“Did you see Ryan?” Mom asked as I came back into the kitchen.
Sliding my shoes back on afforded me the chance not to look at her just yet. If I had, she’d know too much. She’d know about the tears I held back, about the searing pain in my chest. “I did,” I answered quickly before burying my head in the freezer for some ice. After dropping a few cubes into the glass, I filled the tumblerthree-quarters of the way with vodka and squeezed a slice of lime into it.
“And?” she pestered with a glimmer of hope shining in her eyes.
“Not tonight, Mom. I don’t have the energy.” My words hurt her. It wasn’t my intention, but it was the truth. I simply didn’t have the strength to rehash everything with her. Sorting through my emotions and baring my soul right now were the last things Iwanted to do.
Well, second to last. Because as I walked back out into the living room, all that greeted me there was a room full of family and friends with whom I didn’t want to spend time at all.
But I did anyway. I did it for my sister, because she was so ridiculously happy and head over heels in love with Patrick that I couldn’t help but be happy for her. She was my best friend and I promisedher I would help her in whatever way I could for the wedding. And that meant staying here in our parents’ house for the weekend, prepping for the big day on Sunday. It meant sleeping in my old bedroom, the same one that Ryan would sneak into when we were younger, the same one that held my happiest and saddest memories.
It took me a long-ass time to figure out how to forgive her for loving theman who sent the man I loved running away. Just because she’d found a way to forgive Patrick didn’t mean I had. I’d warmed to him but not defrosted entirely. But from what she told me and from what I saw firsthand over the years, he had changed. He was different.
Weren’t we all.
But despite whatever changes she said he’d made, it was never enough to bring Ryan home.
As I watched her walk aboutthe room, talking to everyone and thanking them for coming in for the wedding, I knew I’d made the right decision. I knew being here for her was important, but I also knew I couldn’t wait for the night to be over.
After my third vodka and lime, the crowd finally thinned out to the point where I didn’t feel guilty about lying about needing to rest.
Walking down the stairs to my old bedroom broughtback a flood of memories. Ones that I didn’t really want to feel, but ones that demanded my attention. Somehow, leaving the light off was my way of trying my best to keep those memories at bay. After stripping down to my boxer briefs, I climbed into my bed and didn’t even bother to turn on the television. I’d let the buzz from the vodka lull me to sleep. I’d let the night fade away and dealwith the morning when it got here.
My eyelids grew heavy. My breathing evened out. I felt the peace of sleep descending.
And then the sound of a key opening the side door jolted me upright. My heart pounded a frantic rhythm in my chest. Breathing was near impossible and I tried my best to blink the early signs of sleep from my eyes.
Reaching over to the nightstand, I turned on the light justin time to catch the first glimpses of someone walking down the stairs.
I was about climb out of the bed when I remembered I wasn’t in anything more than my underwear. Without saying a word, Ryan walked over to the bed and sat as far away from me as the mattress would let him. The bastard didn’t even have the courage to face me. He sat facing away from me, not saying a fucking word.
We stayedthat way for a few minutes. Not saying anything, not even looking at each other. I guessed neither us of knew where to start.
There was no guidebook on trying to pick up the pieces of a broken heart.
“You remembered the noisy step,” I said, my voice paper thin.
Ryan nodded but didn’t look up. The tension billowed in the air, threatening to suffocate us.
As the minutes dragged on, my frustrationgrew. Finally, I blurted, “What are you doing here?”
When he turned to face me, shock washed over me. I had no clue what I had expected him to say, but the absolute last thing I expected to see was his bruised face and split lip as if he’d been in a bar fight before coming here. It was the most painful déjà vu I had ever experienced. He looked exactly the same as he had years ago, broken andbattered, but still insanely beautiful under the scars.
All concerns of only being in my boxers were overridden by my immediate panic. “What the hell happened?” I demanded as I sprang from my spot at the head of the bed. I was beginning to think the only way he’d ever come to me was when he needed help. Grabbing some tissues from the nightstand, I moved next to him and patted over the blood drippingfrom the small split in his lip. “Who the hell did this? Are you okay?”
A flash of pain crossed his beautiful face. Even behind the fresh bruises and the winces of anguish, I could see how fucking gorgeous he was. He covered my hand with his and my pulse skyrocketed as if he’d just electrocuted me. He took the tissues from my hand and then placed my hand back on my lap. “If you keep touchingme,” he spoke, his voice hard and cold, “I don’t know what I’ll end up doing.”
That sentence alone sent chills dancing all over my body and every ounce of blood racing straight to my cock. “What if I want to find out what you’d end up doing?” I challenged.
It was a dangerous game, tempting him. But feeling the heat radiate from his body, remembering what he felt like, I knew it would all beworth it.
“You don’t. Hell, I don’t even know,” he rambled, keeping his eyes trained on the Tar Heels poster across the room. “Not much has changed down here, huh?” he attempted a joke.
Garnering every bit of courage I had, I reached for him, cupping his jaw. Pulling his face within an inch of mine, I said, “Nothing at all,” before pressing my lips to his.
The feel of his lips against mine,of my hand on his jaw, it was old and new at the same time. What started as nothing more than a sweet kiss, a tender press of the lips quickly changed into a heated and passionate kiss from which I knew I’d never recover. He opened his mouth to my needy tongue and all vestiges of whatever control I thought I had were lost and gone forever. Emboldened by the way his tongue moved against mine, I liftedmyself up, swung one leg over his body, and settled onto his lap. “Quinn.” His voice was ragged and needy. His fingers bit into my back, pulling me impossibly close to him. He pulled back and my lips instantly missed the heat of his. There was reluctance in his eyes. Rigidity set in his body and I could tell I wasn’t going to like the words that came out of his mouth. “I just wanted to come hereto say goodbye.”
Anger and fury raged in my veins. “Goodbye?” I seethed, pushing away from him. “You’re a fucking piece of work, you know that?” I cursed as I pulled on the pants that were hanging over the back of my desk chair. “You just walk in here like nothing happened between us. Your face is all fucked up. Something clearly happened, but you won’t tell me. You let me kiss you. You kissme back. And then you have the balls to tell me all you wanted was to say goodbye. Fucking asshole.”
He stood from the bed, straightened his shoulders, and looked me right in the eyes. “You’re right. That’s exactly what I am. Believe me, you’re better off hating me. It’ll make it that much easier for me to walk away.”
My words stuck in my throat. Anger, rage, love, passion… they all mixed togetherin my head and heart. They all made it impossible to say anything.
So I didn’t. I just stood there waiting for whatever the hell would happen next.
