Dirty Princes: A Standalone MMF Romantic Comedy

by Jo Raven

  Just breathe, I tell myself. You’re okay.

  But dammit, I think he just broke my heart in half.

  Brylee’s tears yesterday. And today Riddick’s anger. His words. I hurt them. And I need to push them away from me.

  He doesn’t love me. She doesn’t, either.

  They can’t.

  I climb into the car and grab my pills, swallowing them dry, waiting for my heart to settle. For the pain to dull.

  Outside, on the street, cars roll, pedestrians stroll by. The rain has turned to drizzle, but the clouds promise snow.

  Love is a bittersweet medicine.

  It’s eleven. If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for my doctor’s appointment. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared to death of doing this. I managed to mostly avoid the hospital since the diagnosis.

  I’ve had angina on and off, over the years—chest pain, a crushing pressure making breathing difficult. Nothing too bad. It happens when I over-exercise, when I get too stressed.

  But the pain in my chest on Sunday, after the mind-blowing sex, caught me by surprise. It was bad. It shocked me. It unnerved me. I thought I might be dying.

  It reminded me I was playing with fire, and more than that… that if something happens to me, the people around me will suffer.

  Like my father suffered. Like I suffered when Mom died. And my heart is a landmine waiting to go off. This isn’t being paranoid.

  It’s being pragmatic. Practical.

  Realistic.

  I rub my chest in circles as the pain subsides, the pills working their magic. Yeah, what I did was for the best. The best for Brylee and Riddick. They have each other now. They’ll be fine. They don’t need me. Nobody does.

  Even my father rarely sees me anymore. I just canceled our lunch once more. He’s already living a life without me, has been ever since Mom died. He withdrew from life then, and apart from our uncomfortable lunches once a week, he has his own routine.

  I don’t blame him. I’ve been the same.

  Until Brylee and Riddick, but that… I need to stop thinking about that. About them.

  Starting the car, I pull off the curb and head off to face my demons.

  ***

  “You skipped many checkups. Your father said he’d talk to you about it,” the doctor says.

  “He did,” I say shortly, staring up at the white ceiling. Is that a crack? Or a spider web?

  “He worries about you.”

  Yeah, I know. I bite the inside of my cheek and say nothing as she draws back and sighs.

  “You can get dressed now,” she says.

  “How very clinical of you,” I mutter, and she smiles.

  I like Dr. Jensen. She’s nice, and relaxed, and a good doctor, from what everyone says. But she’s a doctor, and this is a hospital, and she won’t look me in the eye.

  “Your heart does seem to be working harder,” she says, confirming my fears. “More than last time I saw you. Did you change something in your routine?”

  “I have more sex,” I say flatly.

  She laughs. “Good for you. But that shouldn’t pose a problem, not if you exercise regularly without any chest pain or arrhythmias.”

  I button up my shirt, thinking. “I have drunk some alcohol in the past couple of weeks.”

  She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Anything else? Stress? Maybe work-related?”

  I shrug. “Yeah. I’ve been working longer hours. I have been stressed. You think it’s that?”

  “Maybe. Maybe it’s also a matter of time passing and the septum thickening.”

  “The what?”

  “The intraventricular septum is the wall separating the lower chambers of your heart from one another. Yours may have grown too big and thick. By removing part of it, we’ll improve blood flow and reduce mitral regurgitation.”

  Whatever that means.

  Wait a sec… “Remove? What do you mean?”

  She gives me a serious look. “We need to operate, Ryan. Your medication just isn’t cutting it anymore.”

  “Goddammit.” I press the heels of my hands into my eyes. “Are you sure there’s no other—”

  “It’s your best option. If all goes well, you can live a good, normal life afterward. If you leave it… Are you listening to me?”

  I nod, lower my hands.

  “If you leave it, you may suffer a heart attack at any moment and die.”

  Jesus.

  “I’ll perform a septal myectomy,” she’s saying. “It’s open-heart surgery. We’ll need to make an appointment now, and set a date very soon. I’ll push you to the top of my list, Ryan.”

  Fucking hell.

  She keeps talking, but I’m not listening, a rushing sound in my ears. Black spots dance in my eyes.

  Open-heart surgery.

  This is it.

  The thing I’ve been most afraid of.

  She probably sees something in my face, because she puts a hand on my arm. Just like Brylee or Riddick would do.

  It’s not as comforting. “Your mother dying on the operating table doesn’t mean you will, too.” When I don’t reply, she continues. “She let it go on for too long without medication, without control. But most surgeries go well. You’re young, and strong. You have all the odds in your favor.”

  I reply something, not even sure what, push off the table and walk past her to get out of the office. She’ll call me to let me know the date, apparently. And everything will be okay.

  Yeah, keep blabbing on, Doc. We both know what the outcome will be.

  I knew this was coming. I only thought it’d be later rather than sooner.

  I thought I had more time.

  ***

  There are small things, like reading over your will one last time and giving the okay to your lawyer, smoking a cigarette with your Scotch for the first time after years, or agreeing to see your father for coffee mid-week, that tell you something big is coming.

  A fucking tsunami.

  Putting things in order, having one last drag of poison, saying goodbye.

  Exactly right.

  Trying not to see it that way as I sit across from my father in his exclusive club is hard. Sipping expensive tea and agreeing to everything he says, not mentioning Brylee and Riddick, the weekend at the lake house, the pain in my chest.

  In my heart.

  Not mentioning the doctor’s diagnosis, or what is coming. I’m sure she’ll tell him once we have a date set.

  This isn’t what meeting with him today is about.

  “You okay, Ryan?” he asks, and I focus back on him.

  “Yeah, Dad.”

  His face twists. Then he smiles. “First time in years.”

  “First time what?”

  “That you called me Dad.”

  Is that true? I gaze back at him, unsure of what to say. “Well,” I say at last, “you are my dad. So.”

  “You certain everything is okay?”

  Time to cut this meeting short. I didn’t think he could read me, but I’m wrong more often than I care to admit. “Everything’s okay. Hey…” I wait until he looks at me. “I love you, Dad.”

  He stares at me, a suspicious gleam in his eyes. “I love you, too, son,” he says.

  Well, if this doesn’t send me into cardiac arrest… I grin and make my escape from the club before he starts pressing me for answers.

  ***

  The date has been set. Four days from now. I honestly have no idea if this is normal. Don’t people have to wait forever for a date?

  This either means that my doctor told my father who then proceeded to pull some strings and get me to the top of the waiting list, or my doctor decided my case is touch-and-go and that she has to operate now or watch me die.

  Not sure which of the two scenarios I prefer.

  Okay, not true. I hope my father pulled all the fucking strings for this one. Definitely.

  I hope that my heart racing all the time ever since I found out the date of the surgery won’t
kill me sooner than the doctor expects.

  No, I don’t think it’s funny.

  I’m not laughing.

  I’m sitting locked up in my apartment, watching TV and ignoring any phone calls not originating from the hospital.

  The way I see it, I’ve done all I could. I tried to live and failed. I pushed away the two people who meant something to me, who were starting to mean so much more, and have an official date of death. Pre-arranged death.

  I smoked my cigarette, fixed my will, told my father I love him. Told my supervisor to kiss my ass, took my vacation time and chucked my business suit in a corner.

  I’m done.

  Might as well watch my favorite documentaries about fishing and cooking, and eat my favorite Thai take-out.

  So when the doorbell starts ringing that evening, it jerks me like a puppet. On cue, my heart trips and loses rhythm, and I curse as I get up and go grab my meds.

  What the hell?

  As I return to the living room, I realize the doorbell has fallen silent, but there’s knocking on the door.

  “Ryan!” a voice calls. “Open this door.”

  Riddick.

  Fuck. Pain shoots through my chest, and I sit down heavily on the sofa. What the hell is he doing here?

  “Ryan, come on!” another voice calls.

  Brylee?

  No, dammit. They aren’t supposed to do this.

  “We know you’re inside,” Riddick calls. “There’s light at your window. We just want to talk.”

  I close my eyes.

  Go away.

  I often wondered if I like girls more than boys, or vice versa. Wondered who I’d end up with—a wife or a husband.

  That was before the doctor told me I should run some checks on my heart.

  And to be honest, even before that. When Mom died, some bright, hopeful part of me died with her. But after the “tentative diagnosis”… I shut off. Shut the world out. Stopped wondering. And hoping.

  What’s the point, anyway?

  Never thought I’d want both a boy and a girl. That I’d come to care for them.

  That I’d do anything for their happiness, including pushing them away.

  “Why are you doing this?” Brylee asks. “You’re a good guy. You’re not mean. Let us be friends if nothing more. Please.”

  “Open the door, Ryan!” Riddick slams his fist on the solid wood again.

  At least he’s up and about. I’ve been worried about him. I want to know what happened, if he talked to his brother.

  I want to know if Brylee is happy with Riddick. If she enjoyed sex for the first time with me. If she tried again with him.

  Goddamn… It hurts me, too. Parting from them. Telling them to take care of each other. Do they think I really don’t care?

  Hell. It’s like dying. A preview of the real thing. How fucking great.

  But it’s better if I don’t reply. If they leave angry.

  In my experience, anger is much easier to bear than sorrow.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Velvet Cave Pavlova

  Brylee

  “I’m telling you, he seemed to be in pain,” Riddick says the next day, and for the tenth time. “He kept saying I should be with you, and it just… doesn’t add up.”

  The one who seems to be in pain right now is Riddick. I keep massaging the gel into his back and over his muscular butt. Not that it’s any hardship on my part. “He didn’t reply, though.”

  We’d knocked on his door and called his name for a long time. I could hear the TV playing inside. He was there, all right. He just didn’t want to speak to us.

  Could Riddick be right? Was there some problem Ryan didn’t want to tell us about?

  But why? What could be so bad? It fits in with how he has been pushing us away all the time, but still…

  “You told me,” I say, pressing my thumbs into the small of his back, making him groan, “that if he acts like an asshole, then he is an asshole. No hidden agendas.”

  “And you,” he turns his head to smile at me, “told me to see the gold in him.”

  “I did.” I splay my fingers on top of his ass cheeks. He’s so gorgeous. So strong and yet gentle. Riddick is gold.

  Why are we so hooked on Ryan, both of us? We keep thinking he’s better than he acts, kinder.

  Then again… he found Xavier for Riddick. He called me to find out how he was. He asked me—something I didn’t tell Riddick—how I am, told me I deserve the best. That Riddick loves me and will take care of me.

  It was so sweet. And sounded a lot like goodbye. Like Riddick says.

  No wonder he’s freaked out.

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” I tell him, and give him a little slap on the ass. He hisses, and I grin. “Will you be fine, while I go meet Candy?”

  It’s late afternoon, and I came to his apartment after work to check on him before going out again to meet my bestie.

  If he moved in with me it would be… so much more practical. Okay, let’s be honest: it would be so much nicer. His apartment is cold and dark, and Fluff doesn’t like it.

  She likes Riddick, though, and my apartment is big. If he moved in with me, it would be perfect, but I haven’t had a chance to talk to him about this yet. I don’t know if he expects his brother to return here after rehab.

  “How’s Candy?”

  “Good. I’m so happy for her. It’s exciting!”

  He blinks a bright gray eye at me. “You want kids, Princess?”

  I wipe my hands on a paper napkin so that I can go wash the gel off my hands without smearing the whole apartment on the way. “Someday.”

  “How about kids with me?”

  Heat spreads in my face. Aw, I love him. “Someday.”

  “And Ryan?”

  My eyes sting. “I’m going to wash my hands.”

  “Bry…”

  Yes, I’m still in love with Ryan, too. Yes, I’m miserable that the three of us can’t be together.

  Yes, last weekend was the happiest of my life, and I really don’t want to think about it anymore.

  When I return to the living room, he’s dozing, his face buried in his folded arms, that glorious ass on display, and desire swamps me.

  So sexy, this boy…

  “I’ll miss you,” he whispers as I bend over him, his voice heavy with sleep. “I miss you whenever you’re not here.”

  My heart trips over with joy and the words burst out of me. “Rid…move in with me?”

  I was going to wait to ask, but right now, with his gray eyes on me, full of light, I can’t remember the reasons.

  He turns his face into his arms. “You sure about that, Cupcake? I’m a messy roommate.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  The side of his mouth curves into a smile. “And I tend to sleep-fuck.”

  A laugh escapes me. “You do, huh?”

  “Yep. Especially when I have the prettiest girl in the world in my bed. It triggers the syndrome.”

  Laughing, I bend to kiss his cheek.

  “I love you,” he whispers, and it’s like honey spilling in my thoughts.

  “Love you, too,” I whisper back, smiling. “See you in a bit.”

  ***

  “Hey, Bry. How is my cousin?” Jethro, Candy’s dark-eyed boyfriend, sits across from us on an armchair and grabs his drawing pad. “I heard his back was giving him trouble?”

  “He’s better.” I sip at my tea, wondering how on earth I will pour my heart out to Candy when her boyfriend is right there, listening in.

  “You taking good care of Riddick?” Joel, her other boyfriend, joins us, sitting on the armrest and ruffling Jet’s hair. “Jet was worried.”

  “He’s missing work days,” Jet says with a frown. “He can’t afford that, he told me. After his brother pinched his savings, he has had trouble paying the rent.”

  “Riddick’s moving in with me,” I say, blowing on my tea.

  “Come again?” Candy is staring at me, a hand resting on her still fla
t belly. “You didn’t say anything.”

  “It never came up,” I say quickly. “So you shouldn’t worry about his rent.”

  “I didn’t know you guys were so serious,” Jet says, but he’s smiling. “But I’m fucking glad. Rid has been in love with you since he first saw you.”

  I duck my head to hide my pleasure at hearing that. “He’s great.”

  “You love him?” Candy asks, and I thought she knew by now.

  I have to clear my throat. “Very much.”

  “Well.” Jet’s smile widens.

  “And what about your Prince?” Joel asks. “Prince Ryan?”

  “Ryan Prince,” I correct him absently. “He’s…not in the picture.”

  And my heart hurts as I say the words.

  “Oh, girl…” Candy grips my arm and squeezes, her eyes shiny. “I’m so sorry. I know you love him.”

  She does? How could she know? I’ve been trying to convince myself it’s not true, and didn’t she always say I should chuck him and date another?

  “You know I’m not normally like this,” I confess, my voice choked. “And I’ve been trying to stop, but I can’t. Stop loving Ryan. But I like him too much.” Love him too much. “Like Riddick. I can’t choose between them.”

  A silence falls on the living room, and I wipe hastily at my eyes.

  “Brylee…”

  “I know, it’s stupid. But it’s the truth, and I can’t fight it anymore. I love them both.”

  “It’s not stupid,” Candy says gently. “I told you that many times. As long as you love them and they love you, it’s not stupid at all.”

  “But Ryan doesn’t. I mean, I don’t know how he feels, but he keeps acting weird.”

  “Like a douchebag, you mean,” Jet mutters, his look murderous.

  I shrug. It’s true. He does act like that, sometimes. And sometimes not. It’s enough to drive me crazy.

  “Maybe Riddick is the one for you,” Candy says. “Maybe it wasn’t meant to be with Ryan. Maybe it’s for the best.”

  But then why doesn’t it feel that way?

  ***

  “Who’s calling?” Simone growls into the phone. “Oh shit, is it my long-lost friend, Brylee?”

  “Don’t sound so excited to hear from me,” I grumble. “It’s not like you called me, either.”

  “I was busy.”

  “With what, your vibrator?”

  “And if I was?”