Sing for Me (The Langston Brothers Duet, #2)

by Brittany Ann

To the broken ones who feel unworthy of love. To the damaged ones. You are worthy of love, regardless of your scars. Happiness will find you in the healing. Cherish it.

Like every other time, the buzzer would sound, and he would disappear for eight seconds. For eight seconds, I would be at peace. For eight seconds, I was just Mason. For eight seconds, I was free.

Cathy was at the back of my mind, and Denver was at the front of it. The one thing I didn’t expect was to come home and see my brother for the first time in five years with my fiancée in his bed.

This is painful from his perspective.

There were lots of things one could say about Claire, number one being that I didn’t like her and probably never would. She was one of those girls who pretended to be your friend but talked shit behind your back. I didn’t have the energy for that, and I knew she was a snake the second she smiled at me on my first day.

That was the thing about Claire, she was perfect. I was perfect once, too. Now, I couldn’t stand the thought of being perfect ever again. In fact, I hated the word.

I didn’t know how much time had passed, but when the door swung open to reveal the janitor, tears were running down my face and fear had me in a chokehold. My hands were shaking, and I had tunnel vision. The janitor, Mr. Steele, took me in with wide eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but I pushed past him, rushing to the nurse’s station. My eyes landed on the teal metal water bottle, and I scrambled to have it in my hands once more. My fingers wrapped around the smooth metal, the coolness reminding me of the precious liquid inside.

So Harmony must have been the one in Mason's truck..

“Querida.” Something in his tone brought my eyes up. He was closer now. “Take it. Then you won’t get trapped anymore.” I’ll always be trapped, Mr. Steele. I didn’t argue as I took it from him. “Thank you, Mr. Steele.” “You’re welcome, Harmony. You have a good night now.”

This sweet sweet man

This was what she did, my Billie: she pushed. She was instructed to push me, gently but firmly, back out into the world after years of hiding from it. She was instructed to help me find my voice again, be my own person. I’d agreed to this because I knew I needed it.

Cowboys and I have a long history, not a particularly pleasant one. It wasn’t sunshine and rainbows—more like tears and shattered dreams.

The truth was, I was tired of holding other people back, of holding myself back. I was tired of being a burden. Two weeks ago, I moved into a two-bedroom apartment by Spotts Park. Two weeks ago, I was handed a set of keys to a space I could make mine, a space where I would be safe, comfortable, that I could make my own. Something I wouldn’t be ashamed of. A place where I could be myself.

Some people got lost in books. Some people got lost in writing, creating their own worlds to run away to. Some people lost themselves in painting or drawing. Hell, even pottery. I got lost in music, and I discovered myself through songwriting, before everything went to shit.

“We are past the buckle bunny stage, babe. Remember, queens lift up queens. So, if the buckle bunnies want to chase cowboy dick, that’s their prerogative,”

Love the girls supporting girls energy here

He was right. I didn’t give a shit about anything anymore, hadn’t given a shit about anything but bull riding for the last decade. Now, I was starting to not give a shit about bull riding.

That was the thing: you either loved me or you hated me. There was no in between, but the shitty thing was, no one loved the real Mason. Hell, no one really knew the real Mason. I buried him years ago in an empty field with two bottles of Jack. Mason Langston, the best bull rider in the world. Mason Langston, the loneliest bastard in the world.

Pain slammed into the organ in my chest as I stared at them, reminding me it would always be there. The memories would never be lost. The flashbacks would always come, and the nightmares always returned. My eyes looked back and forth between the two boys, noting the determination in the older one and the rebellion in the younger one. Two brothers. Two brothers with an unbreakable bond… That was kicker, though, because that bond could be broken. It would take a lot to break it, but it could break. In fact, that bond could be destroyed in an instant.

Ouch.

The problem was that despite the money and fame, I couldn’t quit. I could quit because I was addicted to those eight seconds. Why? Because when I was on a bull, my head was silent.

She told me life wasn’t worth living if I had to hide from it.

Cabe came by to pick us up, and he beamed at me, probably happy to see me in something other than scrubs or leggings. He’d whispered in my ear how beautiful I was, giving me an extra boost of confidence.

Why I couldn’t be like everyone else on this stupid planet? It was just a water bottle, Harmony. Why was I so fucked in the head? Why couldn’t I just pick myself up and dust off my shoulders like everyone else?

I needed to breathe. I needed to count. One, two, three. One, two, three. Red, blue, green. Red, blue, green. One, two—

“What the fuck?” Before I could register who spoke, the guard was pulled from me and thrown—yes, thrown—against the opposite wall. His body slammed into it, and he slid down to his ass with a grunt. I adjusted my hold on the bottle, my chest rising and falling faster and faster. The monster was back above the water, coming around behind me. For the second time this week, he sported that same greasy smile as he looked at me over my shoulder.

“No, no,” I whimpered, my chest heaving. “Whoa, darlin’, whoa,” a deep, rough, voice said gently. Heat enveloped me and I stood up straight.

The man in front of me was a bull rider. Not just any bull rider. A tall, gorgeous one.

The black hat on his head did a horrible job of making him appear unattractive, only adding to the intensity of his gray eyes. His jaw line was dusted with stubble, adding to his roughness. He had high cheekbones, a straight nose, and thick brows. Those brows were furrowed as he looked down at me.

“Gonna need you to say something to me,” he d...

He was the kind of man the woman I once would dream about, the kind I wanted to end up with. Gentle but fierce. A protector and a fighter. Once upon a time, if a man like this flirted with me, I would have flirted back.

“Darlin’, answer me,” he ordered, his deep voice shaking slightly. He was having trouble containing that anger.

“Darlin’, you got liquor in that bottle?” the cowboy asked. When his eyes met mine again, my heart skipped a beat. I shook my head.

“Let me get this straight, man. You saw this woman carrying a water bottle and decided that’s what you needed to focus on?”

“Get the fuck out of my sight,” the bull rider clipped, his hands balling into fists at his sides. The guard nodded, then ducked out of the hall.

I watched as Mr. Langston pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his short, dirty blonde hair. His presence was devasting.

Omfg

“Darlin’,” he called softly, snapping my attention back to him.

He held up his hands, the storm in his eyes calming a bit. “You alright?”

“Need to hear you say the words. If you don’t, I’m going to go after him.” “W—why?”

Emotion swelled in my throat at his words, at his promise of justice. This was the kind of man this planet needed to be filled with. Unfortunately, a man like this was a rare breed. He was a protector, that was clear, but there was a softness within him. Someone in the world got to see that softness. That someone wasn’t me. It would never be me.

Ouch

Then, I felt a rough, warm finger slide under my chin, the touch sending a rush of electricity through my body. He lifted my head up and he was right there, in my space, leaning down close. My eyes dropped to his large hand, noting the scars and dried blood on his knuckles. How had I missed that?

He smelled like a rainy day in the spring, after the sun had come out and the flowers had started to bloom again. He smelled like happiness. He smelled like my life before it turned dark, before I became this fucked up version Harmony. The damaged one. The basket case. This cowboy smelled like that, but his stormy eyes told me that he wasn’t happy. In fact, I was sure there was no sunshine in his life at all.

“Say it for me, baby.” Baby.

Omfg

whimper threatened to escape, but I swallowed it down. He didn’t need to know that. He didn’t know that his words, his voice, the look of him, his scent, it all just flipped a switch inside of me, a switch I’d thought was ripped from the wall.

Suddenly, his finger was gone, and my skin burned. I missed it. His touch felt like the sun, and I wanted more.

A surge of desire rushed through my body, and I gasped softly, bringing my fingers to my lips.

Meanwhile, I looked like the fucking princess from the Disney movie Brave. My head was a mop of unruly coils and curls of bright orange, making it easy for childhood bullies. I stood out in the crowd when all I desperately wanted was to blend in.

Normally, I told her everything, but for some reason, I’d held back. Because he’s a sliver of sunshine that you wanted for yourself.

“He has a reputation for fighting. Anyone who gives him lip gets an ass whooping. That’s the thing about Mason Langston: he doesn’t take any shit—from anyone.

“Mason Langston is unhinged. Nothing about that man is nice, except for his stats.”

DAMN

Music was a way to process my pain, but that afternoon, I found myself writing lyrics about a cowboy’s pain and the storm in his eyes.

Omfg

Say it for me, baby. Baby. Say it for me, baby. What the actual fuck is wrong with me? I tilted my head slightly, raising my brows. Wasn’t that the question of the fucking decade. Fuck. I scrubbed a hand down my face before shaking my head. I called her baby. I called that woman in the hall baby. I never call anyone baby. Ever.

Last night, I saw that woman with bright red hair, the color of fire—untamed and begging to be touched—cowering against the wall, and I called her baby. It just slipped out, before my mind could register what my mouth had done. I touched her.

Me, the asshole who hates being touched, touched her without consent. I didn’t mean to touch her, but she was terrified, hiding her eyes from me. The last thing I wanted was her hiding those eyes from me.

She had the brightest blue eyes I’d ever seen, like a cloudless sky in the middle of summer. They reminded me of simpler times, times when I was innocent and free of torment. I’d never seen eyes like hers, not anywhere else in the world. I could stare at them forever, if she let me.