*** So, y'all are gonna kill me.

I know it's hard to see Reba not jumping into Brock's arms, but as you read this chapter, try to remember their relationship. He cheated on her, so of course Reba is verryy guarded around him. The last thing she wants is old feelings to return. But I have a plan for this story, and there's a reason behind everything I'm doing! Keep that in mind, and hang in there!

Thanks again for the reviews and reads! Don't forget to follow ThsBabeNmedReba on twitter! ***

-Chapter 11-

I was so focused on the road in front of me that the abrupt sound of my phone ringing made me jump. It took me a few seconds to steady my hands enough to answer.

"Hello?"

"Reba, I've been honking behind you since we exited the highway. Pull over!" I turned around to see Brock's truck behind me, and finally comprehended the honking noises I had heard in the background of my thoughts.

My initial thought was to scream no, and say I had to go. But I knew there was no getting rid of Brock that way. So, I mumbled okay and pulled off to the side. He hopped out of his truck and walked to my window. I rolled it down, deciding not to get out.

"What?" I mumbled.

"Where are you going?" He kneeled down and leaned against the car so he could see me.

"Brock, I told you, it's none of your-"

"I'll leave you alone," He interrupted, "If you can promise me one thing." He said in a voice so serious it caught me off guard.

"Okay." I said, unsure.

"Are you going someplace where you may be in danger?" He looked into my eyes.

"Brock, you left me." I said bluntly, and I could tell by his face that it stung. "You made it pretty damn clear you don't care. So now, jumping in and acting like you're going to be my savior isn't going to work. It's just not fair to me…For you to play with my feelings like that. You know? I don't even know where we stand anymore!" I was starting to let out more than I planned, but his pale, saddened face stopped me. I took a deep breath and collected myself before starting again. "I've been protecting myself for 6 years now. I'll be fine."

I could tell by the look on his face that there was so much he wanted to tell me. But Brock was never good with his words. I could practically see his mind moving trying to figure out how to explain what he was feeling. Finally, he spoke quietly. "I don't mean to play with your feelings. I guess it's just-I, I really…" He rubbed his head. "I still care about you, Reba." He looked at me, making me regret what I had said. It was silent for a few seconds.

Encouraged by the silence that filled the air around us and the new feelings I was experiencing from what he said, thoughts began to flow through my mind. They were lonely thoughts and feelings I always tried to avoid. I didn't have feelings for Brock after what he did to me, of course I didn't. But still, seeing the way he cared and the way he wanted to help made me long for what we had before. Especially after being exposed to John, the gentleness and affection Brock offered made my heart yearn for it. And then, like a sudden flash of lightening right before a storm hits, I was reminded that these feelings are only temporary. I will never feel that true kind of love from Brock again- not after what he had done. The single thought that Brock and I are over, and I'll never feel the way I did with him with anyone else, shrouded my mind like a dark cloud and turned my stomach into a knot. I looked up at him, rage and heartbreak flaring in my eyes. I've never been this hurt by someone caring. I've never been this hurt at all.

And that's when I realized that until I felt the way Brock made me feel, and until I found someone who could ease my pain exactly the way he could, I would be alone. No, after spending my life with Brock, there's no way I'd settle for less. But, what if there is no better than Brock? Then what? Do I settle with John, simply because I know there is nothing fake between us? We just use each other to take out our loneliness and frustrations. I know he doesn't love me, he knows I don't love him. No one can get hurt that way, right?

These feelings weighed down on me like rocks, and at that moment, I wanted Brock to understand just how much he hurt me. I'd never truly told him. Actually, we'd never had a full-on conversation about the divorce at all. I looked up to find him staring at me, in that caring way that brought back those same damn feelings.

"Even if I were in danger," I spoke slowly, "And even if I were about to go to someone who may cause me harm," I took a breath, "There is nothing he has done, or can possibly do, that would hurt me the way you did."

His eyes glistened and he swallowed as he looked down to the ground. "I've gotta go." I mumbled. He stepped back, keeping his eyes on the ground, and let me go as I rolled up my window and pulled away.

Tears stung my eyes as I looked back to see him walking slowly back to his truck, his head still down. But I pushed them away, and kept driving, convincing myself that he made this decision, and this is what he wanted.

The door to John's was unlocked, so I walked straight in. He was cooking something on the stove. When he saw me, a big, happy, horny, charming smile came to his face.

"You're back early."

"Yeah." I sat down my purse and walked to his side. As much as I hated him and all he did, it was nice to be with someone, free from contradicting feelings that tore my heart out. I knew exactly the way I felt for John, and I knew exactly the way he felt for me. There was no confusion and no disappointment. And honestly, when John wasn't being stupid or mean, he was pretty fun to be around. He sat down his cigarette as I came next to him, wrapping an arm around him. "Watcha making?"

"Spaghetti. I'm making enough for two, if you want some." He put his free arm around my waist as well, although his went a little lower.

"Sounds good." I leaned my head into him, enjoying the feeling, when he suddenly moved to get something on the counter. I fell forward, but caught myself in time. He walked back and continued cooking. Feeling like I was in his way, I walked around the counter and sat on the bar stool. I watched him cooking from behind for a few seconds, before he turned around to face me.

"We need to talk." He seemed serious, yet not enough to make me concerned.

"Okay. About what?"

"Do you talk to your ex a lot?" I was almost in shock by his question.

"Brock?" I asked, stupidly. He nodded his head. "Not really. Why?" I responded, trying to hide how bad it hurt to think of him.

"I just want to make sure you don't say anything…about us. That's none of his concern, you know?" I nodded, although I wasn't exactly following him. "I know sometimes I get a little mad, and do things I probably shouldn't, but I always have my reasons. You know that." No, actually, I didn't. I didn't know there were legitimate reasons for someone to act the way he did. "Just make sure you keep it quiet. If you have a problem with anything I do, take it up with me. Not anyone else." Although there was no way I could 'take it up with him' that I hated how much he pushed me around, I nodded in agreement.

Dinner went by smoothly. The food was great, and John seemed relaxed. I had a few glasses of wine, and he had a couple beers. We shared small talk, mostly about cars and sex. Afterwards, I excused myself to the restroom, where I checked myself in the mirror. My eyes looked more aged than usual, but I blamed it on the drinking. Other than that, I was almost satisfied with the way I looked. My hair fell loosely around my shoulders, and for the first time in a long time I didn't need to brush it down. Brock always like when my hair was a wild mess, though. He thought it was 'cute'. Thinking back to him brought back those feelings, and I knew I had to do something quick to stop them.

I walked back into the kitchen to see John pulling out another beer.

"Hey," I said. He turned towards me, "We haven't ridden in a while." A smirk came to his face.

"Are you up for it?"

"As much as I'll ever be."

"Let's go, then." He put the beer back in the fridge and headed out the door. I rushed to catch up with him.

We walked into his garage, and he jerked off the tarp covering his red Harley. Seeing it brought back so many old memories. Riding his motorcycle was the first thing I remembered that gave me that adrenaline-pumping feeling I would get with John. I told him I needed a helmet, and he searched for a few minutes before finding one. He handed it to me, and then hopped on, motioning for me to get behind him.

"What about you?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"A helmet. You need one, too." I said.

"No, I'm fine. Just get on."

"But John…"

"Get on." I decided not to argue, and got on behind him, wrapping my arms around his built torso.

As we pulled out of the driveway and picked up speed, my heart raced faster and faster. The wind turned into icy pellets that pierced my skin and made me want more.

"Faster!" I yelled against the sound of our speed. He went accelerated, causing me to laugh in fear and excitement. I hadn't felt this good in years. I gripped onto him tighter and buried my face deep in his leather jacket, remembering the first night I rode with him.

The ride went by quick for me, although we actually rode for a while. Eventually, John pulled off to the side of the road at an unfamiliar stop by a river I didn't know existed. He hopped off, and then helped me down. After grabbing a blanket from behind the seat, he led the way down to the lake.

The moon cast a peaceful glow on the shore, and I watched as he spread the blanket. The scene was too romantic for me- At least too romantic to be shared with John. Moments this beautiful should be saved for someone meaningful. But I knew he'd ruin it eventually.

He pulled me down on the blanket besides him and began kissing my neck. I giggled as he held me in one arm and pulled out a cigarette with the next. He took a long puff, and then glanced back down at me, then down to my shirt.

"Take it off." He said out of the corner of his mouth. I got on my knees and did as he said. He stared at my chest and stomach for a few seconds, licking his lips. Then he handed his cigarette towards me. I shook my head no.

"C'mon. Just one puff." He waved it in front of me.

"No." I responded.

He sat up and got on his knees the way I was. He came close to my face and held it up to my lips. It was impossible to say no when he did things like this.

Without thinking, I inhaled the thick, scratchy smoke slowly. After feeling it catch in my throat, I felt as if I couldn't breathe, like my chest had gotten hit by a truck. By the time I remembered how to exhale and inhale again, I was overwhelmed with the feeling of light headiness and dizziness.

John laughed as I coughed so hard it hurt. I pushed him back on his back and turned around to pout. But my fit didn't last long, because as soon as I relaxed my tense arms I felt him wrap around me.

"Take all of it off." He whispered in my ear, making every nerve in my body explode.

I looked at him daringly. "Give me another puff, first."

He looked shocked. "After what just happened?"

"I heard it's easier after the first time, anyways." He laughed and handed me the rest of his cigarette. The first few drags were just as before, though each one was a little easier to handle. By my 4th puff, I actually almost enjoyed the feeling in my throat.

"Okay, I gave you one…" He hinted.

I stood up and stripped in front of him, loving the feeling of the nicotine in my lungs, the cold air on my body, and John's eyes looking me up and down. This was what I had been missing.

I sat down on him and pulled his shirt over his head, kissing and biting his neck. He let out a low groan as my hands slipped down his bare stomach and over his jeans. I unbuttoned them, and yanked them off, causing him to laugh in ecstasy.

The rest of the night consisted of hot sex by the river, a cold ride home (me only wearing a bra and panties, which again was unexplainably adrenalizing), followed by a steamy shower at his house. The next morning, at around 9, I gave him the best I could one last time before telling him I should head home.

I was surprised when he didn't put up a fight about it. "I have a lot of work this week, so I'm not sure when I'll see you next. Plus I have the kids next weekend…" I said cautiously as I left the door. I could tell John was still high off of our morning 'fooling-around' by how cooperative he was being.

"It's alright. I have a few parties this week, anyways. As long as you can find a little time this weekend, I'll be fine." He said, slapping my butt. I knew what 'partying' meant for John, and I honestly didn't like the idea. It did, however, help me understand why he was so okay with not seeing me for a while.

I began to walk out toward my car.

"Hey Little Red!" He stopped me. "Don't you be talking to any guys. Hear me?" He asked sternly, sounding almost like my father.

"Yeah. Same for you, mister. But with girls, of course." I responded.

"Haha, sure." His sarcastic response made me turn around again and stare at him. He didn't notice, but instead walked back in the house. I shook my head, got in the car, and drove to Brock's to get the kids.

When I got to Brock's, I walked in the unlocked backdoor feeling uneasy knowing that everyone in the house was so unaware of how I had acted the night before. And that morning. But my thoughts were shoved to the back of my mind when Jake came running around the corner.

"Hey mom!" He gave me the kind of hug that only a son could give.

"Hey darling! Did you have a good weekend?"

"I sure did! This morning I woke up but dad wasn't up and he wouldn't get up so I had to make my own breakfast but I was too lazy to make something big so I found a new gallon of ice cream and I ate it all and it was awesome! I'll be in the car!" He jumped out the door and sprinted to the car. I found myself laughing, as much as I wanted to be mad.

"Brock?" I walked into the living room. Kyra was walking out at the same time, holding Elizabeth.

"Cheyenne and Van went to a movie. Dad's upstairs. I think he's sick." She said flatly, carrying Elizabeth out the door.

"Y'all wait in the car, I'll be right out!" I yelled behind them.

I walked up the stairs and into Brock's room. I pushed the door opened slowly, and heard deep snores coming from his bed.

"Brock?" I walked in and went to his side of the bed. He was out cold. I started to shake his shoulders. "Brock, wake up." I shook harder until finally he snapped awake.

"What?" He looked at me, confused, with sweat across his forehead.

"Hey I got the kids." I said, "We're going home now. Okay?"

"Oh, okay." He said, rubbing his head. It struck me as odd how out of it he seemed, and just as I began to worry about what he had done, my fears were confirmed. I turned behind me to find two empty bottles of whiskey on the dresser. I walked over, grabbed one, and walked back to him.

"Brock, what is this?" I asked, holding it up.

"Whiskey." It took him a long time to say such a short word.

"Were you drinking again last night?"

"Just a little, nothing bad." He continued to rub his head in his palms. He seemed completely lost to the world.

"Why?" I asked, trying to make it sound as simply as I could. He didn't answer, but held his head in his hands. I sat down on the bed by his side. "Brock?" I asked quietly. He looked up at me with bloodshot eyes.

"Did you have a good night?" He asked so casually it caught me off guard.

"Yes. Why?"

"Just making sure. I was worried about you." My heart softened a little.

"Yeah, I did." I said with a smile. "But I'm assuming you didn't?" I motioned with the bottle in my hand. He chuckled, but still didn't answer. "Well, I better get going." I said, standing up. "Jake had ice cream for breakfast, by the way." I said, giving a disapproving glance.

"My bad." He said with as much of a smirk as he could make. I could tell he didn't feel good, and decided to let him rest. I'd talk to him more when he felt better.

"I'll see you later, Brock." I said, walking out the door.

Just before closing the door, I glanced back to see him staring at the ground. The look on his face was one I'd never seen him wear before. He looked like he had accidentally killed someone. So much regret and guilt filled every inch of his face that it hurt me to look at him. I turned around, tried to forget it, and walked out.