Choices, Loyalty, & Love (Men of NatEx #3): A Package Handlers Novel Read online

  Choices, Loyalty, & Love

  Copyright © 2018 Kyle Autumn

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Books By Kyle Autumn

  The Men of Nat Ex

  Favors, Strings, & Lies

  Desires, Sweets, & Secrets

  Choices, Loyalty, & Love

  The Voyeur Serial

  Volume One

  Volume Two

  Volume Three

  Volume Four

  Volume Five

  Volume Six

  Stay up to date on all things Kyle Autumn!

  Newsletter – http://bit.ly/2I4Cq07

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek of The Billionaire’s Package

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Aidan

  The last person I expect to see when Matt pulls up to my house to drop me off is the love of my life. But there she is, like a mirage in the desert, almost too enticing and perfectly timed to be real.

  This whole weekend was about celebrating the end of my friend’s bachelorhood. And I’m excited for him—don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing like marrying the one person you’re meant to be with for the rest of your life. If anyone can understand that, it’s me. Not that I’ve ever done it, but still. I was close enough to know how great it’d be. And to know how shitty heartbreak is.

  My heart stalls in my chest. I blink hard to clear my vision, thinking maybe she really is a mirage. A figment of my imagination. The culmination of too many drinks in Vegas bars and too much talk of love with friends who’ve paired up for life.

  But she’s still there when I open my eyes.

  For the last six years, I’ve been able to force myself to stop thinking about her so much. I’ve slipped up a time or two, but for the most part, I’ve been okay. Until the force of being surrounded by men who’ve found the one became stronger and pushed thoughts of Nic right back into my brain. That’s not where I want her. It’s not where she belongs. Not right now anyway. Not while she’s with—

  “Aidan?”

  After I don’t even know how long, sound has wormed its way back into my brain.

  “Hello?” Matt says. Or maybe Jeremy said it. They’re brothers and I’m beyond distracted, so I can’t tell.

  I shake my head to snap back to reality. “Yeah. Uh, thanks for the ride. And for the weekend.” I loop my fingers around the handle of my bag and reach for the handle of the car door.

  “Um, who’s that gorgeous woman on your porch?” Jeremy asks.

  I know he’s the one who said that because I stared at him as he spoke. He’s looking at her too, asking me about her. So she must be real.

  “Seriously,” Matt says. He’s facing her way, staring out the windshield at her. “I thought you said you weren’t seeing anyone.”

  “I never said that,” I tell him automatically. Why? I have no idea. That’s not really what’s important here, is it?

  “Well, you never said you were. You’re far too closed the hell off. All we know about is the mysterious Nic, who doesn’t live here.” Matt spins in the driver’s seat and tries to look at me. “So this requires answers.”

  Answers. Those would be nice.

  I reach into my pocket and pull my phone out to check for missed calls or texts, but I don’t have any. Not from today though. There’s still that one text on my phone—the one I refused to read. The preview of the text was enough to keep me from opening it all the way. It would have broken my already irreparable heart, so I didn’t bother.

  Now, I’m wondering if I should have.

  “Dude, she looks like she’s waiting for you,” Jeremy says.

  “I can’t imagine why,” I mumble. Even though one hope in particular flashes like lightning in my head and burns a brand-new hole in my heart.

  “Who is she?” Matt asks.

  Her name is on the tip of my tongue, but the last thing I want to do is speak it. Not when I don’t know what the hell she’s doing here and what she wants from me. I can’t take these two staring at me anymore though.

  “Nic,” I say, feeling like all the air in the car has been sucked out. “That’s Nic.”

  Matt’s eyes widen before he twists his head to get a look at her. “No wonder you’re a mess. She’s—”

  “Don’t,” I seethe. “Just don’t.”

  Then Jeremy faces me. “I won’t expect a story from you right now because of who you are as a person. And I want to get home to Meli before I explode, so go see what she wants.” He makes a shoo, shoo gesture at me with his fingers before he faces forward again.

  At least one of them gets me. I’ve been friends with the wrong Kent brother for years.

  Without saying anything, I take Jeremy’s words seriously and open the car door. As soon as she sees me, she rises from her spot on my porch and takes the two steps down to my driveway. But she stops there, her phone clutched in her hands, and waits.

  I slam the door shut and give a backwards wave to my friends. I don’t have answers, and even if I did, giving them to the guys wouldn’t be the priority. That right now is figuring out why Nic is here, at my house.

  The sound of Matt’s car driving away barely registers to me, but it’s like a signal for Nic to come back to life. She holds a finger in the air before I can even get a word out. Then she punches something into her cell phone and brings it up to her ear.

  A few seconds later, she says, “Hey. Yeah, he’s home now.” She pauses, her free hand rising to her forehead. “I know. That’s fine.” Looking to the sky, she says, “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you soon.” Then she peeks at me. “I will. Good luck. Yep, me too.” After that, she swallows hard and takes a moment before bringing the phone back to her eye level.

  A million other questions rise to the surface, but nothing will make its way from my brain to my mouth. It’s not like I could speak even if I wanted to. My throat is as dry as the desert this mirage is coming from. So I swallow just as hard as she did and open my mouth to at least try.

  But she beats me to it. “That was Mason,” she says. She gently shakes the phone in my direction. “He wanted me to call him whe
n you got home.” Then she lets her hand fall back to her side.

  I lick my lips to buy some time as I figure out how to answer that. Nothing good comes to mind, so I bite the words back and take a good, hard look at her. One I shouldn’t allow myself to take but do anyway. If Mason’s not here, there’s no harm.

  In a pencil skirt, a button-up long-sleeved shirt, and high heels, Nic isn’t appropriately dressed for a casual visit. She looks like she’s here on business. And maybe she is. Though I have no idea what kind of business she thinks she has with me. After what we’ve been through, that ship has sailed, no matter how badly I’ve wanted to convince myself otherwise.

  She never would have dressed like this before though. Before, she wouldn’t have been caught dead in “businesswoman clothes.” Her dream was to be her own boss, and that meant being able to wear yoga pants every day—not stuffy suit jackets and uncomfortable skirts that hemmed her in. Between her clothes and the tiredness in her eyes, I’d say she isn’t quite living her dream.

  I tried to tell her she wouldn’t be able to with him. But she was too stubborn to listen. Or just not convinced. If asked, she’d say something along the lines of the latter, but even the former isn’t quite true. It was fear that held her back. And if she wouldn’t take that leap with me, I couldn’t make her. So, in the end, I stopped trying.

  I left instead.

  Now, I feel like I’m right back where I started even though we’ve barely said anything to each other. Even though there’s been no knock-down, drag-out fight over why we can’t be together. Even though she’s standing there, looking at me like she’s realized in only a few silent moments how wrong she was to say no to me.

  But I won’t beg again. I’m a much different person than I was when I left everything I knew behind.

  Those thoughts give me the strength to clench the handle of my bag in my hand and walk past her to the door. After snagging my keys from my pocket, I unlock the door and leave it open for her to follow. I don’t have to tell her she’s welcome in my house because, even though I have to remind myself to never forgive her, she knows she’ll always be welcome in my house when she’s with Mason.

  In the hallway past the foyer, I drop my bag. I’ll do laundry when I can think straight. For now, the bag can stay there. Though, with every click of her heels along the tile in the foyer, I wonder if I should do the laundry now for the sake of having something to do. Something to keep me busy other than raging on the inside.

  “Mason’s here for a business meeting,” she informs my back. “He thought it’d be good if I came with so we could all have dinner or something while he’s here for the week.”

  At the mention of his name again, I freeze. Of course she’s here with Mason. I was a fool to think this might have anything to do with only me. It’s never been that way. How could I have possibly thought so?

  In fact, maybe they have kids and a house and all the things Nic’s dad thought I couldn’t give to her because I was a dreamer. Because I wanted to live a life where happiness was the priority, not financial security. Even though that didn’t at all mean I didn’t want those things—especially kids. And she knew that. That’s the kind of thing best friends talk about in the middle of the night when sharing feels like the most vulnerable thing you can do.

  Instead, she found a man who’d give her all of that, no matter the cost.

  Now’s not the time for such questions. I can’t do heavy right off the bat with her. Things are always heavy with her, so instead, without looking at her, I ask, “If you’re going to be here awhile, can I get you something to drink, then?”

  Because no matter how furious you are at the person you love with every fiber of your being for having broken your heart, you should always be a gracious host to your brother’s woman.

  ***

  Nic

  After two thousand miles and six years of heartache, all Aidan Hathaway wants to know if I want some water.

  I shouldn’t think that, but that’s what slams right across my brain as he stares through me like he doesn’t even see me. And that shouldn’t hurt, but it does. Like a punch in the gut or a stab in the heart. It stings and aches more than I imagined it would. Which is ridiculous because I knew how bad of an idea this was when Mason first mentioned it. We haven’t seen each other since Aidan left us all, so of course this was going to kill me.

  Instead of showing him that though, I lick my dry lips and say, “That would be nice.” I play my part, say my line, and follow him into the kitchen.

  His kitchen, I suppose. I have no idea if he owns this place or if he rents it. Or maybe he has roommates. Perhaps a girlfriend.

  Or even a wife. Those kids he always talked about wanting so much even though he wasn’t sure he’d be able to afford them. Love would get him through.

  Who knows. I sure don’t.

  One might think I’d have heard news throughout the years, seeing as I’m with his brother. Aidan and Mason were never that close, so Aidan’s never mentioned at home, even at the holidays. It helps that I’ve made it a point to never even say his name out loud since he left, so it’s not like I’m asking their mother what’s he’s been up to. I know they talk because I’ve heard her on the phone with him occasionally. But she’s never told me anything about him. It’s like she’s always known not to breathe a word of him to me.

  As he reaches for a cup from a cabinet, I notice how much he’s changed. He looks at home in this space. Like he could have gotten that cup with his eyes closed if I’d asked him to. I’m sure I could ask him where he keeps his frying pan and he’d point to the correct cabinet in less than a second. Or maybe he doesn’t have a frying pan anymore. He sure looks like he’s gone a long time without fried, unhealthy food.

  That’s actually the first thing I noticed about him, but I shouldn’t go there. The last thing I should do is allow myself to imagine what he looks like under that muscle tank and those basketball shorts. But I’ve never been smart enough to do the things I should do. Instead, I do the safe things. And my brain struggles to decide which category this falls under. I should stop myself from picturing the six-pack he no doubt has under that shirt, so I probably won’t. But the safe thing to do is not do it in the first place.

  He snaps his fingers right under my nose, which jolts me back to reality and out of my confusing thoughts. In front of me, he’s holding the glass of water out to me, and I blink hard to shake those nearly naked images from my brain. Then I clear my throat and take the cup from his hand.

  “Thanks,” I tell him, grasping the cup in both hands because I don’t know what else to do.

  It’s clear things haven’t changed on my end. I didn’t have the closure of leaving like he did. Instead, I’ve had years of a relationship I’ve grown comfortable in. Now, being back in his presence, I’m reminded of exactly how I felt the day he left. I’ve been able to push it away and never think about it because I haven’t seen him since. However, it’s impossible not to think about now that he’s standing right in front of me.

  Now that I’m in the middle of the life he built. The one he’s built without me.

  This was Mason’s worst idea by far.

  Suddenly, my throat is so dry. I try to take a sip of water, but it feels like sand in my mouth. I do it again anyway because I know it’ll help. Honestly, that’s the first smart decision I’ve made since… Well, it’s been a long time. I’ll leave it at that.

  “When will Mason be back to get you?” he asks, pulling a chair out at his kitchen table. Then he takes a seat like this isn’t awkward at all.

  He won’t look at me now. Instead, he thumbs the rim of his own water glass and leans back in his chair, his gaze on the table. I can’t blame him, but I can only blame myself for wishing he’d lift his eyes and see me. I don’t deserve that, though it doesn’t stop me from hoping.

  I sit on the opposite side of the four-person table, carefully smoothing the back of my skirt against my bottom. “Probably in a few minutes, he said
,” I answer. Then I add, “Oh, and he said to say hi, but he’ll tell you himself when he gets here.”

  “How long were you waiting, then?” He still won’t look up at me.

  If he did, I’d be able to see what his real question is. How long have you been waiting…to rub this in my face? To get me alone again? To tell me yet again that you chose my brother over me?

  But I answer the question he asked instead. “A while, but it’s okay.”

  It’s close to the answer to the question I wish he’d asked thought. How long have you been waiting to tell me you were wrong?

  If he’d look at me, he’d be able to tell. So part of me is glad he won’t.

  “If I’d known…” he starts.

  “It’s fine.” I wave a dismissive hand. “Mason tried to call you, but…” When I catch what I was about to say, I stop. My tongue feels thick in my mouth as I try to form different words. Nothing comes out though.

  Aidan finishes for me, his deep voice settling over me like a comfortable old blanket. “But he doesn’t have my number, right?”

  Slowly, I nod. “Right.”

  We’re both quiet for a moment, but then I feel his gaze burning through me. I don’t have to look up to know he’s finally seeing me. Trying to tear the rest of the words I didn’t want to say from my lips with his eyes.

  “But you have my number,” he methodically states, each word striking a match inside my chest.

  The fire burns. Rages. Spreads throughout my body. Because that wasn’t a question. It means he received the text I sent him a few months ago. I wasn’t sure, but I am now. And I wish harder that the fire in my chest would consume me and burn me straight to ash.

  He got my message and did nothing.

  The rejection burns hotter than fire.

  Against my better judgment, I raise my gaze and face his intense wrath. Which is not at all the same kind of Aidan I was used to. Though I don’t know why I didn’t expect this. He’s changed. After the text message I sent him three months ago received no response, I should have been prepared for that. So how I was I supposed to know he’d still feel this way after six damn years?