The men exchanged a loaded look.
“Well.” Blake pulled a business card from his back pocket and handed it to her. “If you want to get that imaged, give me a call. I’ll figure out a way to get it done withoutthe bill.”
Harper’s eyes went wide. We all knew he was breaking rules. Who knew how much trouble he could get into with the hospital, let alone insurance companies? Then again, knowing Blake, he might just secretly fund it himself.
“Thank you.” She held up the card, then tucked it into her back pocket.
“Did whoever did that to you go to jail?” Blake asked.
Harper’s face shuttered. “That’s … complicated.”
“Complicated how?” Blake’s voice carried an edge that made me nervous.
“The kind of complicated that means we’re not talking about it.” Harper’s tone was firm. Final.
Blake looked like he wanted to push, but Harper’s expression warned him off.
Smart man.
“Well,” I said, desperate to lighten the mood, “who wants a drink? I think we could all use?—”
“Ryker.” Blake’s tone tightened, and his gaze cut to his best friend. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
Oh shit.
Here I thought, we’d gotten away with our sexcapade.
My eyes met Ryker’s across the room. Heat flared between us, quick and electric. His lips quirked up just slightly, and I felt my pulse kick.
Worth it,his expression seemed to say.
Totally worth it,mine replied.
“Outside.” Blake’s tone could have frozen hell over twice. “Now.”
Ryker’s gaze still locked on mine for one more heated second before he followed Blake toward the door.
Harper leaned in close. “Why does it look like your brother is about to beat Ryker up?”
40
RYKER
The second Blake got me outside, front door clicking shut behind us, he moved fast. His hands fisted in my shirt, shoving me hard against the cedar siding. The rough wood bit through my shirt as his forearm pressed against my throat.
“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice had that particular quality that meant someone was about to bleed.
Anyone else would’ve been eating my fist right about now. But this was Blake. My best friend. The guy who’d stitched me up more times than I could count.
“We talked about this.”
“Multiple times.” My words scraped past his forearm like sandpaper, courtesy of the pressure on my windpipe.
“Last I heard, you left her,” Blake snarled. “Youleft.”
“I apologized.”
“Which was exactly what I told you I wouldn’t tolerate,” Blake continued, ignoring my retort.
