Jagger (Heaven Hill Shorts Book 5) Page 3

  He growls. "Even if he wasn't Tyler's son, the way Justice looks at him says he'll be around for a very long time."

  I grin. "She looks at him the way I looked at you when we first got together," a giggle works it's way from between my lips. "Well, I mean the way I looked at you when you weren't watching."

  "Newsflash, babe."

  "Yeah?"

  He hugs me around the neck. "I saw it. I was always watching."

  We walk back to the bike, and this time when I get on behind him, I do it with a smile, and a hope that things will go back to normal eventually.

  Chapter Six

  Jagger

  It's been a few days since B and I had our talk with one another. I've called my sister, explained to her my stance on where Travis fits in our lives. If our history were written down and repeated, I would want whoever read it or spoke it, to know he was good. There were parts of him that turned bad, but the man I remember? He was a brother, a husband, an integral part of my life for years. I never want anyone to forget that part of him. Even if they know the not-so-great-parts.

  Today though, it's time I clear the air with someone else.

  A kid I've watched grow up.

  A boy who used to follow me around the shop begging me to teach him how to play guitar.

  A man who has proven his worth for the club.

  Walking into the garage we use as a workout center, I don't hear a lot of chatter, but I do hear someone beating the holy hell out of a boxing bag. When I turn the corner, I see him. He looks so much like Tyler, I have to do a double-take. There is no doubt this is his kid. Even though this kid is a man now.

  He stops, glancing over at me. His long hair tied back, he has just as many tattoos as his dad, and I'm pretty sure he's more muscular than Tyler ever thought about being. It gives me a slight pause, but I'm here, and I'm here for a reason.

  "Been waiting on you," his voice is loud in the room, echoing off the walls, filling it with the deep sound of his voice.

  "I bet you have been," I walk over to where he stands.

  I came dressed for battle, basketball shorts, and a tank top.

  "So, this is where you want it to happen huh?" He rubs at a bead of sweat with the back of his gloved hand.

  "It can happen anywhere, but I figure this is the safest place. Don't you?"

  A grin lifts his mouth. "Whatever old man. How do you wanna do this?"

  "The ring," I point to the old boxing ring we have in here. I'm not even sure when we set it up, but it's seen some things in its time. Adding another thing for it to see doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

  "Remember," his voice is deep. "You asked for this."

  "So I did."

  He holds the ropes up for me, then comes in behind me. I walk over, putting the headgear on and the gloves on that we use. We've never taped wrists or anything of that nature.

  "Whenever your ready," Caelin hits his gloves together.

  I advance on him, throwing a punch that he easily avoids.

  "I hear you have a problem with me being a hero," he grunts as he bobs and weaves.

  "It's not the fact that you're a hero," I woosh out as I attempt to throw another punch. "It's the fact that no one remembers what a good guy Travis was."

  "A good guy wouldn't try to kill his friends or kidnap a young girl," he argues, groaning when I land a punch.

  "All men make mistakes," I argue back with him, groaning like he did when he lands another punch.

  We go back and forth with each other, until I can't see out of one eye, and he has blood pouring from his lip.

  "We have to stop this," I pant. "I won't be able to walk tomorrow if we don't stop."

  He doesn't say anything. Just has a seat on the edge of the ring. I have one next to him, already starting to hurt.

  "I didn't want to shoot him," Caelin admits, his voice soft, sounding more like a kid than the man he is. "Every night, at some point, I see it again. Him holding the gun, me having the clean shot. Every night I replay it in my head, and I wonder what would have happened if I would have made another decision. Jagger," he turns to face me. "I know you had to do this, he was your family, and I get it. If someone threatened to hurt my sister or Wild, I'd want to do this too, but I promise you," he throws his gloves down before grabbing a towel to wipe his face. "If there had been another way, I would have taken it."

  "I just hate that he's gone," I admit. "What if we saved him? What if we could have helped him."

  "Has Christine told you what was wrong?"

  "No," I shake my head. "And maybe that's part of this too. I don't know what we were facing."

  "Whatever it was, it wasn't good, but if it makes you feel better, I don't think of myself as a hero. Not really. If there had been another way, I would have gladly taken it. I've had to grow up," he looks around the room. "Grow up quicker than I ever expected too, and now all this responsibility with the club? What if I fuck up, Jagger? I mean for real. What if I fuck up?"

  All of a sudden, I see him there, unlike I've seen him before. I notice the uncertainty in his eyes, the doubt causing his shoulders to sag slightly. "I remember being new," I grin. "Everyone picked on me, and then I touched Tyler's mug one day and was fucking cursed with bad luck."

  Caelin grins. "Everyone says it is."

  "Oh, trust me, it is," I look at him, realizing he needs reassurance. "You're going to do fine. You have everybody rooting for you."

  "Even you?" He presses.

  It takes me a minute to answer. "Even me. You have big shoes to fill, though."

  "I know, Travis was a legend. I still haven't broken into some of his stuff."

  We're quiet for a few minutes.

  "I really am sorry I took our friend away."

  Glancing over at him with the vision available in only one eye, I lean in closer. "I'm really sorry you had to."

  Caelin holds out his hand for me to shake.

  I do without thought, all we needed was to get our feelings out in the open. Me? I'll always have a spot in my heart that misses Travis, but now that I know how Caelin feels - I know I'll try extra hard to be there when he needs help.

  "So," Caelin gets up. "Do women really throw their underwear at your on stage?"

  I chuckle. "Not if B's in the room they don't."

  The End

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  Royal Rebel

  Prologue

  Tristan

  “I’m fucked. Completely and totally fucked. The King is going to have me beheaded in front of the entire country.”

  I should have been home hours ago, technically yesterday. Looking down at the illuminated clock located on the dashboard of my Bugatti, I grimace as the blue numbers turn to four am. The sad thing? I know what I’m required to do and I’m failing miserably before I’ve even started.

  “That’s one way of putting it, Tris, and he’s your father, I doubt he’d behead you in front of everyone. More than likely he’ll give you a private dressing down. Pu
blic isn’t his style.”

  A smirk twitches at the corners of my mouth as my good friend and member of my royal protection team, Parker holds on tight when I take a turn at almost one-hundred miles an hour. He’s used to it, but he still slides across the leather of his seat.

  “Perhaps slow down? Getting there quicker isn’t going to make it any better if your father is waiting on you.”

  Chuckling, I question. “Faster? You want me to go faster, you say?” I press my foot to the pedal harder, enjoying the way the car designed specifically for me, responds. Gripping the steering wheel I hold on tight as it gives a jolt, and accelerates forward.

  Parker gives a yell as we’re jerked back in our seats by the force of the acceleration. The city is asleep in the eerie quietness of the early-morning, but the lights pass by in a blur as I make my way downtown, heading for the residence I keep while not in the country.

  “Not so fast!” Parker is pressing an imaginary brake so hard on the passenger side floorboard that I can hear it from where I sit.

  “No worries, it brakes like a dream.”

  The tires squeal lightly as we come to a halt in front of the gates. They open once the guards inside see who I am. Conservatively, I drive to the garage, park the car, and then as quiet as I can, sneak into the main house through the kitchen entrance.

  “Tristan!”

  “Shhh,” I shush the head of the kitchen. Mary has worked here since I was a child, and I can always count on her to use discretion. “I’ll see you in a few hours,” I grab a fresh biscuit off the counter, before giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  Again, with the stealth of a ninja, I navigate through the main room and then the hallway. The stairs are in my sights when I hear a throat clear behind me.

  “Tristan, where have you been?”

  The loud, commanding tone of King Phillip, better known to me as my father, stops me in my tracks. Pasting a smile, I turn. “Out for a morning run?”

  “Don’t pretend I’m stupid. Get to my office now!”

  He’s angry, much like he’s been for the past twelve years since my mother passed away. Angry at the world for forcing him to grieve in public, angry at God for taking her away, and angry at me for looking so much like her. I’m a constant reminder of the life he had and lost. I’m the person that survived the crash which took her life. Some days, I think he wishes it was me who perished. Breathing heavily, I follow him into his office, knowing I’m going to deserve whatever he gives me.

  “You know what today is?” He has a seat behind the ornate desk he’s had since I was a child. Back then it’d been larger than life, much like he was to me.

  “How could I forget?”

  My birthday.

  Twenty-five is a big year, especially in our tiny country of Haldonia. It’s the year you can legally rent a car, the time you age out of mandatory military service, and if you’re in line for the throne, it’s when the previous King or Queen secedes. They give you six months to learn the ropes, but what is six months when trying to learn how to be a ruler?

  You’ve got that right, I’m about to be the King of a freaking country. Know what else comes along with being King?

  “She’s here, Tristan,” he steeples his fingers in front of his face. The fact he still wears his wedding ring doesn’t escape me. It flashes with the light from the lamp on his desk.

  “My blushing bride, I take it?” The words are pulled from deep within my chest. I’d always thought I would make my own decision when it came to who I would marry. My parents did, after all, and they had a tremendous love. One that burned bright until the day she died. I, however, haven’t been that lucky.

  “You knew this day would come. Instead of gallivanting around and using your status, you should have been serious about picking out a partner. You haven’t done that, and royal custom says the marriage is now to be arranged. You were given time, my son. You blew it, and now you must pay the consequences.”

  He’s not lying. It’s time for me to own up to my mistakes like a man. “When and where?” I ask, having a seat in front of him, letting my hands fall in between my legs.

  “Your birthday party, tonight,” he looks at the clock on his desk. “There you’ll meet Amelia. Tomorrow, we introduce her to the country. I hope you’re prepared for what’s about to happen, Tristan.”

  “Doesn’t matter if I am or not, does it?” I give him a sardonic smile. “In six months’ time, I’ll be a married man and King of a country.”

  “It is custom.”

  “Yeah?” I get up, sighing again. “Sometimes I’d like to say fuck custom.”

  As I take the stairs two at a time, making it to my bedroom just as the sun is coming up, I wonder just why God took my Mom and not me. I would’ve been a much better choice.

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