“I never saw you.” Tension hikes his shoulders up towards his ears, and he rubs the back of his neck. Charlie jumps up onto the sofa next to him, whining now, and Rip drapes an arm around the dog, holding him close.
“Rip? I’m sorry. I didn’t spy on you or anything. Never even got close to the door. I was only there in case—”
“In case I lost my shit and tried to hurt someone?”
NowI’mthe one who wants to avert my gaze. But I can’t. Not after all he’s been through. How hard he fought to come back. “In case you lost your shit and tried to hurt yourself.”
If the man hadn’t been sitting down, he would have fallen on his ass. Betrayal, horror, shame, anger…it’s like he’s going through the seven stages of grief in under a minute.
“They did the right thing,” he whispers, so softly, I have to strain to catch the words. Patting his lap, he waits for Charlie to lie across his legs before he blows out a long, slow breath. “You saw how messed up I was those first few days. But it was worse back in Boston.”
I don’t ask why. Don’t say a word. Ripper isn’t one for long speeches. If he feels like talking, I’ll let him. For as long as he wants.
“In that fancy-ass hospital, everything wasreal. Too real. Bright. Clean. Noisy. I dragged the bed into a corner and slept on the floor behind it.” A hoarse, derisive laugh escapes his lips. “I barely had the strength to stand up, but I swore I’d kill anyone who tried to touch me.”
Leaning forward, I balance my elbows on my knees. It’s all I can do to offer him some comfort. To let him know he’s not alone.
“The day I stopped kicking Ry and Dax out? The Fourth of July. The night before, there were a handful of fireworks. Kids’ stuff. A few bottle rockets, M-80s. And I shut down. Couldn’t move. Stayed awake all night, and when Ry came back the next morning, I wasn’t…me anymore. I washimagain.
Isaad. The person he’d been forced to become after months of torture. Beatings, drugs, days or weeks in that fucking well fighting off scorpions every night and burning up with fever. Living—existing—under the constant threat of death with no hope of escape.
“I didn’twantto be Ripper. Because I knew everything I’d done, everything that had been done to me…I wasn’t good enough to be…me anymore.” Charlie gives his hand a lick, and Ripper leans down to bury his face in the dog’s neck for a long moment. “That night, Ry and Dax sat on the floor with me. They didn’t touch me. Didn’t try to get me to talk. They found the movieBohemian Rhapsodyon TV, turned up the volume, and sang every fucking song. Pretty sure they played it a dozen times before the sun came up.” Shaking his head, he finally meets my gaze. “What you’re describing with your guy? What’s his name?”
“Quinton.”
“Whatever happened in Quinton’s past? He’s blaming himself for it. Probably thinks he deserved it. My money’s on abuse. Long term. He’s not going to trust you until he’s good and ready. So, I’m going to ask you one question.”
Ripper’s grave tone makes me sit up straighter. “Anything.”
“Is he worth waiting for?”
I think back to the previous night. How it felt to have Q relax against me. Fall asleep in my arms. How he settled a part of my soul I didn’t think would ever find peace again.
The answer slips effortlessly from my lips. “Hell, yes.”
Chapter Thirteen
Quinton
For the hundredth time today,I tap my phone screen, checking for messages. Graham promised to show up at seven with a pizza and beer, and I ordered a half-gallon of mint chip, a pack of condoms, and lube from the grocery store. I half expected the delivery guy to leave me some sort of lewd note about my sex life.
A little after four, my phone buzzes on the desk, startling Clementine. The kitten leaps out of her bed and her tail grows five sizes as she digs her claws into the back of the couch and makes the most non-threatening sound in the world. It’s ridiculous how cute she is when she growls.
But given the number on my CallerID, she’s not the only one with her hackles raised. “Connor? What’s up?”
“I sent two of my guys to watch Asshole,” he says, an edge to his voice I only hear when he talks about Alec. “He’s been holed up in a motel on Galveston Drive for the past two days. Near as they can tell, he hasn’t left the room since he checked in.”
I blow out a breath. One I’ve been holding for almost a week now. “You’resurehe’s still in Dallas? And who are ‘your guys’?”
Connor clears his throat. “Quinton, you know I can’t talk about my job.”
“That’s all you ever say. I’m your brother, for fuck’s sake. You took Alec’s side when he claimed I was having a breakdown. After the accident, you ignored every one of my text messages begging you to talk to me. Then you show up athisapartment to rescue me, spend one night listening to me cry, dump me in a facility until I can walk again, move me out here, and…all but vanish. This is the first time we’ve spoken since.”
“I didn’tvanish, Q. I made sure you were safe, then I went home. The more contact you have with your past, the more danger you’re in. Asshole is certifiable, and while he’s probably too big of a coward to try anything serious, I’m never going to stop worrying.”
With every word, the tension between us rises until I can’t decide whether to hang up on him or scream at him. “I don’t need you to worry,” I say, each word carefully measured. “I need my brother.”
“Clearly, youdidneed me to worry,” Connor snaps. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten yourself tangled up with Asshole in the first place.”
