Dudebro #2 tugs on the guy’s orange T-shirt, but he’s staring at Rhys. “C’mon, let’s go.”
“Yo, man, we were just messing around.” Dudebro #1 frowns as he backs away from Rhys. He even holds up his hands in surrender. “I don’t want no trouble.”
The line moves up, parting around us.
“Hit the fucker,” Dudebro #3 shouts. “Don’t be a pussy.”
Dudebro #1 leaps aside. “You fucking hit him!”
“This ain’tmyfight.” Dudebro #3 backs up. “You started it,” he mutters.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Dudebro #1 spits out. “But I’m the fucking pussy, right?”
“Fuck you!” Dudebro #3 snaps.
Dudebro #2 steps between his friends. “Let’s go!”
“We good?” Dudebro #1 motions between himself and Rhys.
“Are we?” Rhys glances over his shoulder at me. At my nod, he looks back at the three assholes. “We’re good.” But he grabs the guy by the front of his shirt to haul him real close. “Leave the fucking park. I won’t let you walk out if I see you again.”
Rhys releases him with a solid shove that sends him on his ass. The guy scrambles to his feet, and the second he’s up, he and #2 practically trip over themselves, running away. It’s Dudebro #3 who moseys his ass off the line. Once they’re out of sight, there’s a collective sigh of relief, and although we lost our place, we make slow progress again, moving closer to the ride. I’m determined not to let those jerks ruin the rest of our day, and once we finally board Armageddon, I scream my head off when the car we’re in hits that vertical drop. It feels like the skin is pulling clean off my skull as we zip along the track. With the wind in my hair and the sun on my face, I imagine this is the closest thing to flying without wings. Everything is perfect, the most thrilling forty-five seconds of my life—and I got to spend it with Rhys beside me.
There’s not a person on this planet luckier than me right now.
Breathless as the car pulls into the station, I lean forward to peer around the metal harness banded around my torso. “Was it fun?”
Rhys leans forward as well, his expression chilling, and in his eyes, there is a raging storm. “I should have killed that bastard for threatening you.”
“What? No!” I tighten my grip on the bars, shocked that he’s still thinking about those idiots. “It’s over, Rhys. Let it go.”
His jaw is clenched so tightly that a muscle ticks, and his upper lip twitches. “You, of all people, know I can’t.”
Because he’s an antihero, which means he’s inherently built for conflict.
I glance at the young kid who runs the ride as he unlocks safety harnesses before I whisper to Rhys, “I’m sorry.”
“Fuck it,” he growls between clenched teeth. “It is what it is,”
I sink back in my seat, waiting for us to be released, and once we are, Rhys and I go on a few other rides, but we barely talk. He’s distracted, scanning the park, searching for the guys from the line. Probably hoping to find them to finish what they started so he can appease the need to obliterate Dudebro #1 for doing what most assholes do—run their mouths talking stupid shit.
While I watch him grow more agitated by the second, I realize that what I absolutely love on the page doesn’t translate well into real life. Not that I minded Rhys humbling the guy and breaking his phone. No, not at all. Dudebro #1 damn well deserved it, but what doesn’t smoothly peel off the page is the turmoil raging inside Rhys. The battle within himself to take it further. His need to demolish all three of them. The struggle to oppress that instinct must be its own special torture.
The silent drive home is a brutal contrast to how we drove here. Even a cough is awkward. I hate this tension, hate how whenUnwrittenby Natasha Bedingfield comes on, I would normally sing alone, but now, I remain painfully quiet. Rhys just sits there, quiet and angry, watching the lush summer Pennsylvania landscape as it flies past his window.
I can almost hear his inner dialogue.
Hear his every furious thought.
After we shower, we crawl into bed, and I expect us to keep to opposite sides. He surprises the hell out of me when yanks me to the middle and fucks me slow and deep. Never breaking eye contact. Never saying a word. Just commands me, every part of me, his powerful body making mine feel so tiny and fragile beneath him. He’s not rough, but he’s far from gentle. And when I breathe his name like a prayer as I find my release, he roars mine, with today’s frustration and tension draining from him in almost palpable electric waves.
Rhys collapses onto me, his breathing labored, and as I stroke his back, I smile into the darkness, content that no one else in all the world can give this man peace but me.
Chapter Seventeen
Day Six
Not every day can be a wild ride on a speeding rollercoaster—or the shitshow that went with it.Thank gawd.
