Wrong for You (Before You #3)(2)
“Right. Rule number three,” Lucian said, waving his arm in the direction of the wall before taking two steps backwards.
“You’re not worth it,” Dean mumbled, dropping his head.
She exhaled loudly, dropping her hands from their chests. “Yep, rule number three.” The Foundation for a Better Future had five simple rules: 1. Respect yourself. 2. Respect your peers. 3. No physical violence. 4. Be on time. 5. Use courteous language at all times. They sounded simple, but for kids who grew up without structure or parental supervision, they were a challenge.
She glanced at her watch, four forty-five. Only fifteen more minutes until she could close the doors for the day, curl up on her couch, and watch bad movies. As much as she hated forcing these kids out and likely onto the streets to cause all sort of trouble, being short staffed meant she was utterly exhausted at the end of every day. Between making fundraising phone calls, doing the accounting and taking over the role of two counselors, she didn’t have much time to take care of herself anymore.
“Get your books. Quiet time for the rest of the day,” she announced as she pushed the stray blonde hairs from her face. As she anticipated, the announcement was met with a loud chorus of groans. Too bad. They’d have to get over it because she didn’t have the manpower to stop another fight today.
One more month, she chanted in her head as she made her way out of the gym to lock up her office for the night. In one month, she’d be on her parents’ cattle ranch for two weeks of much-needed relaxation. In addition to dodging her parents’ it’s not too late to go to law school routine, she planned to spend every moment roaming the ranch on her horse. Nothing beat the wind in her hair and the smell of clean air tickling her nose. She could make it one more month before she broke under the pressure of trying to run the Foundation single-handedly. And then she’d finally look at those law school applications she had stuffed into her briefcase months ago. Maybe she needed to get over herself and stop being so stubborn. There were worse things than being a lawyer…like starving and growing old while still sharing a house with her brother.
Chapter Two
At seven forty-five on Monday morning, Alec Reed sat in his black truck in the parking lot of the Foundation for a Better Future in Missoula, Montana. After a grueling and often soul-stealing tour, Chasing Ruin was officially on break for an entire month—not that Alec cared. With Cam and Taylor in Paris doing whatever, Jax and Bre busy planning their wedding, and Marcus missing as usual, Alec didn’t know what to do with his free time.
Two days after his sister Taylor’s departure, he was crawling out of his skin. The first few days, he hammered on his drums until he had no choice but to collapse in his bed at night, his arms aching and his fingers nearly blistered. Then, three days ago, he got in his truck and headed home—his childhood home, not his nearly empty and very sparsely decorated loft in Los Angeles.
He didn’t even realize where he was going until he hit I 15N in Idaho. Last night he drove by his childhood home. From what his manager told him, his mom still lived there and he’d even sent her a check from time to time. He hoped the money would motivate her to step out of the alcoholic fog she’d been living in for the last two decades, but the peeling white paint on the lap siding and the weeds fighting for sun in the sad excuse for a yard told him she hadn’t changed.
Sadly, he could relate to her. Most days he wondered why he didn’t just crawl in a bottle of alcohol and numb the pain blistering his soul. When he first left home, the only reason he fought his demons and the sometimes overwhelming urge to follow in his mother’s footsteps was Taylor. As the only innocent one in the debacle that tore his family apart, she needed him and he owed it to her to keep his shit together. Now that she had Cam, the only thing that kept him going was Chasing Ruin, his band and his only real family with the exception of Taylor.
So here he was, sitting in the Foundation’s parking lot, the place that intervened when he was a kid. The Foundation gave him music and the courage to follow his dream. Without it, he’d still be holed up in that godforsaken house with his mom. He hadn’t bothered to knock on her door last night. Instead, he drove to the Foundation and slept in his truck. Some things never changed. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d slept in this parking lot when he was a kid after Taylor fell asleep. It seemed fitting that he’d go back there now.
Right then, he heard a tapping noise on his window. He opened his eyes, expecting to see some kids or another shady element that frequented this part of the town. Instead, he saw a woman with long, thick, almost white blonde hair and a white collared blouse perfectly starched peeking out from beneath a classically tailored navy suit. It wasn’t expensive, just clean and simple. This should be interesting. He rolled down his window.
“Yes,” he said, his voice scratchy from sleep as he rubbed his hand along the dark stubble on his chin. He couldn’t remember the last time he shaved.
Her eyes swept his appearance from the top of his nearly black, sleep-mangled hair to his scuffed black leather boots resting on the passenger side dash. Unlike most women he met on tour, she clearly didn’t appreciate his less than totally groomed appearance. Apparently, he wasn’t her type. Go figure. Maybe she didn’t recognize him.
“Can I help you?” She raised one perfectly arched, pale blonde eyebrow.