Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 123058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
“Is this really about tacos?”
She knows it’s not. My chin lifts, stubbornness rising with it. But then I sigh. “No.”
She hums again, her gaze searching mine. I brace for more questions. But, instead, she reaches out and softly runs her fingers through my hair, brushing it back. “Right now, right here, whatever the meal, I’d prefer to have it with you.”
My heart knocks hard against my chest. “Bren…You asked Scottie to check up on me.” I hadn’t meant to say that. But I don’t back away from it.
She searches my face in wariness. “You needed your friends.”
I need you too.
I cup her cheek. “Thank you.”
She touches the edge of my jaw, delicately, like I’m something she needs to handle with care. Physically, I’m the stronger one, but she’s breaking through what’s left of my armor with ease.
“Rye, you don’t ever have to thank me for having your back, because I always will.”
Just like that, I’m done for.
I don’t know who moves first but we’re kissing. And it fills all the empty aching places I didn’t know I had. I take it slow, savor her mouth, her flavor, breathe in her soft sighs. My hand wraps around the silky rope of her ponytail as I hold her where I want her, lick the gentle curve of her upper lip, suckle the sweet, plump give of her bottom lip.
I lose time kissing Brenna. But, beneath all the pleasure, I know mine is running out. This arrangement is measured in stolen moments. It isn’t real. I need real with Brenna.
Risk.
One that would mean a potential loss, of my pride, of her.
Brenna
With a gasp, I tear out of sleep and lurch upright. The room sways like a drunken dancer then settles. But my heart doesn’t stop thundering within my chest. Cold empty terror and helplessness shake me so hard, I pant, gripping my knees to hold in a sob. No control. No way to keep them safe. To keep myself safe.
A warm, broad hand settles on my back. “Hey,” Rye whispers, at my side. “You’re all right. It’s okay.”
The sound of his voice and the heat of his touch grounds me, and I’m finally able to take a deep breath.
“Sorry if I woke you.” It comes out weak and thready.
Rye sits up further and rubs a hand over his face as if to wake himself. “It’s okay.” His eyes glint in the semi-darkness as he looks me over. “You dreaming about Jax?”
I jolt. “How did you know?”
He rests an arm on his bent knee. “It’s four thirty-two in the morning. That’s when we all found out.”
For a moment, I can’t speak. A lump swells within my throat. I swallow hard. “Yeah. I didn’t realize that you…”
“Remember it so clearly?” he offers wryly.
“No.” I squeeze the back of my stiff neck, and instantly his hand slides up to take over, massaging me with calm competency. “No, that you also made note of the time. Does it haunt you too?”
“Not in the same way. But there are days when I’m up for whatever reason, see the time and…” He rolls a massive shoulder like it’s too stiff. “It messes me up so badly, I want to cry.”
The confession has me leaning into him, and he wraps me up in his arms, holding me close. We’re silent for a moment, Rye stroking my hair and me running my hand up and down his chest just to know he’s there, solid and alive.
We’d spent the day together, and it was fun, perfect. A moment of peace. And the whole time I struggled to find a way to tell him...But I couldn’t. Not when he was so happy. So I swallowed it down, held in the truth as we crawled into bed and cuddled together. I fell asleep listening to the sound of his heartbeat.
But now it’s a new day. And all the tension, all the horrible twisting fear of being too close to someone, of feeling too much, is back. My throat feels too tight, and my words come out a rough rasp. “Before that night, I thought we were all invincible. Nothing could hurt us.”
“I thought so too,” Rye whispers. He heaves a ragged sigh. “I felt like such a self-centered ass for not noticing that John was hurting. Or that we were all just…I don’t know, careening into disaster in our own ways.”
Because we were all out of control back then. “None of us noticed, Ryland. Not even John. That was the problem.”
He nods, but his body remains tight and tense. “I know. I just wish to God that I had.”
In the dark, I find his hand. Our fingers thread in a comforting clasp. Over the last year, all of us have spoken about John’s depression, and we’ve tried to talk things out more, voicing our burdens when they become too much to bear. It’s helped. But I’ve never shared any of this with Rye. The comfort of doing so is strangely relieving. He lets me be open without feeling weak.