, sweating from the sheer fucking effort.

  My finger twitched.

  One finger.

  It was something.

  "I love you," I told her then, knowing that it was the worst possible thing to say in this moment, but committing to it just the same.

  There was a method to my madness. One of these days, she was going to break down. That didn’t mean to say that she would confess her undying love for me or anything so romantic.

  No, I just wanted the woman to know that she was desirable. I gave her my words, my truth, for no other reason than she deserved to hear someone tell her. She deserved to know that she was loved.

  I was under no illusions of where I stood – lay – in the grand scheme of things. I wasn't exactly the catch of the day. The woman had washed my dick more times in the last three years than I cared to remember.

  Degrading?

  Perhaps.

  But I wasn't in the position to be pitiful.

  Feeling sorry for myself wouldn't fix my body. It wouldn't get me out of this bed any quicker. If anything, it would delay my progress.

  I needed out.

  I wanted back up.

  In order to do that, I needed to keep my head, control my outlook, and work on my progress.

  This relapse had been more testing than the others. Five months in and I was still crippled. It was the longest I'd spent in hospital since I was nineteen.

  "You can't say things like that to me," she whispered, and I didn’t miss the shudder that rolled through her.

  "Come here, Brooke," was all I replied, keeping my grey eyes locked on her face.

  "I can't." The words were barely more than a torn whisper.

  "Come here," I repeated, willing her with everything I had in me to just come to me. "Please."

  A tremor racked through her small frame, and then she was moving.

  Twisting onto her side, she curled into my side, body trembling all over. "What am I doing?"

  "You're letting me love you," I whispered, wishing I could comfort the broken woman who had stolen my heart. "And that's okay." Breathing in the smell of her coconut scented shampoo, I nuzzled my face in her hair and absorbed the sensations rushing through my body.

  "No, it's not," she croaked out, lifting her face to mine. "There's so much that you don’t know –" A pained sob tore from her chest and she crushed her lips against mine. "Oh god," she cried against my lips, her kiss laced with desperation and need.

  "I know he hurts you," I replied, breaking the kiss, and rubbing my nose against hers. "I know he puts his hands on you." I kissed her softly. "Treats you badly."

  A tear trickled down her cheek and she sagged against me. "Logan…"

  "I know you're terrified and I know that you stay for the kids." Pressing a featherlight kiss to her lips, I breathed her in before pulling back to look at her. "And I know that I'm going to save you."

  You can find Logan Carter

  in the Carter Kids series.

  3

  Tuesday

  Ocean Bay, Florida

  Rourke Owens

  Today was my girlfriend's eighteenth birthday and I couldn’t be happier.

  No more rules.

  No more fucking restrictions and stipulations.

  Fucking finally.

  I turned eighteen three months ago and had been waiting on Six to catch up. In a bid to make everything up to her – because, let's face it, I had a hella lot of making up to her to do – I had planned a birthday surprise for my girl.

  I'd been a complete fucking dick to her when we first met – when we were first thrown together. The things I did to her paled in comparison to the things I had said.

  How she was still willing to hook her flag to my sail was a miracle in itself. I didn’t apologize, either. It wasn’t in me.

  Instead, I focused on improving shit. In doing whatever I could to make it better. By giving her a version of me I knew she deserved. A version of me I never knew existed. A version that hadn't existed until she came and woke me up.

  Problem was, my father was determined to cock block me at any given chance.

  Dick.

  To be honest, I was about done with listening to anything my old man had to say.

  Fucker was full of shit.

  Seriously, the man's mouth was turning brown from the crap he spewed daily.

  If I heard the words 'forbidden' or 'icky' come out of his mouth one more time, I was going to lose my shit.

  So I was in love with my stepsister.

  Big fucking deal.

  Dad needed to build a bridge and get over it, or step the hell aside, because I wasn’t backing down on this.

  Not when it came to Six.

  It had taken me too fucking long to swallow my pride and chase the girl down. Now she was finally mine, I wasn’t about to let him and Cassidy ruin what we had.

  And we weren't fucking icky.

  Our relationship was nothing like what they were insinuating.

  They were the ones who had thrown two teenagers alone into a parent-less house and told us to get along.

  The fuck did he think would happen?

  Six was gorgeous and I had a dick.

  Forbidding me from doing anything wasn’t going to swing well for my old man. I had yet to listen to a damn thing that came out of his mouth, and I sure as hell wasn’t starting now.

  Pushing back against authority came naturally to me. Six, not so much. She was a stickler for the rules and I hated that I loved that about her. She was too damn obedient, dammit! For an independent girl, she listened too much – cared too much – about her mother.

  Controlling me was something my father never had the ability of doing.

  Six, on the other hand, was easily manipulated by her mother – made to feel guilty and responsible for everything – and it drove me batshit crazy.

  It was our parents who were the goddamn icky ones for procreating at their stage in life.

  Gabe needed to concentrate on the shit storm he'd made for himself – the pregnant woman-child keeping his bed warm.

  I would handle her daughter.

  This house and every goddamn thing around us belonged to me, and if Gabe and Cass wanted to push, I was pushing right back.

  That girl was mine, and unlike my father, I only planned on having one wife.

  Keeping our relationship hidden at home was not my idea. I wasn’t happy about it and I let the whole damn world know about it on a daily basis. But Cassidy was pregnant and Six was determined not to upset her.

  What a crock of shit.

  I didn’t give a fuck if she was growing a whole damn football team inside of her; Six wasn’t something I was going to hide.

  At school, she was careful. It was worse at home. I guess getting caught fucking the morning after homecoming was the reason for her secrecy.

  I had been balls deep inside of her when both our parents stormed into that hotel room.

  The shit storm that had occurred afterwards was entirely unnecessary. We weren't animals. I wasn’t some feral dog chasing down a bitch in heat. We were two teenagers in love and showing it.

  At night, when I crept into her room, we would talk until the sun came up about our plans.

  About our future.

  Because I knew my future would be entwined with hers.

  See? Nothing goddamn icky about that.

  I was an all or nothing kind of guy, and I had thrown my eggs, basket, and the henhouse itself into our relationship.

  It wasn’t something I did on a whim.

  I was deadly serious about her.

  I figured once we graduated from the Academy and got the hell out of Ocean Bay, we'd get married. Not right away, I knew she wasn’t ready for that, but sometime during college.

  I wasn’t a patient person and knew I couldn’t wait four years to put a ring on her finger.

  I didn’t trus
t time.

  I guess that's what happens to a guy when he watches his mama die of cancer in her twenties.

  Time was temporary.

  Life was temporary.

  I needed to make Six permanent.

  The sound of a car pulling into the driveway filled my ears and I grinned to myself.

  It's showtime, Six.

  Mercedes James

  Ariana Grande's version of Santa Baby was blasting from the second level story of our house as I climbed the staircase, laden down with more shopping bags than I knew what to do with.

  Most of the bags contained items of clothing that would never in a million freaking years grace my body – courtesy of my pregnant mom-child and her tacky as hell taste in PVC pleather.

  Fuck my life.

  Exhausted from being dragged from store to store with an overly hormonal Cass, who had insisted on treating me to a birthday shopping trip, I made a beeline for my bedroom, wanting to sleep the day out of my system.

  Birthday shopping trip my ass.

  If the woman knew me even a little bit, she would know that any trip that involved shopping was like hell on freaking earth to me. Add that to the fact that Christmas was three days away, meaning the stores were packed to the rooftops with last-minute shoppers, and I was not a happy bunny.

  "Ho fucking ho, Six!" my boyfriend announced the moment I stepped foot inside my bedroom. "Happy eighteenth birthday, babe."

  Rourke was standing on my bed, clad in a red velvet Santa coat, a pair of Christmas-themed novelty boxers – glittery red, of course – black boots, and a Santa hat perched on his head.

  More candles and flowers than I could count were scattered around my bedroom. A beautiful array of fresh red and white roses, spelling out the number 18, adorned my bedroom wall.

  "Oh my fucking god," I laughed, dropping my bags on the floor before swiftly slamming and locking my bedroom door behind me. My mom had serious boundary issues and having her burst in and find her stepson nearly naked in my room wouldn’t go down well.

  "Surprised?" Rourke asked, cocky smile etched on his face, while he flexed his impressive pecs.

  Understatement of the century.

  "Uh, yeah, a little!" With my back pressed to the locked door, I allowed myself to take in the sight before me. "You are –" I couldn't stop the laugh that escaped me as I removed my hoodie and kicked off my sneakers, "a total freak, Rourke Owens."