Wasted: Falcon Brothers (Steel Country Book 3) Read online

  Contents

  Dedication

  The Playlist

  To The Reader

  Prologue

  The Road Leading Back

  See You Around

  Bacon and Bedtime

  Bells and Bliss

  Body Language Issues

  Who Wrote the Book

  No More Tears

  Burning Inside

  See You Around...Again

  Cop Car

  Harder

  Circles

  Gonna Wanna Tonight

  Wet

  Secrets

  Body Language

  Middle of a Memory

  Porch Swing

  Cake and Countertops

  Confessions

  Bacon and Blowjobs

  Butts Bared

  Hurt

  Another Great Day

  Lights Down Low

  Ferris Wheel

  Long, Hard Ride

  That One Is My Dad

  Crashed

  Even If It Breaks Your Heart

  Craving

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Other Titles By MJ Fields

  Wasted

  By MJ Fields

  Copyright © 2017 MJ Fields

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of MJ Fields, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.

  This is a work of fiction. All character, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  1st edition published: July 23, 2017

  Editing by: C&D Editing

  Proofed by: K. Ginsberg

  Cover Design and formatting by: Jersey Girl Designs

  Thank you for purchasing this book. This book and its contents are the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes.

  This book is not free. If you are reading it and did not purchase it from a site MJ published it, you are reading a stolen copy, and therefore are committing a punishable crime.

  This book contains mature content not suitable for those under the age of 18. Content involves strong language and sexual situations. All parties portrayed in sexual situation are over the age of 18. All characters are a work of fiction.

  This book is dedicated to all the people whose hearts are as big as the sky and who swallow back ones needs, and desires to keep peace, and make others around you happy.

  Read and absorb lovely’s.

  The Playlist

  “Hallelujah” by Gyth Rigdon

  “It’s A Great Day To Be Alive” by Travis Tritt

  “See You Around” by Cole Taylor

  “That One Is My Dad” by Keni Thomas

  “Body Language” by Gyth Rigdon

  “Bless the Broken Road” by by Rascal Flatts

  “Cop Car” by Sam Hunt

  “Circles” by Jana Kramer

  “You Don’t Know Her Like I Do” by Brantley Gilbert

  “Blue Ain’t Your Color” by Keith Urban

  “Flatliner” by Cole Swindell (Feat. Dierks Bentley)

  “Gonna Wanna Tonight” by Chase Rice

  “Middle of a Memory” by Cole Swindle

  “Porch Swing Angel” by Muscadine Bloodline

  “Lights Down Low” by Max (Feat. Gnash)

  “Craving You” by Eli Young

  “Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy” by Big and Rick

  “Why Can’t I” by Liz Phair

  “You Won’t Ever Be Lonely” Andy Giggs

  Listen on Spotify

  http://bit.ly/WastedMJMusic

  To The Reader

  Each choice that we make steers us in a different direction on life’s broken, but beautiful road. A road with no map or directions.

  Some of us make choices that are not easy, but and are made in order to make it easier for those we love.

  I have regretted choices I have made in the name of love, but never regretted any made for those who deserve my love and who truly love me the same. That is love, real love. It goes both ways.

  It is never going to be easy all the time. We have to expect that, because life is a lesson full or trials, tribulations, self-reflections and evaluations.

  True love is worth stepping outside of your comfort zone, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and open to the possibilities you may have once believed only were dreamt up for fairytales and happy ever after’s.

  At a new stage in life, I am again faced with making choices for those I love, and still being open to its possibilities.

  The hardest thing for me to embrace, is that sometimes, as hard as it is, we need to choose ourselves.

  Be brave, be bold, be beautiful, because you are.

  XOXOXO MJ

  *This book does contain triggers in the form of flashbacks in dealing with non-descriptive, physical and sexual abuse*

  Haunted and hidden.

  Mysterious and sexy, Grayson Falcon steers clear of commitment in all forms. He takes the road less traveled, avoiding the demons of his past and the nightmares they cause. He uses his good looks and country charm to attain pleasure, but it is always a short-lived reprieve.

  Sweet and scarred.

  Once believing that love can conquer all, Mandee Carlin’s life was then turned upside down and inside out. Her beauty queen good looks and sweet smile always caught the eye of the wrong kind of man. However, as a survivor, she still holds on to hope that one day she will come face to face with the man whose whispered words will give her strength to still believe.

  What happens when the hopeless find hope...at the wrong time?

  Love is...Wasted.

  Prologue

  Grayson

  “Desserts are for after dinner,” Mommy tells me as she smiles and takes away the box of chocolates her friend Mags sent from the United States of America.

  “But, Mommy...” I whine, sticking out my lower lip and pouting slightly. This usually works, as long as Daddy doesn’t know. He doesn’t like us to eat chocolate. He says it’ll make us fat.

  “But, Grayson...” She smiles, mussing up my hair then placing a kiss on my nose. “After dinner.”

  Then she’s gone, but the chocolates, they are sitting on top of the refrigerator. I know I’m going to get in some trouble, but I just can’t help myself.

  Pulling out the bottom drawer, I step onto it. Then I pull myself onto the counter, reaching up to grab the box off the refrigerator. Once I have the box, I sit on my bottom on the counter then slide off, shoving the box under my shirt as I run down the hall, up the stairs, and into the bedroom I share with Garrett. We have our own rooms, but now I stay in his.

  A few months ago, when I heard him crying at night, it scared me, so I went in and saw he was sleeping under his bed. I laid next to his bed and held his hand. He didn’t cry anymore, and he didn’t tell me to leave, so now I stay in there every night.

  Today I heard him cry and it’s not even dark. Chocolate will make him happy, I think as I walk in.

  “What?” he asks, wiping his nose, his eyes angry.

  “I got chocolate.” I pull the box out from under my shirt and show him.

  “Just go, Gray,” he says, burying his face in his knees. “Chocolate doesn’t fix everything.”

  “But—”

  “Just go!”

  I
run down the stairs, out the door, and toward the big barn, the one with all the equipment. I want to cry, too. I want to because my brother, my best friend, he’s mad at me and I didn’t even do anything wrong.

  I slide under one of the trucks and open the box. I don’t care if I get in trouble. I just don’t care. I eat a piece of the yummy chocolate, and then another and another. They are delicious.

  “Hey!” I hear Gage, my big brother, and cringe. I’m going to be in trouble.

  I peek out and see him throw a stone. I watch it fly through the air as if it’s in slow motion. Then I cover my mouth when I see it getting closer and closer to Mr. A. Then it hits him in the side of the head and he falls. He falls a long way before he lands on the ground.

  I look at Gage, who has a weird smile on his face. A mean one. One I have never seen before.

  He walks over to where Mr. A. lies, kicks some dirt on his face, and then spits on the back of his head. Then he squats down, his fists balled at his sides, as he sneers, “Told you not to come back. Should’ve listened.”

  He stands up and walks away, kicking dirt behind him as he does.

  I see blood. Lots and lots of blood. It’s coming from Mr. A’s head, his mouth. It’s getting closer and closer to me.

  Terrified, I scurry out from under the opposite side of the truck and run toward the trees.

  §

  Mandee

  Sitting next to Mom’s bed, I held her hand. They said it wouldn’t be long now. I didn’t believe them.

  Since I found out about her cancer in ninth grade, I had heard that so many times. Too many times. And every time, she made it. I attributed it to many prayers, and the promise the trees made me one night.

  Yes, the trees.

  “Be strong, Mandee. She needs our strength.” Dad’s eyes would never shed the tears I knew were there, not ever. And neither would mine. Well, not in front of them, anyway.

  When I was sixteen, it had been bad, really bad. I had gone to the store to get some things Dad had asked me to get, knowing I was being sent away because Mom couldn’t hide the pain any longer and neither of them had wanted me to see her cry.

  On my way, while driving, I had heard a song on the radio I had heard a million times. “If I Die Young” by The Band Perry. I cried so hard I couldn’t see. I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe. I cried so hard I swore my heart would break.

  I had to pull over to the side of the road by the lake, and then I ran into the woods so that no one could see me break down, so no one could see me being weak. After all, everyone would tell me how strong I was all the time.

  I wanted to be. I wanted to be as strong as they thought. Hell, I had been.

  Then, when I was quiet, I heard the song “Hallelujah.” I didn’t know the song, but it was beautiful. And it seemed to calm me...the chorus, the voice.

  Later, when I googled the words, I realized it had been the voice that was calming; the lyrics, hauntingly beautiful.

  A year later, when she was gone, I returned to that spot for the hundredth time. I heard the most beautiful sound, one I had yearned to hear every time I had returned. I had told myself it wasn’t real. It was a figment of my imagination, words whispered in the woods.

  I was wrong. This time, the song was much more uplifting.

  I walked through the woods, trying to find it, all the while listening to whoever was singing “It’s a Great Day to be Alive” by Travis Tritt.

  When I came upon him, his back was to me, black hair curled up under a backward Yankees hat, the material of his gray Henley stretched over his back. He had the sleeves pulled up to his elbows, his arms covered in tattoos, the muscles beneath the ink bulging as he played the guitar in his hand. He was sitting on a fallen tree with a fire going in front of him. My heart skipped a beat, several beats.

  As awful as that day was, I will always remember the first time Mom, my angel, sent me to the woods to listen to this man whisper a promise that things would be okay.

  Chapter One

  The Road Leading Back

  Grayson

  Sitting at Carlin’s Cocktails, a little bar off the highway leading to Lake Hopatcong, I look out over the dance floor. There’s a band playing tonight. Little four-piece country band doing an okay job with some popular covers. They have the place packed, the floor full. I suppose that’s what they’re here for. They’re okay, but that’s not why I’m here.

  Not hating. Hell, I made some bank doing that shit while traveling. No four-piece. Two-piece, just me and Glory, my guitar. Didn’t do it for the money. I did it for the fine, little pieces of ass it would drop at my feet. Ass with no strings. Best kind of ass out there. Why? Because love, marriage, forever, it’s a bunch of fucking horse shit.

  I’m here because I need a break from my family. Sounds shitty, but it’s the truth. From as far back as I can remember, things have been fucking crazy. Never knew what was going to happen next. It was like living in a war zone.

  Now...Now the air has cleared a bit. Found out some things that bring clarity. Plus, my brother Garrett popped the question to his girl tonight. I was asked to help him out by singing to her, so I did.

  When we were younger, Garrett had horrible nightmares. He even slept under his bed for a couple years. Recently, I found out why. He was fucking abused by an old man who worked for our family. My brother Gage threw a rock and killed the man right in front of me. I never knew why until now, but that’s when my fucking nightmares began.

  For the longest time, after I witnessed that, I was intimidated as fuck by Gage. Regardless, he was still my brother, and in order to function, I had to look at the man as a whole. Actions speak louder than words, and one fuck up, one thrown stone, doesn’t define a man. Not when every other thing he did in life was good. Not to mention he was the man of the family. Now knowing that horrible act was done for family, now I fucking look up to him even more.

  Gage and Garrett, they worked out their baby momma drama and are at peace. Hell, they are all fucking happy. And here I am, waiting for the mother of all bombs to drop.

  Oh, what a tangled web this family has weaved.

  I take off my hat and set it on my knee before running my fingers through my hair then finish my beer. I set my empty glass on the bar and wait for a refill while I look around to find something to slip into tonight.

  My eyes fix on the waif-sized blonde who is dancing with a total fucking tool. Flat brimmed hat, skinny jeans, a red shirt, and matching red sneakers. I laugh, wondering if the fucker looked in a mirror before leaving the house. Then I sigh because, looking around, I’m thinking women are no longer raising men. It’s all good. I know damn well Little Red Riding Bitch over there is thinking him and his tricked-out duds are a fucking turn on. I know better. Women want a man between their legs, and not some bitch whose focus is on looking like he just walked out of a magazine, emasculating men as a whole.

  My species is in danger of extinction, which makes me like a fucking tiger. And like a tiger, I’m on the prowl tonight. Unlike the tiger, my prey doesn’t run, which makes the chase lame, but it all ends the same—her bent over.

  The only fight I get these days is when the woman under me decides she wants to impress me by thinking she can fuck me. That ain’t happening.

  When I’m fucking, it’s with three purposes: to get her off, leave a mark, and to come.

  Men, real men, are hunters, gatherers, and providers. Women aren’t looking for that today, and I’m not about to be tied down by one who thinks she’s going to own my balls.

  I watch the little waif look around. She’s bored with Little Red Riding Bitch and his fucking dancing shoes.

  “Oh, man,” I hear right before I feel my back get soaked. “I’m so...” She stops talking when I turn around.

  Well, what do we have here?

  I look the bartender over, with her long, thick dark hair, beautiful fucking doe eyes, insanely perfect and lightly tanned skin, and curves. Sweet Jesus, she has curves.

  �
��Fuck,” I groan as I look her up and down.

  Her face turns red, and her voice is unsteady when she says, “I’m really sorry. I’ll give you something to change into. I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m good, sweetheart. And between you and me, I would never apologize for getting you wet.” I take the bar rag from her hand and wipe up the mess. “Now, show me where to change.”

  Her mouth is gaping silently, lips plump and deep red. I would love to lean over and take that mouth, but there’s a problem. My future sister-in-law fucking works here.

  “I...umm...It’s...” she stammers.

  Christ, she’s hot.

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

  She looks down. “Mandee.”

  “Mandee”—I hold out my hand—“I’m Grayson.”

  She looks at my hand, then up at me, then quickly back down again.

  “Hi.” When she shakes my hand, her grip is weak. That right there gets me even hotter.

  When she doesn’t let go, I don’t bother to, either.

  “Mandee.” A guy a few stools down leans over the bar. “Babe, can I get a refill?”

  “Suuure,” she says slowly, taking her hand away.

  I look down at the guy who called her babe. He doesn’t look like much of a douche. He’s not undressing her with his eyes, he says thank you, and she doesn’t even look away when he talks to her. She knows him. Must be a relative.

  When she walks away, I give a quick whistle and point to my shirt. She looks down then scans the bar. When her big brown eyes come back to mine, she nods toward the hallway. I walk down the length of the bar and follow her.

  She grabs a key from her pocket and unlocks the door at the end. “Tee-shirts are in here. Again”—she pushes the door open—“I’m really sorry.”

  “Mandee, it’s not a big deal at all. Only reason I’m taking you up on the offer to change shirts is I’m riding my bike tonight. Could get chilly.”

  She pulls a little stool over to the built-in wall of shelves and reaches up high. Her black tee lifts and I see the small of her back. Two little, sexy as hell dimples are staring at me. I have the urge to put my hands around her waist, press my thumbs against them, and give them a rub. Instead, I reach behind me and pull my beer-drenched shirt over my head as she turns around and sees me.