Heroic Heart_A Brother’s Best Friend Rebel Romance

  Heroic Heart

  by Melissa Devenport

  ♥

  Table of Contents:

  Chapter 01 - The Rut

  Chapter 02 - Losing It

  Chapter 03 - Dress to Impress

  Chapter 04 - Nothing More Than A Dream

  Chapter 05 - Wet Encounter

  Chapter 06 - We Have A Fainter

  Chapter 07 - The Other Side

  Chapter 08 - The Follow Up

  Chapter 09 - So Very Close

  Chapter 10 - Facing The Challenge Head On

  Chapter 11 - His Name On Her Lips

  Chapter 12 - A Confession

  Chapter 13 - The Confrontation

  Chapter 14 - It’s Bad

  Chapter 15 - Round Two

  Chapter 16 - Coming Home To Love

  Epilogue - Moving In

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  Heroic Heart

  Written by Melissa Devenport

  Published by Perfect Harmony Publications

  © 2018 Perfect Harmony Publications

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission in writing from the publisher.

  Chapter 1

  The Rut

  Heather

  The click of metal sliding on metal, the deadbolt popping from one side of the frame to the other, was always oddly satisfying. Heather Kline pulled her key out of the lock. The rest of the keys on the ring jingled, punctuating the still silence of the shop. Her eyes were drawn immediately downwards, towards the sound. Four keys, three silver, one bronze, dangled from her hand. A fuzzy pink popsicle keychain tied everything together and made the bundle of keys easier to find in her purse, which seemed to swallow everything whole. She flipped the lock back in place once she was in. She didn’t bother with lights at the front. That would only make people think they were open and they definitely weren’t.

  The shop wasn’t hers. She wasn’t even an artist. Yet. If she had her way, she’d change that in an instant, but neither Kian, the owner or the next best artist there, Mike, was looking for an apprentice. She’d been content with performing reception duties, cleaning up, answering calls, dealing with far too many whiny clients and complainers for five years. She was good at it. She loved her job. She just felt that recently, she was stuck in a rut. It grew deeper with every passing day until it felt like it was too deep to even considering climbing out of.

  Heather snapped her wad of pink bubble gum, trying to form it into a flat surface so she could push it out with her tongue and blow a bubble. The gum had long ago lost its taste, on the long walk over. She could be like everyone else and take the bus or buy a car, but she liked the walk. Sometimes the stillness was exactly what she needed to combat the noise in her head.

  The chimes of her phone startled her, sounding from somewhere deep in her tote back. She moved quickly, setting the bag down on the front desk and digging through it frantically. Her heart sunk when she saw the caller ID.

  MOM

  She debated about not answering, but knew it would only prolong the agony if she let the call go to voicemail. Her phone met her fingers, the case cool and slick. She brought it up to her ear.

  “Hello.” She made sure her voice didn’t waver or bend or betray any emotion, especially not her annoyance or apprehension.

  “Heather! It’s been nearly a week and I haven’t heard from you.”

  Heather closed her eyes. She could actually feel her long lashes resting on her cheek. Given the thick coat of mascara she’d applied before she left her apartment, it wasn’t a wonder. “Sorry. I’ve been busy.”

  “You’re always busy. Busy, busy, busy, throwing your life away at that shop. Or did you manage to get a real job yet? Have you looked at any of those applications I sent you? If you had some training you could get an admin position with a better company. Something corporate who gives paid vacations and benefits.”

  “I already have benefits, mom.” Heather still didn’t open her eyes. Behind closed lids she imagined her mother’s face. Leanne was tall and blonde, a bombshell even though she was nearly fifty. She looked, and acted, at least twenty years younger. Not always in a bad way either. Her mom, when it came down to it, was a good person. Heather just wished that Leanne didn’t make her lofty ambitions for her daughter’s life apparent every single time she called.

  “Your brother is doing well for himself. If you’d gone to university right out of high school maybe you’d be well on your way and I wouldn’t have to sit and worry about you.”

  “I love my job.”

  “You’re a receptionist.”

  “If you don’t want me to do front end work, why did you send me information about admin courses?” It was an honest question, one that actually made sense, but Heather could literally hear her mother’s sigh and imagine the eye rolls that she was getting on the other end.

  “Look. You don’t work in a respectable place. You don’t even look respectable.”

  Heather winced. If only her mother knew the half of it. “I know you think I’m too far gone…”

  “Too far gone? You’ve tattooed almost every square inch of your body! What are you going to do when you outgrow that place and you want to move on? Who is going to hire you with tattoos on your neck and chest and hands? Those are all places you can’t cover up!”

  “There’s this thing they make now, mom. It’s called foundation. It actually does a fairly good job of covering it up. If someone wanted to hire me, in the future, then I guess if they wouldn’t do it because I looked like this, maybe I wouldn’t want to work there.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.” Leanne’s voice was reaching another octave, ascending into the screech zone. The words blasted shrilly through the phone, piercing through Heather’s head.

  “No, I’m not. You don’t know anything about it. You choose not to like the way I look or what I do for a living. That doesn’t make it wrong. You might think I’m too far gone, but there are people that think that my ink is beautiful. I’m happy with my life. I wish you could just be happy with it too.”

  “Don’t make this about me. I’ve worked harder than you’ll ever know to give you and your brother a good life. It’s because of me that you even have the opportunity to work, since I made sure you got a good education and went to school. I looked after you both when people my own age were out partying and drinking and making bad choices. I started you both out on the right path.”

  “I know that. I’m thankful for everything you did. Really.”

  “Then get it together. Quit working there, go get some laser work done and read the damn college applications I sent.”

  The phone went silent and when Heather moved it away from her ear, she was greeted with a picture of her cat. It was her home screen background and a dead giveaway her mother had just ended the call.

  Some people just didn’t get it. Heather knew that her mother had sacrificed for both her and her brother. Leanne had Jay when she was just sixteen. She tried to make a go of it with their father and had Heather two years later. Unfortunately two kids is a real wake up call for most people and Leanne was left raising two kids under two by the time she was eighteen.

  Heather never heard from her dad again. Leanne never talked about him. Heather didn’t even know what he looked like. She figured though, judging from the way her mom sometimes looked at her, that she was a spitting image of him. It would explain her thick, raven black ha
ir, her waif like build and dainty features. Her mother was blonde, tall and all model like angles and curves. Jay looked far more like their mom than she did. At least he was blonde and tall. After that the resemblance ended.

  Heather didn’t need to be told, growing up, that Jay was the golden child. She loved her older brother. Jay was fiercely protective of her, but at the same time, she knew their mother loved him more. He was the favorite. He could never do anything wrong. He was doted on and spoiled. Heather… well, sometimes she felt that her mother just did her best to try not to ignore her. It stung growing up, but as an adult, she almost preferred the weeks of silence, sometimes the long weeks, in between calls.

  She didn’t go home for holidays. Not even Christmas. The whole ‘too far gone’ speech was wearing thin and she didn’t need to hear it more often than she had to.

  With a snap of gum, which had finally formed itself into a satisfying shape to blow a bubble with, Heather set down her phone on the edge of the large reception desk. The thing was handmade, wood on the back, stone on the front. It had a ledge to keep clients from seeing exactly what it was she was doing or reaching over it at any time.

  She dug in her tote and produced her laptop. She lifted the screen and it powered open a second later. It was absolutely satisfying to get on social media and browse mindlessly through a news feed of people she didn’t even know. Clients added her sometimes. Followed her. Whatever.

  Blinking back the burn of tears was easier when she was the only one at the shop and there was no one there to see her cry. Even if the tears fell, she could always touch up her makeup. She made sure she had a fresh set in her purse at all times. Annoyed at her inability to concentrate and keep her mind from wandering back to the past, she clicked open the shop’s social media sites and started her morning updates. It would only be an hour before Kian or Mike arrived. She wanted to have their appointments set out, though she’d confirmed them the night before and have all the incoming emails and inquiries answered.

  She was damn sure that if she had a daughter, she would do anything for her. She certainly would love her unconditionally. What she wouldn’t do was call every other week as a token follow up to see if her kid was still alive and when she found out she was, judge the hell out of her for every single decision she’d ever made.

  College applications. Please. It was just her mother’s way of trying to mold her into something she was never going to be, likely because Leanne had lunch with a couple of her friends and they were talking about how well their kids were doing. Her mother never told anyone that her daughter worked at a tattoo shop. She never told anyone Heather was heavily inked either. Does she talk about me at all with her friends?

  Leanne had a robust social life. Even growing up, Heather remembered her mother being involved with just about everything she could be. Parent teacher boards, bake sales, school fundraising. She really wanted to be involved in her kid’s lives. Well, in Jay’s life at any rate. She was a good mom. She did her best, and like she said, it was far better than most people were doing at that age. Heather didn’t think she could have done it, had the roles been reversed. It was the only reason she tried not to be so hard on her mother. It was the only reason she still answered her phone at all.

  That rut just kept growing wider. Was it the ultimate irony that her mother wanted her to quit a job she felt like she’d outgrown and she defended it anyway?

  At that moment, the backdoor opened, the chime echoing through the shop. Kian or Mike had obviously arrived early. Their impeccable timing saved her from any further introspection or tough early morning questions. Sometimes the rut was the exact place she wanted to be.

  Chapter 2

  Losing It

  Rone

  At twenty-six, Rone was ready to give up his virginity. His tattoo virginity at any rate. He’d spent weeks doing research. He’d found a good artist, one with a style he liked. He was all set to jump in with both feet on a full sleeve. Nothing like playing to win. All he had to do was book the appointment and wait a few months and his first sitting would roll around and he’d be as inked as the rest of the guys who passed as friends.

  Not like peer pressure was an issue or anything. He was just tired of being the only guy who walked around the shop in cheesy white muscle shirts and greasy blue jeans and didn’t even have so much as a heart on his upper bicep with some ex’s name in it or MOMMA scrawled over the surface.

  He’d even take a bad tattoo over none at all. Even his best friend Jay had one he hid from his mother. Lord, what his mother, Leanne, would have done if she found out her golden boy had finally taken the plunge. He made sure his tattoo was on a spot his mother would never see. His whole damn back.

  It didn’t help that he was terrified of needles. Anything that had to do with a little poke or prod, he’d just about pass right out. When he went to have blood taken, he actually had to lie down and be coached through it like he was a little kid. He had no idea how the hell he was going to handle an entire sleeve.

  Rone stood on the sidewalk, debating with himself. The shop looked clean enough. He’d driven thirty minutes just to get there, combating traffic and performing a horrific parallel park on a one way street, on his lunch break. He’d even changed his clothes and scrubbed his hands, though the creases were permanently black. It came with the territory. A mechanic with clean hands isn’t really a true mechanic.

  Squaring his shoulders, he finally decided the only thing to do was venture inside. He could always leave without booking. Maybe something would be sketchy or unclean and he could use that as an excuse.

  The door was heavy, thick glass, the metal handle cold even though the day was warm. Rone gripped it and pushed hard. The door opened inward and the tingle of a little bell went off overhead. He glanced upwards and stared at the small metal bell. It was real, not just a chime. He let the door close and forced his heavy feet to carry him forward. He was still wearing his steel toed work boots, since he had nothing else. They clopped and clamped across the tiled floor over to what was obviously the reception area.

  The desk was large and was clearly meant to separate the front room with the few black couches and white coffee table with artist’s books, the angel statue in the corner, the walls filled up with art and the small fountain at the other side of the room, from the back, where the real work happened. The front of the desk had white stacked stone. It looked expensive and he figured was built in place. That kind of thing would be far too large to move and weigh way too much…

  Rone was so busy studying the desk, trying to calm the tremors ripping up and down his spine and the sloshing of his spinning stomach, that he nearly missed the shop’s receptionist come up to the front.

  “Can I help you?” Her soft voice drifted over to him, so oddly familiar that it brought his head up with an audible crack at the back of his neck.

  “I came to book-” The rest of that statement died a hard death as he stared at the familiar face before him. “Heather?”

  Her mouth dropped open too. She looked so different, but still very much the same as she always had. Lord, Jay’s kid sister had tortured him. She’d been an off limits temptation as a teenager that he’d barely been able to resist. She was even more beautiful now, her hair grown out nearly to her waist, her makeup heavy, but flawless. Long lashes, unearthly gray eyes, sharp cheek bones, delicate jawline, a dainty heart shaped face and red lips brought back the start of a reaction he’d always had to quell whenever he went over to Jay’s and she was there.

  His cock stiffened uncomfortably as he scented the sweet smell of her perfume. Or, at least, he imagined he did. Something breezy, like fresh air. She had on a tight fitting black dress that was cut modestly to the knee. It wasn’t fancy, but it certainly outlined every single glorious curve of her full breasts and delicious hips. Heather wasn’t tall. She was short enough to pass as a twelve year old kid. She was waif-like, almost like a pixie, in so many ways, but not those damn breasts.

  Rone remem
bered the day he finally realized that Jay’s kid sister wasn’t a kid anymore. She was two years younger than him. He was sixteen and she was fourteen. She’d always been small, with a petite frame. One minute she still was and the next visit… bam! It was like she’d turned into a woman overnight. She started wearing tighter fitting clothes when she was fourteen, clothes that outlined the start of lush breasts, sweetly curling hips, a gently rounded ass and a flat stomach.

  She’d pretty much been his dream ever since he was sixteen. Ten years later he was crushed to discover she was still his dream. Now that she was heavily inked, both her arms covered, her chest, her neck… she was only that much more alluring.

  “Are you going to stare at me, Rone, for the rest of the afternoon, or are you going to come back here and give me a hug?” Heather grinned, showing off a line of perfect white teeth. They’d always been that way, so even and pretty. Perfect. Just like the rest of her.

  Rone closed up his dry, gaping mouth. Heather moved, opening the small gate like area that he hadn’t realized was there, so that he could walk back behind the desk.

  He knew it was a bad idea, that hug, but he went anyway. He was careful to hold himself back, just a little, as his arms closed around Heather’s back. Please don’t let her feel that I have a damn hard on right now. He’d die of mortification if she ever knew. That or Jay would finish him off first. His best friend had always kept him in line. There was no touching Jay’s sister. For him or any guy. Jay was a tough bastard and he wasn’t afraid to use physical force to keep Heather safe.

  Rone’s head spun. That fresh air scent of Heather’s perfume went right up his nose. Her hair smelled good too. Like flowers or sunshine. Fuck, I’m an idiot. He wanted to keep her in his arms, the delicate of her soft curves and firm breasts just barely grazing his chest, the sweet satin of her arms grazing, torturing, his fingertips.

  She pulled away before he could draw another breath. She was smiling at him, her light gray eyes twinkling. “It’s been a long time.”