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CHAPTER 4

“How the fuck are we going to get home without being stripped naked by local fangirls?” Titus shoved his phone in my face. “It’s a motherfucking mob!”

I focused on the image on the screen. “Who sent you that?”

“Leah. Said she’s never seen them so bad.”

“Must be after you, bro,” I muttered, pushing his phone away.

“Shit, Conor. I can take pussy, but not that much pussy. Well, not in one go, at least.” He smirked at me.

“We’ll just go through the woods,” Carl shouted from the other end of the bus. “Get them to park behind Chloe’s old place, and we’ll cut through.”

I swallowed the bitterness at the mention of Chloe’s name. Obviously, though, I don’t hide it too well, because Titus nudged me in the ribs.

“Still brokenhearted, baby brother?”

I clenched my jaw. “She disappeared without a fuckin’ word. It’s been two and half years. She ain’t my favorite person, but I’m not heartbroke.”

He laughed. “I’m messin’ with ya, man. Shit, doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re still hung up on her.”

I didn’t deny it. I couldn’t help that I’d still got feelings for a girl who ran out on me without a word—not even to Leah, and they were supposed to be best friends. I didn’t know where she was or what she was doing . . . or why she left.

And it ain’t for a lack of fucking trying. I spent six months chasing dead ends, running around in never-ending circles, with bitchy rumors being whispered in my ear.

“You guys say ‘fuck’ too much,” Jenny, our PA, said, perching on the table. “It’s not attractive, you know that?”

Titus smirked and spinned in his seat. “Tell that to the girls begging me to fuck them.”

“You’re so full of yourself.” She rolled her eyes. “Look, Leah’s picture wasn’t an exaggeration. There’s a freakin’ news crew and reporters there waiting for you to arrive. I hope y’all brought your muscle, because you sent your security home.”

“Shouldn’t need security in a town with the population of a trailer park,” I retorted. “We’re cutting through the woods. Get the driver to pull up behind the trees at Clarita Lane.”

All of my brothers looked at me, but I ignored them. Yes, I still know her address.

“Got it.” She nodded, her red ponytail bobbing behind her. She turned away and disappeared.

“Didn’t expect you to do it,” Carl answered. “What if she’s back?”

I snorted. “She won’t be. Whatever made her leave ain’t enough to bring her back, or she never would have gone in the first place.”

I reached to my side for my headphones and put them on. The action ended the conversation, thank fucking God. Talking about the girl that broke my heart wasn’t exactly on my favorite-activities list.

We—Dirty J., the Conor brothers, whatever you want to call us—could live anywhere in the country. We could relocate to New York or Los Angeles without blinking. But we didn’t. We kept coming back to this damn tiny town where everyone knew the inside of everyone else’s asshole.

Why? I wished I damn well knew. If it was my choice, we would have stayed in LA when we went the first time. Now we were looking at a couple of weeks in the world’s smallest town, surrounded by piss-ass tourists and screaming fangirls.

The deep beat of Nirvana pounded into my ears, and I looked out of the window. Two days of driving on this bus and I was more than ready to get off and into a real bed, even if it was in Santa Monica.

As long as Mom had dinner ready, I’d be good. Her cooking was the only good thing about “home.”

Trees, houses, roads, they all blurred into one as we approached the bay. The sign was there, bold as brass, clear as motherfucking day.

Welcome to Santa Monica.

Welcome to Memory Hell.

I yanked the headphones off and silenced my iPod. I threw both into my duffel and dropped it on the seat next to me.

“Okay, boys.” Jenny reappeared. “What’s happenin’ is you’re gonna get off the bus in five minutes. You need to detour far enough that you’ll hit your parents’ stretch of beach, then go through the back door. We’ll park the bus out front, and I’ll deal with the screaming, undoubtedly crying, mob.”

“Damn, Jenna. You’re a fuckin’ genius, beautiful.” Titus grinned.

“And you’re a man-whore,” she replied with a sweet smile. “Five minutes, Titus Conor, then I want your playboy ass off the darn bus.”

He shot her a wink, to my, Aiden’s, and Carl’s amusement. Jenny’s resistance to his advances was a long-standing form of entertainment. Truth is, Jenny’s happily in a relationship with one of our security guys. And we all know Titus wouldn’t touch her with an iron pole. He valued his cock far too much to risk it against two hundred fifty pounds of pure muscle.

After a few minutes Jenny clapped her hands. “All right, boys. Off. I’m in Raleigh for the summer with Jason, so I’m not far if you need me. Titus, Aiden, wrap it before you tap it, you man-whores. Carl, try to rein in your attitude, sunshine. And you—Conor. I want a smile on your face when you get back on this bus. You got it, gentlemen?”

I faked her a smile and kissed her cheek. “Give it four days. Titus will have you on the phone.”

“I know. He’s a big baby.”

My brothers followed me off the bus. The leaves crunched beneath all our feet, and despite how much I said I hated this town, I loved this. I spent so damn long in these woods as a kid, climbing trees, running through the stream. Then as we got older, it became a hideout for me and Chloe, our private place in a public town. The one place we could come when we were sick of prying eyes.

I shook those thoughts off. Fuck it. Every time. Every time I got back here she was filling my mind like an obsession.

I glanced toward her house. Her dad’s house—or old house, whatever it was these days. I didn’t even know if it had been put up for sale or what. A shadow moved across the kitchen window as I stared, so I assume it got sold. It had been six months since we were home last, long enough to sell a house in this town.

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