Page 32 of Rebel

“Just tired,” I reply as I set my guitar to the side. “Beck, I need to tell you something, and it stays between us.”

“Uh-oh. If you have the clap, then you need to go to a clinic, man,” she teases, holding her hands up.

Rolling my eyes at her, I lean away. “Trust me, darling, I’m as clean as can be. No, it’s about Kolton.”

“What about him?” she asks innocently, and I fight to find the right words.

“Just stop touching him, okay?” Shit, that came out wrong.

“I’m sorry?” she replies, sounding defensive, and I don’t blame her. I sounded blunt as fuck.

“Fuck, this isn’t coming out right.” I blow out a breath, struggling with words for once in my life.

“Then say what you mean,” she demands, always a fucking wildcat. The fight in her eyes makes my jeans uncomfortably tight, not that I’d ever tell her.

Despite my thoughts on her, Beck truly is a fucking sex symbol, and I’m fighting old and new desires to have my wicked way with her.

No doubt she would stab me with a guitar pick for trying though.

“Beck . . . ,” I try again as she waits, getting annoyed.

BECK

“Well?” I prompt when he just stares at me as if he’s lost for words.

“If there is one thing I know for sure, it’s that Kolton Haynes does not like to be touched. Ever. I’m not saying it to be an asshole. I’m really not.”

I stare at him, super confused. “But I touch him all the time, not sexually, but I touch his hand or grab his arm or hug him—oh,” I trail off. “Shit.”

He nods. “It’s a thing from his past. He avoids women touching him at all costs. I don’t want him to feel uncomfortable or freaked out, so I thought I’d warn you. It’s not my place to say what happened, but just be careful with him, okay?”

I see the worry in his eyes and soften. “Of course, I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Wow, you truly do care for them.”

“I’m not a total bastard,” Chase mutters, and if I’m not wrong, there’s a flash of hurt in his eyes. “They are my brothers, and we have been through everything together. I just want to protect them.”

“That was shitty of me. I’m sorry. Thank you for telling me.”

He nods, his eyes back on the guitar, but there is coldness between us.

Great job, Beck, just what you need to get them to open up. “What are you playing?” I ask, drawing my knees to my chest and propping my chin on them.

His gaze meets mine, and for a moment, he looks lost. His bright eyes drop down my face, and I could swear they glance at my lips before he looks at the guitar.

“Just playing with a new song,” he murmurs. “It’s been a while since I wrote one,” he admits. “Usually, I write them all, but the guys started writing a couple of years ago, and we use everyone’s ideas now, but I haven’t been . . .” He bites his lip, strumming the guitar. “I haven’t been able to write one since I got clean. I just worry I can’t do it anymore and that I was only good back then because of the drugs. What if I can’t ever write a good song again? What if I will never be good enough?”

I know it had to hurt to admit that out loud, especially to me. In this moment, I can choose who I want to be—someone I’m proud of or someone out to hurt people.

“What if the sky falls? What if the world ends?” I retort as he looks at me, wide-eyed. “You can’t live your life on what-ifs, Chase. Talent is something you’re born with, but it’s also something you work damn fucking hard to hone. You didn’t learn to play guitar like that straightaway. It’s something you worked at every single day. Everyone wonders if they are good enough, and everyone compares themselves and their values to others, but let me tell you something. There is enough room in this world for us all. We’re all running our own race.”

He swallows hard. “So why can’t I write?” he whispers.

There is so much terror in his eyes that it breaks my heart. I might not like Chase too much, but it’s clear he’s been struggling with this for a while.

“How about I help?” I cover his hand on the guitar, unable to leave him hurting. No matter what I think of Chase or what’s happened, he did an amazing thing getting clean. “Your talent was not just due to drugs, Chase. You have to know that. It’s still in you, so let’s find it again.”

“Why?” he asks, meeting my eyes. “Why would you help me?”

Why indeed. I could let him suffer, which would help the plan, but part of me can’t, not until I know the truth. I can almost see Chase’s insecurities, and I can’t just watch. I thought I could become who I needed to be to do this, but faced with his very real pain, I know I can’t. If I shut Chase down now, he might never open up to anyone again.

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