Read Online Fused (Lost in Oblivion #4.5) by Cari Quinn, Taryn Elliott - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cari Quinn, Taryn Elliott
Tags: Coming of Age, Anthologies
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in a way I didn’t think I would ever be.”
Michael didn’t speak for a long time. His dexterous fingers swept around the edge of his glass, back and forth. “You didn’t say again.”
“What?”
“You didn’t say he made you happy again. You weren’t ever happy with my father, were you? Not really. Not in the way that mattered.”
“No.” She swallowed the rest of her wine and pushed away the glass. No more crutches. “I was infatuated with him, and he swept me away with promises. And money.” She wouldn’t sugarcoat the truth. It had taken years for her to acknowledge it, even to herself. “I was a farm girl from a small town, and he probably could’ve told me anything and I would’ve wanted to believe it. He bought me, and I own my guilt in being able to be purchased like a doll off a shelf. I told myself I loved him, because he said he loved me. And he was handsome, and intelligent, and everyone swarmed him like bees looking for honey. I wanted to be in his light.”
Michael nodded, lacing his fingers around his glass. But he still didn’t drink. “This guy in Oblivion…he has some light of his own.”
“He does, and plenty of money. And it doesn’t make one whit of difference to me. He could be a pauper and I wouldn’t care.” She laughed tiredly. “Hell, it would be easier.”
“So why did you break things off with him again?”
Her laughter subsided. This, too, required truth. One that was brutally hard to face, especially when reflected in the eyes of her boy. “Because I’m not ready to fall in love.” The redhead in the pictures and her understandable trust issues were part of it, a big part, but not all. Not even close. “I’m not ready to take the risk.”
Michael took a long drink, then set down his glass. The clink echoed in the too-silent apartment. “Sounds like you already have.”
5
I t had been almost a week since the show, and Simon, the fucker, wasn’t answering texts. Or calls. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to be home when Nick showed up uninvited on Saturday morning and let himself in again.
The key code hadn’t been changed yet to block him access, so that was probably a net win. With how things were going lately, he’d have to take them where he got them.
He’d even a bought a frigging bag of bagels, knowing Simon and Margo loved them fresh from the shop on the corner. Since he was already in their kitchen—and grumbling as he poked through their cabinets and discovered they were out of coffee—he could have left the bagels behind. But hell, Simon was probably off eating some stupid melon cup while he twirled the end of his sunglasses and debated the benefits of sunblock SPF 30 vs 50 on his model-perfect skin.
Nick snatched the bag of still-warm bagels off the counter and strode out of the apartment. He didn’t even like bagels all that much, but he’d keep his ten-dollar purchase for himself.
He could practically hear Simon’s laughter in his head as he got back in his car and rocketed up the street. Dude, you’re a millionaire, bitching about ten-spots. Seriously, man, give it up. The money isn’t going to just disappear one day. We’re outta Carson now. We left it behind.
Easy for Simon to say. He had his backup career at the ready and was rolling in cash. Oblivion or no Oblivion, he would do just fine.
He, on the other hand, had no options. Gray and Jazz were writing for themselves and other bands, and Gray had already sat in as a session musician on The Grunge’s upcoming album. He’d asked Nick if he wanted to join them, since they actually played really well off each other, but Nick had told him no. His goddamn stage fright and inability to play easily with new people didn’t exactly leave him a ton of room for doing his best work in a one-and-done situation. He didn’t produce other artists like Deacon was getting into. Sure as hell couldn’t flip out his violin and join the symphony like Margo.
What he could do
Michael didn’t speak for a long time. His dexterous fingers swept around the edge of his glass, back and forth. “You didn’t say again.”
“What?”
“You didn’t say he made you happy again. You weren’t ever happy with my father, were you? Not really. Not in the way that mattered.”
“No.” She swallowed the rest of her wine and pushed away the glass. No more crutches. “I was infatuated with him, and he swept me away with promises. And money.” She wouldn’t sugarcoat the truth. It had taken years for her to acknowledge it, even to herself. “I was a farm girl from a small town, and he probably could’ve told me anything and I would’ve wanted to believe it. He bought me, and I own my guilt in being able to be purchased like a doll off a shelf. I told myself I loved him, because he said he loved me. And he was handsome, and intelligent, and everyone swarmed him like bees looking for honey. I wanted to be in his light.”
Michael nodded, lacing his fingers around his glass. But he still didn’t drink. “This guy in Oblivion…he has some light of his own.”
“He does, and plenty of money. And it doesn’t make one whit of difference to me. He could be a pauper and I wouldn’t care.” She laughed tiredly. “Hell, it would be easier.”
“So why did you break things off with him again?”
Her laughter subsided. This, too, required truth. One that was brutally hard to face, especially when reflected in the eyes of her boy. “Because I’m not ready to fall in love.” The redhead in the pictures and her understandable trust issues were part of it, a big part, but not all. Not even close. “I’m not ready to take the risk.”
Michael took a long drink, then set down his glass. The clink echoed in the too-silent apartment. “Sounds like you already have.”
5
I t had been almost a week since the show, and Simon, the fucker, wasn’t answering texts. Or calls. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to be home when Nick showed up uninvited on Saturday morning and let himself in again.
The key code hadn’t been changed yet to block him access, so that was probably a net win. With how things were going lately, he’d have to take them where he got them.
He’d even a bought a frigging bag of bagels, knowing Simon and Margo loved them fresh from the shop on the corner. Since he was already in their kitchen—and grumbling as he poked through their cabinets and discovered they were out of coffee—he could have left the bagels behind. But hell, Simon was probably off eating some stupid melon cup while he twirled the end of his sunglasses and debated the benefits of sunblock SPF 30 vs 50 on his model-perfect skin.
Nick snatched the bag of still-warm bagels off the counter and strode out of the apartment. He didn’t even like bagels all that much, but he’d keep his ten-dollar purchase for himself.
He could practically hear Simon’s laughter in his head as he got back in his car and rocketed up the street. Dude, you’re a millionaire, bitching about ten-spots. Seriously, man, give it up. The money isn’t going to just disappear one day. We’re outta Carson now. We left it behind.
Easy for Simon to say. He had his backup career at the ready and was rolling in cash. Oblivion or no Oblivion, he would do just fine.
He, on the other hand, had no options. Gray and Jazz were writing for themselves and other bands, and Gray had already sat in as a session musician on The Grunge’s upcoming album. He’d asked Nick if he wanted to join them, since they actually played really well off each other, but Nick had told him no. His goddamn stage fright and inability to play easily with new people didn’t exactly leave him a ton of room for doing his best work in a one-and-done situation. He didn’t produce other artists like Deacon was getting into. Sure as hell couldn’t flip out his violin and join the symphony like Margo.
What he could do
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