Down To One: Stephens Brothers, #4

By Shea Brighton

Pack up everything. Start her new life.

Do not, repeat DO NOT, fall for her sexy traveling companion.

Brittany Clover has spent her entire life as the epitome of a good girl, never crossing her parents' wishes. Except for one time when she risked everything and had her eighteen-year-old heart broken to smithereens. Well, all that is in the past. She's finally breaking free and looking to start living for herself.

 

Repair relationship with sister.

Do not, repeat DO NOT, get tangled up again with the beauty riding beside him.

Demons rode Clint Milner hard during his teens. Bad decision on top of bad decision became his way of life. Only two good things happened to him and even then he'd screwed up. One chance encounter and brightness filled his life – until he left her behind. In the years since, he's existed but never really lived again.

 

Could the miles they travel be the road they've been searching for?

One ill-advised encounter at his sister's wedding later, the very last place Brittany should be is trapped in a car with Clint for days on end. His nearness, however, makes resisting him almost impossible.

The miles Clint's traveled have never erased Brittany from his mind or heart. He'd fallen one long ago star-filled night. The idea of having and losing this second chance tore at him.

 

Did too many years and tears and secrets sit between them? Or had love struck and held through it all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shea Brighton
• Release date: Nov 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393693055

Book preview

PART I

CHAPTER ONE

W hat did you say?

A fry, clasped between Brittany’s fingers and poised to delight her tastebuds, fell unheeded onto the plate in front of her. Sort of the same way her stomach dropped at the words replaying over and over in her mind.

Surely the noise of the diner had caused her to hear him incorrectly. Dishes clanging and the lively chatter of dozens of the kids, from both their schools, on the high of a big baseball playoff win must have distorted his words. She shook her head, trying to make sense of them. She stared at the boy across from her, willing him to contradict what she thought he said.

You heard me. Bobby sat there, a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin across his boyishly handsome face. The same one to usually have her swooning when he turned it on her. Well, at least she thought she swooned, like all those women in the historical romances she shared with Valerie and Chelsea.

She didn’t swoon now.

No, I don’t think I did. She still couldn’t really take in Bobby’s words. This had to be a joke, right? He couldn’t… Because I think you said you’re taking Shana Billings to prom. Which had to be wrong.

Yup, that’s what I said. His grin remained firmly in place, and she wanted to punch it off his face. She hinted at wanting me to ask, so who was I to turn her down?

Who was he…? What?

You’re my boyfriend, that’s who. Heat rose to her cheeks and likely a nice reddish hue to go along with it. You’re the one who already asked me to go. What was going on? This couldn’t be happening to her. For months, she thought she’d been out of her league, lucky in landing Bobby. Brittany didn’t hit popular girl status, but stuck pretty steady in the smart and friendly girl category. They started out as friends because their moms were friends and then somehow became more. She should have known it would all crash down around her.

Well, yeah, but she’s the hottest girl in your school. He made a duh motion with his shoulders, like she shouldn’t need any additional explanation. And it’s not like we— He waved his hands between the two of them. —were going to stay together after graduation. Might as well split up now.

What? If he started speaking a foreign language, she couldn’t have had a harder time understanding what he was saying. Not to mention why he was saying it.

Seriously, Britt, Bobby rolled his eyes. Like everything should be more than obvious. I mean, I know I asked, but that was before. He darted his gaze away, looking all over the diner, except at the person directly across from him. Her. He couldn’t look at her.

Yeah, before Miss Dance Team Captain decided he’d make a good date. Before all his friends probably ganged up on him about taking the nerdy girl when he could have the star. Before he realized he’d have a better chance of getting lucky…

Grrrrrr. Like a sucker punch, the truth hit her squarely in the face. One single thought, and the reason for his turnaround came crashing down on her, which ticked her off. If he thought he could slink out of here without explaining his reasoning, he was sorely mistaken. She may be nice, but she was no stupid pushover, no matter how she currently felt.

She tilted her head and looked him directly in the eye. Before what? The words dripped with a sugary sweetness from her lips. She wanted to hear him say it because she now knew exactly what he was referring to. She plastered a smile on her face, waiting for his response. He started this disaster, he needed to finish it.

He caught her gaze for a second, then sheepishly darted his eyes away. You know. Pink tinged his ears, and he looked so cute.

No! No, he didn’t. He looked like the first boy to break her heart, because even as her temper soared, her heart plummeted. Right now, she needed to let her temper take control. Later, she could worry about her heart.

She tried to summon all of the spunk of her friends. Chelsea would never let some boy do this to her. No, she’d be the one turning the tables and walking away with her head held high, even while her heart broke. Val probably wouldn’t have made such a miscalculation in who she dated. Neither of them would have been swayed by a pair of dimples or the I need some help with English pleas. They would have realized her mom’s I know his mother from church nice boy was exactly like every other hormone-driven teen boy out there, regardless of what he did on Sunday mornings.

Except she wasn’t like them. She’d practically rolled over like a puppy when Bobby asked her out. So excited, because finally, in her senior year, her mother had loosened the strings and let her date. She’d stopped being the freak in school whose mother only allowed her to concentrate on classes. The girls had warned her, wanted her to not dive in headfirst with her first boyfriend. Her heart had other ideas. At least her mind kept her somewhat sane and prevented her body from following.

She thought Bobby respected her decision. Hell, she’d even been thinking about giving it up on prom night. Yeah, so much for that now.

Straightening her back, she tried to capture his gaze. An elusive task since he kept shifting it away from her. A sure sign he wanted this conversation over.

No, I don’t. Oh, she did, but she would make him say it. She needed to hold it together right now, though she wondered how’d she do it. Then she could leave and go have a good cry.

"C’mon, Britt. You knooooow."

The way he dragged out the last word made it clear he didn’t want to say what would make him sound like every other teenage boy. Well, if he wanted to break her heart, she had no intention of caring what he wanted.

She continued to stare at him, knowing it made him uncomfortable. Bobby stole the show on whatever field or court he decided to grace with his presence, but get him one-on-one and things took a completely different turn. He definitely couldn’t handle the pressure then, like all the hours of helping him with schoolwork should have indicated. He wilted like an unwatered flower whenever she asked him a question.

Maybe I’ve been an idiot all along. Could he have simply been using me? At this point, she wouldn’t doubt it, but it was too late to do anything about it. Brittany would take this as a lesson she was meant to learn and not give her heart so freely in the future. Only someone who truly deserved it would earn it.

Bobby turned his face toward her, finally deigning to look at her. Did she see some regret in those dark eyes? It didn’t even matter, it wouldn’t be enough to make his words any different or hurt any less.

Brittany, listen. I like you. But. She heard the word coming from a mile away. But it’s Shana. Apparently, his answer should address any and all of her questions. And we both know this— He did the hand waving thing again, making her cringe. —isn’t going anywhere.

Yeah, so he’d already said, and no, I hadn’t known it before. By anywhere, you mean bed, right? At least he had the grace to fully flush this time. Because that’s the real issue. I don’t want to have sex with you yet, so you’re dumping me. She’d put the words out there if he wouldn’t.

Can you blame me? He frowned, and bitterness took over his voice. I’m a senior, and I want to have sex with my girlfriend. All of a sudden, the boy sitting across from her looked nothing like the one she thought she knew. A glint of meanness flashed in his eyes, making her see a totally different side to him. One she didn’t very much like. Sure, you let me cop a feel every once in a while, but really, that’s it? You didn’t even want to touch my dick.

Embarrassment washed over Brittany as a couple of kids snickered as they walked past. Chelsea would have thrown a snippy remark back at him, but unfortunately Brittany didn’t have the guts to do the same. Instead, she wanted to crawl under the table and hide.

Her time for anger had passed, now she only felt the pain of her first broken heart and mortification. Grabbing her purse, she scooted out of the booth, head cast down so she didn’t have to see anyone. She turned and headed for the door; figured they were seated all the way across the room.

Britt, Bobby called from behind her. Britt, where are you going? Ignoring him, she kept on pushing past people. I have to bring you home. His voice increased in volume since he didn’t actually move from the table.

Not turning and not really caring anymore if people watched, she yelled over her shoulder, I can get home on my own.

Fine.

Irritation filtered into his voice, and as she turned and watched, he sat back down. He grabbed his long-forgotten burger and his phone and went on like nothing had even happened. She guessed, for him, it was nothing. A simple dumping of a girl he didn’t have any real interest in. I wonder how he’s going to pass English now because I’m sure not helping him, and Shana’s no better than him. Those thoughts weren’t her worry anymore. Nothing about him was.

She pushed open the door and brushed past the couple of people coming up the steps. Hitting the sidewalk, she turned and started down the street. The clock on the bank down the block read ten forty-five, nowhere close to her curfew. Going home now didn’t rank high on her list of things to do. Her mom would ask endless questions, and what could she say? She couldn’t tell her the truth because if Mom thought Brittany had even considered having sex there’d be hell to pay. It wouldn’t matter that she hadn’t actually done it; the mere idea would send the woman over the edge.

A few people called her name, but she didn’t want to talk to them. She didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Picking up her pace, she moved away from them, determined to stay in her own little bubble. After she’d passed them, her tears finally started to fall. Angrily, she brushed them away. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Crying over someone who obviously didn’t care about her was dumb. Still, the tears kept leaking from her eyes.

She liked Bobby, but she never believed she loved him, so why was she so upset? Because he’d been the first boy to show an interest. Even before her mother loosened the reins holding Brittany in place, no line of boys had tried to get her to break the rules. She’d been the smart one next to her pretty and wild friends. Everyone considered her a friend, not someone to date. Bobby had flirted with her, teased her into accepting his date, until finally going out with him became her norm.

What a sad way to think about her first boyfriend: something she did like brush her teeth or do her homework. Where were the butterflies? The sparks? Those were the things she wanted, and Bobby didn’t get her anywhere close to them.

Still, the tears kept falling. Her brain tried to tell her it was stupid to be upset. Her heart, on the other hand, didn’t want to hear it.

She broke into a run, not paying attention or caring where her feet led her. The squeal of brakes broke through her thoughts, even as headlights illuminated her figure.

Perfect ending to a perfect night. Not.

The perfect fucking day.

Over and over, the single thought replayed through Clint’s mind as he quietly closed the door behind him. He’d lost himself for hours in the studio, giving life to something he now believed to be bigger than himself. Probably stupid, but he tended to have a lot of those thoughts. Still he couldn’t help the way art made him feel.

He entered the darkened kitchen. Only the soft glow from the stove light his mother left on all the time illuminating the space. With a quick glance to his left, the digital numbers on the microwave told him it wasn’t exceptionally late, yet no one seemed to be up. Which was odd, given his sister had mentioned going out tonight. His parents, or his mom at least, always waited up for the younger Milner to arrive home safely before heading up to bed. His father had been the one waiting for him to come home during his teen years, but rarely to ensure he made it home safe. No, instead, he’d yell or complain about Clint’s friends or interrogate him on what they’d been doing.

He grimaced. He’d given the old man plenty of reason to be concerned, but it hadn’t always been that way. What if they’d given him the help he’d asked for? What if there had been a little bit of trust in the beginning? Would it have made a difference in what had happened or in their relationship now? Water under the bridge. There’s no way to go back and fix any of it. Too much had happened. Clint shook his head, clearing away the maudlin thoughts and drawing on the relaxing and reviving ones of the day.

He crossed the threshold between the kitchen and living room, making sure to keep his tread light. The stillness surrounding him could only mean Val had already come home and everyone had gone to bed. Which suited him fine. The last damn thing he needed was a confrontation with his dad to kill the buzz of his day. It did seem to be the only way they communicated anymore—through shouts and angry words. Clint hated it, but their fights had become almost an automatic reflex by now. His dad wouldn’t, or couldn’t, see past what he’d done to finally see the man he was becoming. Or maybe he didn’t want to see that man because he still wasn’t what Dad thought he should be.

Either way, it hurt and stung, so he fought back.

As he moved to the stairs, the exact thing he’d hoped to avoid greeted him. His father stood on the landing, disapproval radiating from his eyes and the way he held his body. Clint knew he’d killed his parents’ trust years ago. He’d worked so hard to regain it, but nothing changed. He feared nothing ever would.

Dad looked him up and down, and Clint knew what he’d see. His hair a mess from the number of times he plowed his fingers through it, paint splattered across his jeans and T-shirt. Nothing Frank Milner believed to be respectable or worthwhile, just like the man who wore them.

Another productive day, I see.

He didn’t need anyone to tell him his dad meant the exact opposite. Clint never did anything productive in his old man’s eyes. He’d be damned if he let it get to him tonight, though. His day spent at the studio had given him a high unlike anything he’d known before, and he wanted to maintain it. He breathed deep and vowed to control his temper, no matter how hot it may start to burn.

Actually, it was. The piece he’d been working on finally started to come together. Except his dad wouldn’t want to hear about any of it. His painting would never get the dad seal of approval. I’m heading upstairs. If he got out quickly, maybe they could have their first semi-decent interaction in months. Nothing like it used to be, before he’d destroyed everything, including his parents’ love for him.

Not so fast. The words spoken were devoid of any emotion, even anger, an unusual occurrence. A sneer still appeared on his dad’s face, however. I told you last year you needed to make a decision on what you’d be doing when you ‘graduated.’ The emphasis on the last word made it clear what his dad thought of his pending degree.

Clint agreed to community college even though he wanted nothing to do with more school. The choices had been attend or get kicked out when he came home from rehab, a time when he needed all the support he could muster. So he said yes, but got none of the support. Now, just over two years later, he’d managed to slog his way through and was almost out and free. There was no way he’d be going any further.

He fisted his hands, attempting to hang on to his temper. There’s nothing to talk about. I’m done. They’d been through this over and over again, still Dad never accepted it. For someone who thought his son failed at damn near everything, the man certainly pushed him enough to keep going to school.

The frown marring his dad’s face should have prepared him, but it didn’t. His hope of his dad finally getting on board with his plans, shattered once again. You’re not going to amount to anything. Don’t think I’m going to keep footing the bill while you waste time on this nonsensical dream. Dad turned his back, placing a foot on the first step, completely ignoring him even as he continued to speak. His action summed up the past few years perfectly; talking at him but never actually paying attention. It’s about damn time you focus on the future, though I don’t know what you’re actually going to do.

Then why do you want me to keep going to school? I know what the fuck I want to do. Pull it together. Don’t let him get to you. It’s you who won’t see it.

His father whirled on him, anger finally taking over. Don’t you dare speak to me like that. He took a step and grabbed Clint’s arm. After all your mother and I put up with. All we did for you.

All you did? They’d done nothing when he asked. Only after he fucked up did they decide to do anything, because then it affected them. Still, even years later, he got his past thrown in his face. You’re my parents. He shook off the grip his father had on him. Fuck, it’s what you’re supposed to do. Why couldn’t they see how far he’d come, how he’d found something to revel in? Instead, all his dad did was talk down to him.

What did I say about how you speak to me? The venom in his dad’s words practically seethed from his lips. Don’t bother answering. Know you’re running out of time. I’m not going to put up with this attitude or lack of ambition any longer. He spun and ascended the stairs, stopping midway to turn back. You’ve been warned. Without another word, or look, Frank Milner left his son standing at the foot of the stairs.

Pain sliced through Clint, even as he kicked himself for caring so much about what his father thought of him. It was hard though.

The feeling of being trapped started to close in, telling him he needed to escape the house, even if only for one night. On a pivot, he turned back the way he came and stepped into the relatively cool Arizona night. Getting back into his car and starting it, he backed out of the drive. On a glance, he noted the full darkness of the front of the house, not a light on in his parents’ bedroom. How quickly his dad had gotten into bed, forgetting all about the son he’d done his best to ignore over the past few years. Well, ignore or scream at. Sometimes both in the same exchange, sort of like tonight.

Damn him. Damn him. Damn him.

Anger bubbled up within him. He should be used to it by now. Every fucking time he talked with his dad they got into it, and every fucking time he stormed off in a rage. Goddammit. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, barely even noting the thudding vibrations up his arm. The tires squealed as he punched the gas pedal and took off down the block.

Except, being free of the house didn’t mean freedom from his thoughts.

He wasn’t the same kid who didn’t know what to do with the pain and thoughts racing through his brain. He also wasn’t the same kid who’d fallen in with the wrong crowd while trying to find relief and getting caught in a downward spiral. A man had emerged from the disaster he’d created. One he was still figuring out, but had pride in nonetheless.

Unfortunately, his parents refused to even acknowledge the man he’d changed into. They only remembered and focused on the past, not the present. Not the person he’d become.

The look in his dad’s eyes tonight bordered on disgust. How had they gotten this far lost from each other? Long ago, he idolized his dad, following him around, thrilled to see him in the stands at every game he played. Then somewhere along the way, Clint’s mind started playing with him, and the once happy kid morphed into a teen he couldn’t recognize.

Those feelings led to dark places, and eventually to people who brought him even lower. He wanted out of the downward spiral he’d been on. Going so far as to beg his parents to reach out a hand and rescue him.

But did they? he whispered, the sounds of the engine his only company.

No, at least not in the way he needed. He gripped the wheel tighter, forcing pain into his hands instead of his head. The ache got too comfortable there and too difficult to vanquish.

Speeding through the streets, the demons of his past chased after him. He’d done this before, tried to outrun the pressure squeezing his brain until he felt he needed to crawl out of his skin. Once upon a time only one thing could shut that shit down.

Not anymore. I can’t go back. I’m not going back. The mantra in his head repeated constantly, even when he didn’t speak the words aloud. Using would never be an option for him again.

No, now he needed to find what had become his salvation. The deep recesses of his mind told him this wasn’t the best way to fight what he now knew to be depression. He needed help, real help, not just his art, but his parents never wanted to see that. He’d gotten help in rehab, but since then, only his art got him through.

Irritation, at himself, filled his voice. I don’t need their damn permission to see someone. Maybe the time had finally arrived to take charge of his life. To do the things he needed to do to survive, thrive, and be happy. Especially if his dad held true to his implied threat.

I have a job, I have my art. The words flowed freely even though no one was around to hear. A smile quirked his lips as he thought about his sister’s penchant for talking to herself. Clint adored his little sis, but Dad had long since proclaimed him a bad influence and told him to leave her alone. He hated doing so, but how many times could he listen to his dad rail on him?

Too many thoughts were running through his mind, and none eased him. He needed to get to the studio. Lose himself in his latest work or maybe start something new to throw all of his confusion into. Every day he thanked whatever deity had allowed him to find this outlet, even if he was anything but appreciative at the time of his enforced rehab stint right after graduation. They’d driven straight from his commencement to the facility. He fought his father something fierce on going. Mom had sat silently crying but not heeding any of his pleas. Val tried to offer support and her own appeals to not send him away again. Nothing budged his dad. He’d even considered running away, but had no clue where he’d go. Bitter and angry, he’d relented, albeit grudgingly and with too much hate in his heart.

The first days were terrible. Between withdrawal and an anger so deeply embedded, he wanted nothing to do with anything or anyone. By the end of the second week, a realization became clear, and he recognized this had been the best thing for him. For the first time, he understood where the road he traveled headed and knew it needed to change quickly. The true turning point really came when he walked into his first art class. Something in his brain clicked as he’d listen to this tiny little woman instructor talk about the beauty of art and how it had the power to be a release for people. He spent the whole first class pouring his thoughts onto the canvas in front of him and he’d never looked back. Except, no matter how many times he thanked his dad for making him do what he damned well didn’t want, nothing mattered.

While he may have changed, Dad refused to truly believe it.

So now he found himself in his car, after yet another argument, punishing himself for never being the son they wanted him to be.

A horn blaring dragged him out of his own thoughts, enough to realize he’d driven right out of the neighborhood and closer to their little town. Well, little may be a misnomer. Melville while smaller in comparison to Phoenix, the nearest city, definitely wasn’t a one stoplight town. Sometimes it felt like it though, especially when everyone seemed to know everyone else’s business.

He nodded at the driver in the other car, not sure exactly what he’d done to provoke the honk, but it did cause him to slow down. A Friday night, especially after a game, always meant the streets were crowded. He’d been among them the first couple of years of high school, until his friends became those who didn’t care about being part of the crowd and only wanted to get drunk and high in private.

Now he drove through town, looking at the scenes playing out in front of him differently. Realizing all he’d missed when he’d been drowning. Innocence and the beginnings of freedom screamed at him from the groups of students on the sidewalks and walking to cars. His sister and her friends were usually a part of the mix.

Looking at the action occurring outside his car, he suddenly felt so much older than his twenty-one years. He’d seen and experienced too much when younger, and it took a toll on him. His art allowed him to feel the rush of new experiences, but something still eluded him.

A red light stopped him and gave him a minute to really take in his surroundings. The diner on the corner had a steady stream of people pouring through the doors. Across the street, the Starbucks drew an equally impressive business. Another pang of regret shot through him, wishing those high school years had been different. He shook his head, needing to be away from a past he could never reinvent and would never go back to. Only moving forward, he muttered. Sometimes he needed to keep reminding himself, lest he slip backward. Something he never planned on doing again.

The light flipped to green, and he took off. Three blocks ahead loomed the side street of the art studio, and luckily the key in his pocket gave him unlimited access. In order to keep his head on straight, he needed somewhere to escape to. When the uneasy, crawling-out-of-his-skin feeling overtook him, the art studio gave him a place to pull himself back together. The sooner he got there, the better. Focus. Focus. Soon he could zone out, but he had to get there first.

He slowed as he approached the red light, but hit the gas as it turned green. Turning the wheel, he’d almost made it around the corner when a blur darted into the intersection right in front of his car. He slammed on the brakes, thanking every God he could think of his reaction time hadn’t been slowed by drugs or liquor like in previous years. The wheels screeched as he came to a stop only inches away from the figure in the street.

The first thing he noticed were her long legs, shown off by a flirty skirt whipping around her. His gaze traveled up her body, her top snug but not too tight or revealing. Still, it did something for him, his