Forbidden Gold (Providence Gold Book 5) Read online

  Assuming it was a movie or something funny he’d found online, I helped them put popcorn into the small plastic bowls they’d brought with them and then handed them out to each table.

  Setting up a projector on the bar, Tate aimed it at a blank wall. “You may remember that not too long ago, Rebels was attacked by a psychotic arsonist. We installed security cameras everywhere during the refurbishment so that no areas of the bar were left blind, apart from the bathrooms. This means that when my sister and her friends had a girl’s night in, kicking back and having a couple of drinks,” he snorted, “we got footage of their antics.”

  Oh. My. Fuck!

  “So, with great pleasure, I present to thee a compilation of their best moments,” he announced, and I watched in horror as the footage started to play on the wall.

  00.10s into the video

  “Oh shit, like in Pitch Perfect! We should do a cappella. Let’s try.” The sound of a screeching opera singer, a demented baritone, and Beau making ‘ooch, ooch, ooch, ooch’ noises filled the room.

  “You’re killing it, lady,” Sadie howled. “A choo, choo.”

  Then, for some reason, we dropped the a cappella idea and started walking around the room, making random noises.

  Until…

  “You know what would be even more bettererer?” Sadie squealed. “If we added in Irish dancing. You know, like that Lord of the Rings stuff.”

  Beau and I looked at each other in drunken confusion, then pulled our phones out of our pockets to look up what she meant.

  Apparently, drunken minds didn’t get hung up on the differences between Lord of the Rings and Lord of the Dance because moments later, we were in a line kicking our legs around and bouncing in circles as we tried our hands at a cappella again with a dance that looked like we were being tazed.

  23m 34s into the video…

  Tate had cut out who we were discussing, but the topic was divorce.

  “Divorces are like farts,” Sadie informed us, swaying in her seat. “I don’t get why people keep it so hushy or talk about it like it’s a scandal. Everyone farts, it happens. So, if you think of divorce like a fart, they happen, and you can either keep it a secret and leave it to hit people on the sly, or you can just say it and take the sting out of it. Like ‘oh, sorry, mate, I farted. Don’t be alarmed when it hits you.’ See, that’s not so bad,” she waved her hand and shrugged. “So why can’t people just go ‘yeah, I got a bleeding divorce. Don’t be alarmed when you hear it from someone else who’s got no business talking about my private affairs,’? What’s the big deal?”

  “Um, farting is kind of offensive,” Beau pointed out.

  “But sometimes they just happen. It’s worse if you don’t warn people that one just snuck out of your arsehole accidentally.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true,” I hedged, looking at her with one eye closed.

  “What, so you’re just going to pretend it wasn’t you? You can’t do that if we’re talking about farts, I mean divorces. There are two people in the marriage, how are you going to explain the fart then when it hits people?”

  Beau and I looked at each other across the table, both of us looking as confused as the other.

  And then I raised my hand in the air. “Ah, I know. My gramps farts and leaves the room before people smell it. Sometimes people get divorced and leave the area to move somewhere else before people find out. There you go,” I shouted, slamming my hand flat on the table with a crack.

  It was a good thirty seconds later that I lifted my hand back up in the air again and screamed, “Ow!”

  Lifting the hand in question, I sighed when I realized now why it had been so sore today, deliberately not acknowledging all of the snickers and people watching me do it.

  46m 01s into the video

  “We should go to a club,” I suggested, my hand in the slushy ice concoction in the blender.

  “I know the best club,” Beau shot up out of her seat and started digging through her purse.

  “Where? Let’s go!” I picked up the blender and started to walk toward the table, bouncing off a pillar and dragging a chair with me when it got in my way.

  “New Orleans. It’s the shit, you guys! And there’s a really hot guy who works there.”

  Lifting her head from the table, Sadie looked at both of us. “New Orleans? I’m game. Oh, can we go to Florida after it? I love the clubs in Miami and the hot, sweaty guys on the beaches, all covered in sand and muscles and…” she trailed off, obviously lost in a replay of hot, sweaty, sandy guys.

  “Can you dance? Do British people dance?” Beau asked as she dug around in her purse.

  Standing up with a huff, Sadie got on top of the table.

  “Can I dance?” she scoffed. “I call this Pinky,”—she pointed at her left tit—“this one Perky,”—she pointed to the right one and then turned, so her ass was pointing unknowingly at the camera. “And this one’s Twerky!” she squealed and started twerking her heart out.

  “Oh, Jesus Christ,” Sadie whispered, her eyes glued to the screen. What followed was eighteen minutes of footage of her teaching the two of us to twerk like queens. It was horrific.

  1hr 22m 04s into the video

  “So your cousin got kidnapped with her best mate, they escaped because of someone’s taint, her top got caught on a branch and ripped off her, and she found it funny because it was like a scene in a scary movie?” Sadie clarified, slurring it all horribly.

  Nodding my head vigorously, I confirmed, “She did. The guys had guns and everything.”

  “I’d have bounced up and down, hoping it’d distract the baddies,” Sadie said as she stood up and started bouncing, her boobs doing the same thing given her cup size. “See, they’re almost hypnotic,” she told us as she tried swinging them around.

  “I dunno if I’d have laughed,” Beau slurred. “They got guns, man,” she slapped her hand on the table. “And your poor boobies…”

  “Better than popping one on a branch,” Sadie pointed out, covering hers up. “Poor little dirty pillows.”

  Wincing with her, I said sagely, “I’d rather flash my melons than my vagina.”

  “Can you imagine?” Beau chuckled. “Running for your life and then waaaa—vagina in the face.”

  “Like in Aliens with those little face-hugging things,” Sadie howled, putting her hand over her face, copying what they did in the movie.

  “To twerking, face hugging vaginas,” I yelled, holding up a glass that was most likely meant to be a shot but wasn’t, seeing as how it was a proper glass that was half full.

  2hr 05 mins into the video

  Halfway through our next a cappella session, I apparently had a genius idea. Spoiler alert, it was a fucking stupid idea that had me gripping the counter as I watched on the screen as I ran around the bar and picked up one of the fans that was plugged in behind it. Then I carried it over to where we were, taking five minutes to get it into the socket.

  “Whatcha doing?” Sadie slurred, closing one eye as she swayed.

  “I’m making this shit lit!”

  “We’re starting a fire?” she screeched, looking horrified.

  Glaring over at her—and missing her by about four feet as I looked to her left—I turned it on and put my face close to it.

  And then I started singing into the fan in a deep voice, followed by a high pitched one.

  Nodding excitedly, Beau ran to get one of the other fans from behind the bar (it got hot as Satan’s balls behind there when the bar was packed, so we had five of them available) and did the same thing.

  So, for ten minutes, we watched as Beau and I sang into our fans, the awful singing made even worse by the fan as Sadie continued to act like she was at a heavy metal concert, bouncing and headbanging around the place as she tried to sing along with us. The words were mostly the right ones, but when we got it wrong, Christ did we get it wrong.

  When it finally stopped, the loudest and filthiest burp filled the silence as we all stood with o
ur arms in the air like we were letting the cheers of an audience wash over our excellence. Sadie and I looked over at Beau—who wouldn’t be caught dead burping if she was sober—and without even batting an eyelid yelled, “Nine point five.”

  “You know,” Sadie said, “I’ve never burped in my life. I was born without the burping organ.”

  Beau and I looked at each other speechless, and then back at her. “For reals? Like never?”

  “Not even as a baby. Mum used to spend hours trying, but all I’d do is a frog gurgle thing. Sucks balls because I want to burp words like Snuffleupakus and Marmite.”

  Both of us got out of our seats and crowded around Sadie like she’d told us the end of her life was nigh.

  “We’ll get you through this,” Beau whimpered, pulling Sadie’s face into her boobs.

  “We’ll find the best doctor in the world that can fix it. As God is my witness, you’ll get your burping organ,” I promised, rocking her back and forth, taking Beau with us.

  After a long moment, we all stopped, and the shudders that followed would have been hilarious if it wasn’t me on the screen.

  “I think I’ve got that movement puking thing,” Beau rasped, picking up the melted dregs of one of the margaritas and downing it.

  “I think I’m car sick,” Sadie mumbled, fanning her face.

  Not caring whose glass was whose, we all downed what we could find in the glasses we picked up—something that made me gag watching it—and then decided ice-cold versions of what we’d just drank would make us feel better.

  “Please make it stop,” Beau whined as we all sank down behind the bar.

  “Do you remember any of that?” I hissed at them.

  Looking back at me blankly, Sadie just shook her head and pulled her t-shirt over her face.

  “There’s another three hours of it,” Tate shouted out, and for the millionth time since I’d been born, I wondered what life on an island would be like. “However, we don’t want to take up even more of your night than we already have—”

  “How fucking charitable,” Sadie mumbled from where she was hiding in her boobs.

  “—so we’ll set up a night to watch the next episode later and let you know what date we decide on,” the big fat shit finished.

  “My brother’s an asshole.” It didn’t really need to be said, but I did it anyway.

  “Excuse me, ladies,” Elijah’s deep voice sounded above our heads. “Can we get some drinks here, please?”

  “No speakee English,” Sadie’s muffled voice called. “Eeest ein hardenburger ji ar fun.”

  I looked up and saw Elijah looking amused. “What language was that, babe?”

  “No speakee English,” she repeated.

  “Sadie,” he called, but there was no getting her out of her hiding place.

  “No Sadie. In far murdan gerber tan pon.”

  “Do you need a tampon?” I whispered, wondering why she’d announce it.

  Her head shot up out of her cleavage as she glared at me. “No, I don’t need a flipping tampon, thank you very much. Why?”

  “Um, babe, you said murdan gerber tan pon,” Elijah told her. “Sounds like you needed one.”

  Shooting up behind the bar, she flipped her blonde hair over her shoulders and tilted her chin up. “No, so there. Who wants a drink?”

  Peeking over the counter, I watched as the crowd of patrons all raised their hands and winced. Shit, no getting away from it then.

  “And, babe,” Elijah stage whispered. “You want to show me your pinky, perky and twerky again, I’ll get them to give you a raise.”

  A dark blush stained her cheeks as she busied herself opening bottles and dealing with orders, but no one missed the “Wanker!” she hissed under her breath.

  “That’s cool. I can always send it to you to watch on repeat,” Tate told him as he moved behind the bar with Lily to help us.

  Glaring at my sister-in-law, I ignored her when she mouthed, sorry.

  “You can go off people, you know,” Sadie muttered as she stomped past Tate, making a humph noise when Lily mouthed an apology to her, too.

  “Never going to happen,” Tate told her confidently. “It’s impossible to dislike a Townsend.”

  Ehh, he was wrong about that. I was pretty confident with all of the hospital visits we’d had over the years because of other people, there was probably a support group or twelve-step help group for people who hated my family.

  And then the one man who could make my mood plummet that bit further murmured in my ear, “I don’t dislike the Townsends. In fact, I like them very much. Especially this one.”

  Just what I needed—Parker.

  Why did the world hate me so much? Why? I paid my taxes, I donated to charities, I brushed my teeth and cleaned under my toenails. I even helped old ladies who’d been mean to me across the street.

  Glancing up, I saw Elijah watching me with a grin on his face and Gramps standing beside him, looking from me to Parker like he’d just figured out the meaning of pi.

  Big shit, fuck, balls, twats, and exploding tits! Hopefully not my own.

  “I especially enjoyed the part where you and Beau discussed mine and Rich’s dicks,” he added. “Your brother, however, didn’t. And thankfully, they won’t be showing that.”

  Oh. Fucking. Shit.

  Glancing at Tate, I noticed the coolness when he looked at Parker now, something I’d missed when they’d first come in.

  Then a slightly satisfying thought occurred to me. “Did he hit you?”

  I didn’t want him in pain per se, but I’d be lying if the thought of the big twat getting punched for being a big twat didn’t appeal to me somewhat.

  “Nope.”

  Disappointment in my brother followed it, and I made sure to give him the middle finger the next time he looked at me, getting a confused frown back.

  Hearing Parker chuckle, I sighed and glanced over at him. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that it was good—more than good—to see him laugh and smile genuinely. When I was a kid, I hadn’t seen him do it that often. It was more like he was going through the motions of laughing and enjoying things. But why did it have to be about something so damn embarrassing?

  “Can I give you a ride home?” he asked softly, bracing like he was expecting me to flip my shit at him.

  This wasn’t a Parker I was used to. I knew the confident and almost rigid Parker, not one who showed even a hint of weakness.

  And I was an idiot because it made me soften. “Okay.”

  Four

  Parker

  I’d called Linda Townsend before coming to Rebels today to touch base with her. I was close to the whole family, but Linda was someone truly special to me. Wanting to finally open up to her, I’d told her about where I was mentally and emotionally, the amount of therapy I’d had, and the life changes I was making. I’d also told her about the steps I was taking for Ari, and she’d advised me to talk to her and drop my walls so that she’d do the same. Apparently, relationships were like plants, they don’t blossom when they’re kept in the shade.

  Did I expect Ari to just open up to me? No. Doing that and making yourself that vulnerable to someone doesn’t just happen. I hadn’t earned her trust yet, but she’d earned mine, so I wanted to at least try to explain it all to her.

  And now was the time.

  Spending time with the family was never a hardship—regardless of how crazy they were—so I hung out with them while I waited, laughing and commiserating when Hurst spoke about his friend who’d just died. I knew Maude, and I wasn’t at all surprised she’d made the choices she had. It wasn’t uncommon for people to hide their illnesses for as long as they could. Some went into shock and couldn’t say the words initially, and some didn’t want their families to suffer with them. Others just wanted to forget that it was happening. I didn’t begrudge anyone their choices unless it was something illegal or immoral. Unfortunately, when the families found out, they usually felt hurt because they hadn’t been
told, which was difficult to navigate.

  It made me think about the fact that I could have carried my own secret to the grave—it’s what I’d intended to do—but I wanted to tell her, so she didn’t think it was her I’d had an issue with that morning. I was the problem.

  And now I was driving her home, and the uncertainty of how she’d react was eating away at me. The mood in the car wasn’t tense, though, it was more relaxed than I thought it would be as she stared out of the window quietly.

  “How are you feeling, Ari? How’s your head?”

  “I feel tired and like my legs are filled with lead, but I’ll survive.”

  “That’s goo—Fuck!” I shouted, slamming my foot on the brake as a white Lexus pulled in front of us, only just missing my vehicle. In the process of stomping on the brakes, I’d automatically put my hand out to stop Ari from going forward and hitting the dash, only realizing what I’d grabbed when a chuckle burst out of her. Her tit! “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to grab it. I just didn’t want you to—”

  The laughter that came out of her cut me off and was so infectious that I started doing it, too.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone being saved by someone else grabbing their boob,” she snickered, her cheeks flushed in the light from the dash. “Can you imagine a lady falling off a building and Spiderman swooping in on his web to catch her by the tit?”

  I couldn’t say for sure, but there was probably fanfiction out there where that had happened.

  “That car just came out of nowhere.”

  Then, with all the history between us, she said something that reinforced why I wanted to divulge what I was going to tonight to her. “I’ll allow it.”

  I don’t think she’d ever know how grateful I was when I reached out and grabbed her hand. Ariana was the type of woman who just made everything okay. Even when the earth moved or I felt off-balance, Ari was my anchor without even knowing it.