Call You Mine Read online

  Why can’t I have that?

  “You date douches,” Nathan remarks, and I glare at him.

  Who asked you, twerp?

  And if his comment isn’t enough, my brother Seth adds, “She mail-orders them from Doucheland.”

  “Original.” I groan, rolling my eyes.

  They both laugh at me, and I swear I don’t kill them only because my parents are fond of them and might notice if they go missing.

  Why couldn’t I be an only child?

  “Stop!” Mom orders as if we’re younger and she needs some order before we start chasing each other.

  So, I know what you’re thinking. Why is she at her parents’ and not with a friend drinking a glass of wine, eating popcorn, and streaming some sappy rom-com?

  My best friend is in London. He’d be mocking me, just like my brothers. The rest are busy with their lives. The good thing is that I have my family. From a young age, I learned to confide in them.

  I come from a big family that is close—too close.

  We live on the same cul-de-sac where Mom’s parents and her brothers live. Our backyards are connected. Our playground is the size of a park. My aunts, uncles, grandparents, and parents took care of us, the children, at the same time. My cousins and I grew up like brothers and sisters.

  Even my great-grandparents used to live close to us. My chest aches at the memory of them. I still miss them so much. Gigi died when I was twenty. Great grandpa James died a couple of years ago.

  Mom and I are pretty close. When I need someone to vent to, I usually call her or come by my childhood home to complain about the latest dating disaster. I’m prone to those. Today is different, though.

  I’m here because Dad had to pick me up at the hospital where I drove my date. Well, it’s more like he had to clear my name with the police because the doctors were accusing me of domestic violence.

  Yep, that’s how bad my date went.

  “I’m still confused about how you ended up breaking the guy’s nose,” Nathan snorts.

  “He must’ve said, ‘You look pretty tonight,’” Seth replies. His hip is parked against the kitchen counter. He’s drinking from a can of Dr. Pepper while he watches me with amusement.

  I was hoping this incident would stay between my parents and me. These two are never going to let it go. Having two pesky younger brothers is every girl’s nightmare and a woman’s headache. Again, my parents should’ve just kept their family small. Only one child—me.

  “I still don’t get why Dad had to bring you along.”

  “It’s poker night,” he reminds me.

  I groan because that means everyone in my family already knows about this mess. My uncles and Dad have had this tradition since before I was born. Every Thursday, they get together to play. It used to be video games, but over the years, it transformed into poker night.

  From only four players, it’s now up to at least ten a night—if not more. My grandparents, uncles, and cousins always gather in Uncle Jacob’s basement. The night is open for whichever Decker is in town.

  “I came to rescue you,” Seth says and tsks. “Who knew it was the guy who needed me to save him from you.”

  “Har. Har, har, har.” I glare at him. “We’re all going to forget about this.”

  “Or…I’m going to hack into the city’s CCTV system. It should be easy to find the footage where we can see your little stunt. I’ll be streaming it everywhere by Sunday,” Nathan teases me.

  “You want to experience it yourself?” I show him my fist. “I can give you a live demonstration.”

  “You can try, shorty,” he taunts me.

  Mom claps her hands. “There won’t be any demonstrations or fights,” she warns us, pointing at Nathan. “We don’t make fun of people’s height just because you’re a gigantor.”

  We all laugh at my petite mom.

  I’m not short, but my five-nine seems small compared to my brothers, who are six-five. Not as small as Mom, who is five inches shorter than me. My uncles, her brothers, who are also tall, call her pocket size.

  Nathan lifts his arms. “I wouldn’t dare. You’re the boss, lady.” He winks at her.

  “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Nathan Bradley,” she says, and she narrows her gaze at him.

  My brother stands up and pulls her into a hug. “I wouldn’t dare to upset you, Mom. If you don’t need me, I’ll be in my room.”

  I glare at Nathan and say, “Aren’t you a little too old to be living with Mom and Dad?”

  “I’m just twenty-two.” He grabs a yogurt from the fridge and searches for a spoon in the silverware drawer. “Just because you’re some kind of musical freak who likes to go around the world showing off, that doesn’t mean I should do the same.”

  “She’s a prodigy, not a freak!” I jolt at the sound of the low baritone voice.

  I’d recognize that sound anywhere. Turning around, I find him. Beacon Aldridge. His tall, broad body stands by the kitchen entrance blocking it. His dark hair is cut short on the sides and longish on top. The fringes almost cover his deep green eyes. His black long sleeve T-shirt stretches over his broad chest.

  He’s too handsome for his own good.

  “Beacon, did you break into the house again?” Mom sighs and shakes her head, looking at the microwave clock. “It’s almost midnight. A little late for visits—or break-ins.”

  He gives Mom his signature cheeky grin. “I wouldn’t call it a break-in, as much as I decided not to disturb you guys since it’s late, Mrs. B. I didn’t trigger any alarm.”

  He saunters toward Mom and gives her a hug and a kiss. This guy is the one who taught Nathan how to get away with murder when it comes to Mom. Just a sly smile, a hug, and their ass-kissing words.

  Nathan grunts. “Great. Dad’s going to add another layer of security to the alarm because someone was able to hack it.”

  “You should thank me,” Beacon says. “I’m keeping him entertained and off your case. Have you decided what you’re going to do with your life?”

  Nathan mumbles something under his breath and shakes his head.

  Seth high fives Beacon. “Since there’s someone to control our criminal, I can leave. Beac, call me tomorrow.” He hugs Mom and kisses her forehead, walking out of the kitchen.

  “Hey.” Beacon sits on the barstool next to me and takes a spoonful of yogurt.

  “How are you, stranger?” I greet him.

  “You’re just the person I am looking for,” he says. “Heard you broke someone’s nose this time. Nothing says, ‘Let’s go steady’ better than a visit to the ER.”

  “Shut up!”

  He bursts into laughter, and Nathan joins. They begin to mock me. Beacon is a big part of the family, like a brother. He’s been around us ever since I can remember.

  His mother and father didn’t want to deal with him, so they gave him to his maternal grandparents who were too old to raise a child. They reached out to my grandfather Gabe. He convinced them to move to Washington, where their grandchild could have a life away from Hollywood and the paparazzi.

  While growing up, Mom and Dad filled those places his parents didn’t care to fill, and his grandparents couldn’t because they were too famous and too old. He’s my best friend, but he can also be a pain in the ass. Sometimes he behaves like the big brother I never wanted.

  I cross my arms and glare at them both. “Are you done?”

  Covering his nose, Beacon nods. “So, what did he do to piss you off?”

  “You’re not funny.” I glare at him but tell him what happened. “He came up from behind and covered my eyes. I was outside the coffee shop waiting for him.”

  Beacon gasps. “Wait, let me get this straight. He saw a woman alone on the street and he thought covering her eyes was a good idea? What a fucking idiot. Why would he do that?”

  I draw air quotes. “To surprise me.” I sigh.

  “Well, he got a big surprise, didn’t he? Our Grace isn’t just any woman. She works for the best high intel
ligence, private security company.” He chuckles. “What did you do?”

  “I went into survival mode, and I hit him with my elbow to get away. Then, as I turned, I kicked him in the face while getting ready to run away. He should be glad that I didn’t break any ribs.”

  “You’re such a romantic, G,” Beacon teases, but he doesn’t smile.

  The tease is just an automatic response. He uses humor to deflect from him or his emotional state. That’s when I realize that there’s something wrong with him. There’s a wave of lingering anger in his eyes.

  I’ve been so preoccupied with Jonathan Wilson and the police that I forgot about Beacon. I tried to reach him earlier, before my date. He didn’t respond to any of my calls. He’s supposed to be in London. As a matter of fact, I just realized that he didn’t call at midnight his time zone.

  What happened?

  “Do you want to go home?” I ask.

  He bobs his head twice then smirks at Mom. “I’m taking your troublemaker away, Mrs. B.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow, Mom.” I hug her and then squeeze Nathan’s arm. “Don’t cause any trouble while I’m gone.”

  “Says the black sheep of this family,” he jokes.

  Beacon drags me by the hand.

  “Where is your dad?”

  “It’s the day of family emergencies,” I answer. “My grandparents’ sink broke. He’s at their house helping them.”

  Rumor has it that my grandparents were having sex on top of it. Ew. I’m not sure who started it or if it’s to give them a hard time, but I choose not to think about them doing more than holding hands.

  “Never a dull moment around you.” He chuckles.

  His truck is right outside the house. As we drive away, he grabs my hand. He doesn’t let it go during the drive, and neither one of us speaks. Twenty minutes later, we’re at my place, which happens to be right next door to his. Once we make it inside, he hugs me tight. His chin rests on my shoulder.

  “What happened?”

  He doesn’t answer. His hands tap my back lightly. It’s a slow rhythm at first that switches to a fast tempo a few seconds later. It’s hard to understand what’s the motive. All I know is that he’s working his emotions through music. We’re so similar in that way. I’d rather be playing my cello than talking about what’s happening to me.

  I stay quiet for a while. In the meantime, I’m trying to figure out what’s bothering him. He was in London scouting the place. We have a tour coming up next September. There’s a lot involved in that European leg. He and the guys were using this time to meet with the members of our team who are already working undercover. If something had happened, he would’ve contacted Dad.

  It’s not until I feel like there’s a pattern—a melody eager to be played—that I know he’s ready to let it out. If not in words, through music.

  “Do you want to go to the music room?”

  He takes a deep breath and finally lets me go. His eyes still harbor some frustration. He’s not ready to talk. I wouldn’t be surprised if he goes for the drums and expects me to follow him with the cello or the violin. He’s too upset and has a lot of pent-up energy inside of him.

  At first, I’m shocked when he chooses the piano and tilts his head toward the cello. As he strokes the keys slowly, I understand. He’s not angry.

  He’s sad and hurting.

  Beacon goes to the recording console, turns it on, and grabs the remote. Then he starts playing, and I follow. We take a few breaks. He insists I go to sleep, but I disregard his suggestion. He needs this.

  He needs to bleed through the music.

  I won’t let him do it alone.

  It’s almost six in the morning when we finally stop. His features are more relaxed, and his eyes have that calm I love. I set Camilla, my cello, in her stand and begin doing my hand stretches.

  “Want to grab some breakfast?” he asks.

  “Still not ready to talk, huh?” I yawn, stretch, and lift Mozart, our cat, from the floor.

  He has been walking around since we arrived, patiently waiting to be the center of attention. This guy is pretty intuitive and knows when it’s his turn to be demanding.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Beacon counters and takes Mozzy from my arms. “What have you been up to, Mozzarella? We should feed you while we’re in the kitchen.”

  “Beacon.”

  His eyes find mine, and he sighs. “My father’s lawyer called. William Aldridge is dying. He’d like to see me.” He shows me his hand as if to stop me from ranting. “No, I won’t be visiting him. It’s just fucking frustrating that he can reach out just when he’s about to die. At least he isn’t like my mother, calling to see if I’ll sing a duet with her to revive her career.”

  “Did she call again?”

  He nods once.

  I don’t usually hate people, but I loathe his mother. What kind of coldhearted bitch abandons her son with her parents when he’s not even two? Oh, but now that he’s famous, she’s been trying to figure out how to use him and make a comeback.

  Bitch.

  I hate his father too. I met him when we were living in New York. He was charming with most people, but cold with his son. His parents have ignored him since he was a kid, and even though he has five older brothers, only one is part of Beacon’s life.

  “Have you heard from Mills?” Mills Aldridge, his brother, is the star defenseman for the Vancouver hockey team.

  Beacon shakes his head. “He’s traveling with the team all week. He’ll call me when he’s back.” He grunts. “I told him to quit. This is the second time he’s injured that knee. The third time is going to end more than his career.”

  “He should go to a specialist. We’ll find him the best. If he moves in with us temporarily, we can give him a hand with his son,” I suggest.

  “If my fucking brothers weren’t selfish assholes, he could go to Hayes.”

  I arch an eyebrow as I try to remember which one is which. He has five brothers, and it’s hard to keep them all straight since we don’t speak about them often.

  “Is Hayes the doctor?” I guess, trusting my logic.

  Beacon nods. “Best fucking orthopedic doctor in the world. Has he reached out and said, ‘Hey, asshole, I heard you hurt your knee. I might be able to fix it’ or visited him to check on him? No. We…maybe we should visit Mills soon and convince him to take a hiatus.”

  “We’ll do that,” I assure him. “Arden needs a break from that hockey life too. He’s just a baby.”

  He looks at me and smiles. It’s such a sad smile. I want to cry for him.

  Even though Mills is older than him, Beacon is the one who is always trying to take care of his brother. Mills and Arden are what he has left of hope. I wish he would accept my family as his and forget about the assholes. There are so many things I can wish for, but I don’t say a word because I understand him better than anyone else.

  He lives with a guilt that doesn’t belong to him. He wants to fix everything he believes he broke. He wants to protect everyone he loves. The only thing that gives him peace is his music. That’s the only constant that we share.

  Chapter Three

  Beacon

  * * *

  “I hate you!” Grace says as I cut the homemade sourdough bread into cubes.

  “Good. I still love you,” I say teasingly.

  “You could just bring the frittata, but no, you have to make your famous cinnamon French toast casserole.”

  “It is famous,” I agree. “It’s become an institution during the Deckers’ brunch. I can’t just skip it because you can’t eat it.”

  She glares at me while wiping the bread maker.

  “If I promise to make you some special muffins tomorrow?”

  She smiles at me. “Fine, I might like you again.”

  “Wow, I can’t please the crowd. What does a guy have to do to get an I love you?”

  She shrugs. “Keep trying, Aldridge,” she jokes.

  My phone rin
gs. I pray to God that it’s not an emergency because I don’t have time to entertain nonsense. It’s my time off with Grace. Everyone knows not to call on Sundays when I’m at home.

  “It says Hayes.” G shows me my phone.

  “Great. Asshole number two is calling.” I sigh.

  “Answer.”

  “No,” I say. “Just ignore it. I don’t care if he needs me to go to New York. For all I care, our father can die, go to hell, and I won’t be bothered.”

  “He’s your brother. You should answer.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Good idea,” she says and slides her finger across the screen. “Beacon’s phone, how can I help you?”

  That snarky tone and the grin while she’s answering are a turn on. I should be upset that she can’t let things be, but how can I when she’s so fucking adorable—and challenging.

  “Is he available?” I can hear his voice from where I stand.

  I shake my head. Hang up the phone, I mouth.

  “It depends.” She twirls a lock of her hair, which surprisingly is dark brown today—her natural hair color. “Why are you calling, asshole number two?”

  There’s a chuckle on the other side of the line. “Is that how my name comes up on the caller ID? He catalogues us as assholes, just like Mills calls us Fuckers.”

  She responds, “No,” but she nods.

  Because actually, yes. I categorize my brothers by the severity of their assholiness, which coincidentally matches their birth placement from oldest to youngest. No one is a super asshole like Henry. He is his own kind of fucked-up dickhead.

  “It reads Hayes. However, when your name flashed, he just said, ‘Fuck. First, a lawyer calls about my father, and now it’s asshole number two,” she explains further. Only G can make up that shit on the go.

  She doesn’t need me to have a conversation with my brothers. Grace knows how I feel about each one of them. If she could just not try to make a low male voice, we’d be cool. Her raspy voice makes me hot.