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)
I’m going to cry. Right here on a park bench with Rye Peterson holding my hand. My throat works as I swallow convulsively. “Yes.”
A tender squeeze of my hand is his reply. Two little girls in matching red coats run across the bridge, followed by a harried woman pushing an empty double stroller.
“I have a house in LA,” Rye says. “Up in the hills.”
“When did you buy that?” Our voices are quiet, easy as though we’re not talking about the prospect of me leaving everything I know and love behind.
“Last year. I had it renovated.” He turns his head. Lines of strain still bracket his eyes, but they’re clear and steady on me. “Stay there. It’ll be more comfortable than a hotel.”
“I’m used to hotels.”
The wide curve of his lips kicks up on one end. “Maybe I just want to know what you think of my house.”
His cautious yet excited tone catches my attention.
“What are you not telling me?”
He gives a careless shrug. A breeze picks up the ends of his bronze hair and lifts it back from his brow, and he squints into the sunlight as he looks over the lake. “It’s just something I’m working on. I haven’t told anyone else about it. You can see it if you stay there.”
Another gift. He keeps giving me these pieces of himself. If he isn’t careful, I’ll soon have all of him.
“I’ll stay at your house.”
He keeps his gaze on the lake, but he can’t hide the pleased glint in his eyes. “Cool.”
Without thinking about it, I lean in and give him a quick kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Ryland.”
He inhales swiftly as though not expecting a kiss but then looks down at me. “I want to kiss you,” he says, low, urgent.
“Right here on this public bench?” I tease, stalling the moment.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The chances of being seen are low, but there’s still a chance. We’re a few blocks from my office. Rye uses this particular route for running and so does Scottie.
But Rye looks so good, that wide firm mouth of his perfectly framed by his close beard, and he’ll taste so good…My breath grows short.
“Kiss me, then,” I whisper.
His nostrils flare, then he’s cupping my cheek, dipping his head. He kisses me soft and slow but with such depth that I feel it behind my knees, in the empty ache of my sex. My breath catches, and he gives me his with a little nuzzle and suck.
“Do what you’ve got to in LA,” he says against my mouth. “And then come back to me.”
Late that night, I pack for my trip, but I can’t shake the feeling of wrongness within me. I shouldn’t be leaving Rye. He backed my trip with unfailing conviction. It means more to me than he’ll know. And yet he’s still alone and floundering. No one knows about his hand, his fear, his pain. It isn’t right.
I shouldn’t be leaving. But I have to try. I have to see if…
With a hard swallow, I bat at my prickling eyes. I have to go. But that doesn’t mean I have to leave him all alone. I pick up my phone and call Scottie.
“Brenna.” His voice is warm and slightly amused. Why, I have no idea, since I call him at least twice a day for the most part.
“I’m going to LA for a week on personal business.”
Silence follows, and damn it, he knows. I have no idea how he does it, but he knows I’m going to see Marshall. Refusing to squirm, I wait out that silence. Scottie likes to draw it out, hoping his victim will roll over and blab away all their secrets.
Not today, Satan!
“All right,” he says finally, grumpy because I didn’t fold.
“I need you to do something for me, though.” My hands have gone ice-cold, and I clutch the phone tighter.
“If it’s to water your plants, be warned, I once killed a silk fiddle leaf fig tree. Sophie called it dark sorcery.”
“Ha.” My throat is dry, and the sound comes out far too rough. I lick my lips and try for cool cynicism. “It’s about Rye. He’s been evading his PR schedule…” God, I’m the worst betrayer. “And I know he’s missing band meetings. And…Check on him, will you?”
If I thought the silence was bad before, it’s freaking ominous now. But, to my surprise, Scottie breaks it quickly. “You want me to check on Rye?”
We both know how out of character it is for me to show any concern about Rye.
Cheeks hot, I grip my phone like a lifeline and close my eyes. “We both know something is off with him.” I’m sorry, Rye. I’m so sorry. But I’m leaving and he’s hurting. I can’t stomach knowing he’s alone with this. “Just…take the guys with you and check on him, all right?”