Irreplaceable (Underneath it All Series: Book Three) (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) Read online

  I declined the call and felt genuine relief when some high pitched woman’s voice came pouring through the speakers, singing that her name, sign, and number, were ‘No’. It seemed appropriate. “He’s a friend.”

  “Maybe he could be my friend too,” Rose said suggestively, flipping down the visor to peer at her reflection.

  “That’s a no-fly zone,” I answered, flexing my knuckles on the steering wheel.

  “But I’ll be eighteen in like...” She snapped her fingers.

  Luckily, there was a red light, so I could safely glance over at Rose and shake my head, effectively ending the conversation.

  Rose predictably rolled her eyes. Her eye roll was almost identical to her sister’s, with a scoff tacked to the end. “Ugh, you’re about as bad as the Fun Police back there,” she huffed, crooking her thumb over her shoulder.

  I glanced at the mirror. From the grin on Sadie’s lips, she was glad she didn’t have to shut Rose down personally.

  “Somebody’s gotta keep my barely legal sister out of trouble.”

  Rose crossed her arms and defiantly turned her full attention to her phone. Before I could turn my attention back to the road, Sadie mouthed two new words: Thank you.

  When was the last time someone had thanked me for anything? When was the last time they meant it? When was the last time I got this tingling sensation in my chest and couldn’t stop smiling?

  “The light is green and you two are officially so cute it’s gross,” Rose snapped, just in time for the impatient driver behind me to lay on his horn.

  Not even thinking, more habit than anything, I flipped the driver off and snapped my car back to life. I remembered I wasn’t alone and started apologizing.

  “I’m not one of those psycho assholes.” I cleared my throat and pointedly ignored the two sets of eyes that were gawking at me.

  “I hate to break it to you,” Sadie’s voice was solemn, with just enough dread that I felt nervous. “But you’re as fucked up as the rest of us.”

  “That was freaking AWESOME!” Rose followed up, holding up her hand for a high-five.

  I high-fived her, grinning like a dummy, quickly reclaiming the steering wheel. My smile faltered when Sadie gently reminded me that our exit was coming up soon. The city would be behind us in a few minutes and it would be impossible to keep pretending that we were on some road trip to some warm, beautiful place. Falcon wasn’t hell on Earth, but from what I’d gleaned from Sadie and Rose, it was close enough. And the reason we were going to Falcon, formerly a bitter, heavy whisper that buzzed beneath the auto tune, was now a screech from a megaphone, endless, repeating, and impossible to ignore.

  “You think Mom is gonna die?”

  Rose asked the question as nonchalantly as someone asking if we wanted Chinese or Italian for dinner. Like our destination, and their mother ending up in the hospital, was inevitable.

  I stole a look at Sadie. The urge to pull over, take her in my arms, and lie to her again; tell her it would all be okay, overwhelmed me. That fierce beauty, the softness and strength, like a rose with thorns, was replaced by something else. I knew that she dialed up the strength to hide her vulnerability. It was a skill I’d mastered as well.

  Now, there was no strength anywhere to be found.

  The absence of that forced reality to sink in. The look on her face ripped my heart from my chest and crushed it. My fighter, the woman that had to have been an Amazonian warrior in a past life, drinking from the skulls of her enemies, was hidden. This Sadie looked weary, right down to her bones. All fight, all spark, all will to lie to her sister, to keep going, had been drained right out of her.

  She locked eyes with me, hers made of glass. Her chin trembled and she parted her lips, her expression turning into something unacceptable.

  Agony.

  She didn’t want to answer that question, because if she gave her sister hope and we ended up in that hospital and the worst had come to fruition, she’d never forgive herself.

  So I spoke up.

  I went to my own place of agony.

  I talked about the woman I spent most of my life trying to forget.

  “I was too young to ask that question when my mother was taken to the hospital, but I remember the feeling of dread that filled my stomach. I wanted to run. To hide. To throw up.” A chill rushed over me and I could see it all playing out on the windshield. A horror movie that I had to watch whether I wanted to or not.

  “I’d just turned six.” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. All the luxury in the world couldn’t massage away the urge to keep the past under lock and key. What the hell was I thinking, bringing her up? I didn’t want to make their pain about me.

  Liar. You just want an out. To press the eject button so you can go back to being stone cold Jackson Colt, using humor and charm to hide the truth.

  I knew myself well. I swallowed the fears and put my skeletons back in the closet, steering the conversation back to them. “But that’s enough about me-”

  “Boo hoo, the billionaire had to watch his mommy be taken off to the hospital. Try living in perpetual fear that your mother would drink herself to death, burn the house down, or forget to buy groceries.”

  Sadie’s vehemence was palpable. I could taste it in the air. It was almost as dizzying as the old aches and pangs that rushed back, pulling me to the past. The movie was still rolling, the scenes plucked from my childhood. I was wearing a dirty shirt and jeans because I didn’t know how to do laundry and I’d run out of clean clothes a week ago. Clean clothes weren’t the only thing we were out of. The cupboards had gone dry days ago. There was only my aluminum cans and the empty bottomlessness that had become my stomach.

  “I know what it’s like to worry about food,” I answered tersely, my throat on fire with my confession. “I know what it’s like to have no food at all. I’ve always had a pretty good imagination, though. I convinced myself that a cup of room tap water tasted like a slice of pepperoni pizza.”

  I was doing the thing again. Using humor to mask my pain. My truth. There wasn’t a damn thing funny about what I’d shared. What I’d lived.

  “Oh my God.”

  I pumped my brakes immediately. Some twisted, buried piece of me that felt unworthy of love, unworthy of telling my story, expected Sadie to be glaring at me, ready to demand I let them out. Walking was a better option than sharing air with me, she’d say.

  Face to face with the woman I was falling in love with, I didn’t find condemnation. All the disgust that had been in her words was long gone and replaced by heart wrenching sorrow. “I didn’t—Oh, Jax.”

  Some asshole laid on his horn, but I saved the middle finger for another time and turned my attention back to the road. The task at hand wiped away the ache and I steeled myself before I spoke. “It’s cool. This isn’t about me-”

  “You’re taking us to our mom. You didn’t have to do that. Everything wise and sane says you should have wished us good luck and let us figure it out.” Sadie squeezed my shoulder supportively. “It isn’t about me. I shouldn’t have...I wish...what I said was-”

  “Cruel?” Rose spoke up. The air wasn’t alive with the past anymore, it was rife with tension. “Like Mom?”

  I half expected that I was going to have to take the next exit because Rose had thrown down the gauntlet—and I doubted Sadie would let that missile go unanswered.

  "You're right," Sadie muttered.

  "I'm sorry, what was that?" Rose didn't let her off the hook. Even though the radio was practically silent, she reached over and fiddled with the touchscreen and made sure it was completely muted.

  I acted like the drive was more scenic and compelling than it was, knowing that whatever button had been pushed was bigger than me.

  "Rose, we're not gonna do this here-"

  "Then when are we gonna do it, Sadie?!" Rose shrilled. "Jesus, you and Mom are one in the same. She refuses to talk about anything at all, and you refuse to talk about anything important. You both push away the
people that care about you because you're terrified of being alone." Rose's voice, usually airy and upbeat, went dark and serious. Like a girl who was forced to grow up before her time. "Let me tell you something. When you don't open up, when you don't put yourself out there, when you choose safety instead of risk, when you lash out at someone who just wants to be there for you, the only way he knows how...you are alone. You're building an island and blasting anyone that gets close right out of the water."

  At first glance, there was only anger and hurt. Loneliness. But that wasn't all there was. Beneath the red and the terse exchange was hope. Hope for the future. Hope that they could do things differently. That Sadie could let go of her bitterness towards their mother for long enough to see that her sister was right there, in need of someone to lean on, confide in. In need of her sister.

  The silence that followed Rose’s words made me grateful I was strapped in and had driving to keep me occupied. I was content to fly under the radar since Rose was evoking images of war and death. Sadie let out a sigh of frustration and I battened down the hatches the best I could. I waited for Sadie to respond.

  “What the hell do you know about being ‘blown out of the water’?”

  Rose didn’t miss a beat. “I saw that Battleship movie with Rihanna.”

  The car went silent again for a precious, confounding seconds before their laughter filled the air. My laughter. But that wasn’t what compelled me.

  It was in her laugh. Sadie. The vulnerability that Rose spoke of wouldn't be denied; it lived in the music that fell from her lips. Even from where I sat, I felt it deep in my chest, like she was a part of me. Wrapping me, wrapping Rose, in the sound.

  In these situations, I knew better than most that people would lie, cry, and sometimes even laugh to hide the truth. But this wasn't a patronizing "It's gonna be okay". This was raw; notes wrapped in emotion as the laughter tapered off. Sadie’s face told no lies. Her natural blush was a few shades deeper, her involuntary tell. I saw her, Sadie’s dainty features anything but breakable as she let go. Tears spilled down her cheeks as her scarlet hair crashed around her face. I nearly swerved when she skated her fingers through the strands that veiled her. All the things I ran away from radiated from her, starting with the eyes. The emerald green sparkled with a sadness that I knew. The loss of something you never had in the first place; the parent-shaped hole in your heart that would never be filled. But that wasn’t all there was. There was a glimmer that was something beyond pain. It was something just as powerful and infinitely more compelling.

  It was love.

  Love for Rose, who was still shuddering from her attempts to suppress her laughter. Theirs was a bond forged in the flames; through a shared childhood filled with horrors that made me want to face their mother personally. Ask if she was blind or just ungrateful. Family was something that most took for granted. For a foster kid, family was one of two things. It was either something so fantastical that it was akin to a unicorn, or it was something hidden behind impenetrable glass. Shoved in our faces when we were foisted on cruel foster parents who paraded their children around like royalty, while treating us like distant relations that had worn out their welcome the minute we walked through the door.

  The fact that families were all around us made the longing turn to resentment. The kids who had families who were invested and gave curfews and gave a damn were the kids that complained the loudest, not knowing how good they had it.

  The glass sheen in Sadie’s eye told me that she was well aware of what they didn’t have, and when she looked at me, I saw empathy for my story. My childhood. And she didn’t even know the half of it.

  But that wasn’t what had me sniffling and clearing my throat and struggling to think of pickup trucks, sports, and Budweiser. I had to channel every ounce of testosterone I had in me to not start crying when I saw a tenderness in Sadie’s eyes. A promise that not only could she do it differently and let me in, but she wanted to. Even from the backseat, without pursing her lips in the mirror and eliciting a fresh eye roll from Rose, I felt her lips on mine. I felt her arms winding around my neck as she pulled me close.

  I felt the thing I pretended I didn’t need, that I pushed aside every time I used The Tower, disengaging from past lovers who got too close. Underneath it all, I wanted love. I needed it. And Sadie did too.

  Emotion had seized control of me and no amount of choking the steering wheel or manly clearing of my throat could change that. I didn’t let anything fall, but a quick glance over at Rose confirmed that my efforts to keep my emotions under wraps were in vain.

  She had no hang ups with showing me the tears that glittered on her cheeks. “It’s all good. My allergies are acting up too.”

  “I thought I was the only one that forgot to take my Claritin this morning,” Sadie added, rubbing my eyes. “That and my Bitch-B-Gone.”

  I cut my eyes at the rearview mirror, sure that my Sadie hadn’t made a joke, and definitely not one about herself.

  “Geez, Jax,” Sadie let out an extra dramatic sigh. “It’s hard enough to admit it on the rare occasion that I’m wrong. You’re gonna make me repeat myself?”

  “I didn’t catch what you said,” Rose offered, not missing a beat. She offered something else too, a toothy grin that she turned directly on her sister. “What did you call it again? Bit-Sadie B Gone?”

  “Hey, I don’t want Sadie to go anywhere.” I winked at her in the mirror and expected her to stick out her tongue or flash me the bird. Instead, she twisted her mouth to one side, then scrubbed her hands over her face. Being open and vulnerable was difficult for me too and the navigation was chirping that I was close to my destination. I didn’t need to look at her to see that she was struggling. Trying her best. Jokes aside, she felt like the spotlight was on her.

  “After what I said, treating you like you’re every other-” She stopped talking and I wondered if she was going to say ‘client’ but caught herself. “It’s hard for me to trust people. And I know you’ve given me no reason not to trust you; you’ve been Jackson Colt from the start, but I’ve been hurt-”

  She stopped. As much as I longed to reach back and take her hand, I kept my grip on the wheel.

  “And that’s the problem,” she continued, after gathering herself. “I’ve been hurt. I’ve been screwed over...and so have you. It doesn’t help me, you, or us if I keep holding you at a distance or stepping into the ring with you to find out whose scars run deeper. We all have scars. I don’t want to compete for the trophy of who had the worst childhood. I want to be there for you...and let you be there for me.”

  More sniffling erupted beside me, but Rose didn’t say a word.

  The next move was all on me.

  Rationality told me to take a minute. Weight out the pros and cons.

  My heart whispered, “Fuck it.”

  “I’m here, Red. I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

  Driving be damned, when her fingertips stroked my neck, I closed my eyes and let the ripple of warmth race over me.

  That word was back with a vengeance.

  Love.

  It was more than just a word.

  Love was Sadie McLeod.

  Love was letting Rose turn the volume back up on full blast after she murmured, “Mom’s gonna be okay. We’re all gonna be okay.”

  Chapter Ten: Sadie

  “You look just like your mother.”

  Most people who shared that assessment said it with nostalgia, like they were transported back in time just by looking at me. One glance and they were back at Falcon High, cruising down the halls, worshipping at the throne of my mother. Of all the cool kids: the jocks, the cheerleaders, the badasses who skipped class to smoke cigarettes in the bathroom, my mother was the coolest. Beautiful, athletic, decent grades; everyone just knew she was destined for greatness.

  After I confirmed that I was Colleen McLeod’s daughter, their next question was, How is she? Their eyes were bright with hope. Riveted. They waited for me to re
gale them with stories about how my mother was kicking ass and taking names in the business world. Or a retired supermodel who had taken her contacts and started an agency of her own. Or how she was lighting up Broadway with that bright smile that was immortalized in the trophy case by the entrance of the high school.

  Growing up, I’d lied to teachers, creating stories as fantastical as the ones I escaped into. My mother was in Africa, working with Doctors Without Borders. She couldn’t make Parents’ Night because she was penning the next Great American Novel in the Australian outback. I’d tell classmate’s Dads who had hearts in their eyes that I’d pass along their hellos when my mother got back from her top secret mission from the President of the United States. Eventually, they stopped asking and when they did, I stopped caring that the truth was nothing quite so extraordinary. She didn’t come around because she was too busy polishing off her daily box of wine and living vicariously through soap operas and the rich and famous on E!

  The charge nurse, Donna, had no teenage sigh attached to her declaration. The nostalgia that flickered in her eyes wasn’t awe. Her memories weren’t happy ones, and it was clear that being faced with my mother, and a daughter that reminded her of Colleen McLeod, was far from a good thing.

  Under different circumstances, like not being in the emergency room, I might have shared that I was no fan of my mother, either. Today was an exception.

  Instead of blushing and trying to disengaging, making it clear that I wasn’t my mother’s daughter, I cleared my throat. I felt Rose and Jackson’s eyes on me, burning through the glass window that separated the waiting room from the hallway.

  I straightened my spine and glared right back at Donna. “Thank you.” I didn’t have time or interest in using my imagination to figure out their connection. Like my mother, the woman in front of me was surely a ghost of her old self. Her scrubs were the color of gangrene and it made her pale skin glow as brightly as white blonde hair. The curl of her lips told me that she went to school with my mother, which meant she couldn’t be older than mid 40’s, but lines and wrinkles made her look a decade older. Age was just a number, and not a determinant of how beautiful someone was, but the scowl on Donna’s face turned anything that might have been beautiful hard and brittle.