by Shey Stahl
I gasp. “Those little jerks are watching it without me, aren’t they?”
She nods.
“I’m disappointed.” I actually am. They promised me.
“They really like you.”
I can’t help but think it’s a warning. My fingertips brush her cheek. “They’re great kids, Aly. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
Her lashes flutter, her eyes filling with tears she won’t let loose. “This is crazy.” She’s changing the subject, motioning with her head to our surroundings. “I can’t imagine how much money they’ve put into this.”
I chuckle, my mind elsewhere, on Aly, her body and the things I want to be doing to it. “And it doesn’t even look good. But you, you look good. Good enough to eat.” My mouth finds the curve of her neck, gently biting.
Giggling, she shrugs her shoulder to stop me, squirming around, a restless desire she can’t hide from me. “It does too look good.”
“Whatever,” I mumble into her skin, more pressure applied to my teeth. “I want to leave.”
“Oh, come on.” Aly pushes back on my shoulders. “You asked me to dance. Stop biting me.”
“I only asked you to dance so I wouldn’t have Charlotte glaring at me.” I nod over her shoulder to the table in the center of the room.
Aly glances toward the table where Charlotte’s sitting beside my mother, then back to me. “She’s confused.”
“Do his parents know you’re getting a divorce?”
“I’m sure they know, but it’s not like they see the boys that often. They didn’t even come to their birthday party.”
“I’m not surprised.” I gesture with a nod to the stage. “I could grab the microphone from the band and let everyone know you’re divorcing the cheating asshole?”
“Uh-huh.” She shakes her head, smiling. “Though I’d love to see everyone’s reaction, behave.”
“What if I don’t want to? Did you bring your van?” I waggle my eyebrows toward the door. “Maybe Frank needs another lesson?”
She grips the back of my neck, yanking at my hair. It doesn’t discourage me. Now I’m really thinking about taking her to the van. “Nope. Rode with Henry.”
A throat clears, and I swing around, and I’m met with dark eyes that match mine.
A man I’d rather die than to be around.
Brooks Jacob.
He looks to Aly, then me, a glass of amber-colored whiskey in hand. “Mind if I dance with my daughter-in-law?”
Yeah, I fucking mind. My jaw tightens, and it’s everything I can do not to reach out and grab his goddamn neck and shove him against an ice sculpture. “I do mind.”
“Is that any way to treat your dad, Ridge?” he asks, raising the glass to his lips.
I laugh, but it’s not one of amusement. “My dad died.”
Aly glances between the two of us, her body stiffens, and she worms herself closer to me. Instinctively, I wrap my arm around her tighter, no longer moving to the music.
He shifts his weight, his other hand finding residence in his pocket. “I just want to dance with Alyson.”
I hold my ground, my grip on my girl tightening. He won’t take her from me. Not this time. “No.”
There’s pressure against my hand, harder. Aly’s gripping it. “Ridge, it’s fine.”
I shake my head. He lies. He doesn’t want to dance with her. He wants to tell her lies, make her believe them. My eyes find hers, pleading. “I don’t want him touching you.”
Brooks downs his glass and sets it on a nearby table. He sways, and I know now why he approached us. He’s drunk, like the night he hit me. The night I left. “You’re awfully protective of someone who still technically belongs to your brother.”
My lids fall shut, my nostrils flare. “She was never his,” I breathe. “Like I was never yours. Blood or not, you will never be my father, Brooks.”
Do you notice his reaction? He wants to hit me, but he doesn’t. His eyes shift to Aly, waiting for her to be upset with me for not telling her the truth.
Aly’s gaze turns to mine, and I want to curl against her, lose myself in her hold. Her steady features falter, a sympathetic expression is one I don’t want. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrug. I don’t know what else to tell her. Do you see the way she’s staring at me? Like I’ve kept a truth from her. My eyes meet hers, and my vision blurs. I inhale shakily as I breathe through my nose and press my lips shut tight against this feeling that tears through me like a tornado of lies, destroying everything in its path.
Brooks steps forward, his jaw is tense, steady breaths, trying to withhold his anger toward me but failing. “You didn’t tell her?”
My fists clench, ready to shove him away from me. “Why would I? You’re nothing but a lying piece of shit.”
I sense another lingering glance, another judgmental pair of eyes, their burn unmistakable. She hasn’t lost her ability to make me uncomfortable and undeniably unwelcomed. She reaches for my arm. I fling it away. “Ridge,” Madalyn warns. “Don’t cause a scene.”
Have you ever felt your life shake? Have you ever been hit with an image to the point where everything around you becomes fuzzy and shaken? Your lungs feel tight, and for a brief second, you can’t do anything. You are unable to move, unable to think, unable to even react. I have. I experienced something I never thought I would experience.
That’s how I felt when Madalyn told me Mike wasn’t my dad. That’s how I felt knowing Brooks was my father. A repulsive, lying, drunk man who manipulated everyone around him, was my blood.
That’s how I feel now seeing Brooks again. And still, here he stands before me, waiting for my response, loving that he’s pissed me off. Again.
I hate this man. No, I despise him.
Brooks blames me for a lot of things because it’s easier than blaming himself. Austin. . . he’s his prize possession. The kid could do no wrong in his eyes.
I’m the bastard child. The firstborn who destroyed his good time. And like the coward he is, he let another man raise me because that was easier. That fit into his plan. He married later, to Austin’s mother. . . and when she died, he came back to Madalyn. I don’t really care how it all happened, but it instigated the divorce between my parents.
I’d like to tell you this never had a lasting effect on me, but I’d probably be lying.
“I have to leave,” I whisper to Aly solemnly, motioning toward the doors. I didn’t want to do this with Brooks, not now, not ever. Most of all, I didn’t want to hurt Aly anymore.
And that’s the only reason I walk away from Brooks. Her and those boys.
If I don’t leave, I know what’s going to happen. I’m going to react.
I let go of Aly, but her hand instinctively reaches for mine. She gives me a steady look, lashes unblinking. “I’ll go anywhere with you.”
I don’t look away. I can’t. I absorb the meaning, but say nothing, my eyes cutting across the room. Hundreds of blank faces waiting for a reaction I’m not going to give them. They know the hot head side of me. They know the fifteen-year-old kid who lays a motherfucker out just for the reaction. But I’m not that kid anymore.
Cash’s face flashes in my mind and then Grady’s, and I remember why I’m walking away.
I won’t give them what they’re looking for. Not this time. I gave him exactly what he was looking for when I left. Me walking away from him when he wants a scene, that’s exactly the response he’s getting.
The clouds have let loose; water comes down in sheets. There’s no sense in shielding my hair, so I don’t. Taking quick steps, I follow Ridge, rushing outside.
I pride him in not reacting. It’s more than I would have done. Brooks approached with the intention of causing a scene, and Ridge didn’t give it to him.
Ridge’s in front of me, his eyes wild, his mind elsewhere. He keeps walking, his hands clasped behind his head as he stares up at the sky like it holds the answer.
Tentatively, I step toward him. He
aring my heels clicking against the stone, he turns, his eyes closed, lashes drenched in drops. “Do you want me to get Henry? He can give us a ride.”
He shakes his head, a denial, a plea to let him go alone.
But then he surprises me and whispers into darkness, “Come with me.” Dropping his hands. He looks so much like the boy in a stolen car, begging for my innocence. He wants to escape.
This time I’m going with him.
Wind slaps at my face, a constant wall of water obscuring my vision of him.
I nod, no words needed and reach for his hand. His finds mine, fingers tightening, holding, assuring me it’s going to be okay. We run through the rain, to his motorcycle where he straddles it, kick starts it and then hands me his helmet.
I have a moment when I hesitate because this isn’t safe. This is unexpected, and I didn’t plan for it. But I also didn’t plan on falling in love with my childhood friend.
I get on the bike with him, which isn’t easy seeing how I’m wearing a damn dress, but I manage to do it. “Are you. . . ?” My words fade, my eyes closing, tears swallowed instead of released.
Ridge shakes off my question, revving his bike. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I don’t blame him, but I also don’t want to let him leave. Closing my eyes, I try to stop thinking. Taking a breath, I push weight against my chest.
He wastes no time getting to his trailer, and we shuffle inside, his hand still on mine until we get inside, and he finally let go. I feel the loss of heat immediately.
He looks at me, his hair soaking wet and matted to the side of his face. No words. No reaction.
I have no idea what to make of everything that just happened, so I remain quiet, waiting for him to speak first. My body is still running on pure adrenaline, and it’s taking all that I have to remain still, much less remain quiet.
My body shakes from the cold, my dress ruined, my hair. . . I don’t even know, but I know it’s flat, stuck to my face and my makeup looks like I should have joined the boys watching The Walking Dead.
I close my eyes and try to stop thinking, but I can’t. Not any longer. “Is Brooks really your dad?”
After kicking away his shoes and tie, Ridge turns, ripping his wet jacket off, and slaps it on the ground. He flops down on the couch just inside the trailer. “Father. Not dad.”
I step closer. “Are you. . . how long have you known?”
Ridge leans forward and rips his white dress shirt away, tossing it next to his jacket, leaving his chest bare and him only in his black slacks. “Since the night I left town.”
“And that’s why you drove the car through the building?” I sigh into my hands.
Ridge dips his chin down and runs his thumb over his lower lip. “That’s why.”
My heart aches for him, his reactions that night finally make sense. “Did Mike know?”
“I never asked. Madalyn says he did, but I never confronted him about it.”
Okay, he’s talking; this is good. It’s then, and only then I have the courage to finally ask, “That night in the car. . .” I pause. His eyes find mine, knowing what’s coming next. Something I’ve always wanted to know but haven’t had the courage to ask yet. “Why did you want to have sex with me so bad?”
He breathes out slowly as my words fade with each pause. “Aly, you’re putting too much weight into it. I was fifteen, angry, and not thinking.”
I sit next to him, my dress clinging to my body, and I’m half tempted to rip it off like he did his shirt and jacket. “Was it because of him?”
He raises an eyebrow, leaning his head back against the couch. Wiping water from his face, he sighs. “Who?”
“Austin. Did you want to have sex with me because he asked me out?”
“That’s part of it, but again, I was fifteen fucking years old,” he spits. There’s so much fire in his eyes and words, willing me to understand it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the circumstances. “I didn’t know what I was doing when I picked you up, just that I was angry, and you were the only one I could think of who would help me forget.”
It did have something to do with me. “Do you—”
He holds his hand up. “I don’t want to talk,” he responds immediately, voice insistent. He waves to the counter beside me. “Hand me that bourbon.”
I reach for the bottle, giving it to him and then tucking wet strands of hair behind my ears. “Do you really think drinking is the answer?”
“No. I don’t think it’s the answer, but it’s gonna fuckin’ help.”
I know he doesn’t want to talk, but I can’t wrap my mind around it. “Ridge, this is big. Brooks is your dad.”
He unscrews the cap, tosses it aside and drinks straight from the bottle. “That man is not my dad. My dad died.”
My skin starts to itch. Obsessively. I scratch at my chest. I have to get his damn dress off. With the material wet, it’s like being wrapped in Saran Wrap. “That makes you Austin’s brother,” I mumble, unzipping it.
Ridge’s attention is on me, removing my dress. Well, attempting to. It’s like trying to take off a sports bra when you’re sweaty. An impossible task.
Chuckling, Ridge shakes his head, entertained by the sight of me. “It technically makes me his half-brother. Why does it matter?”
When I have the dress off, leaving me in only my bra and very skimpy panties, I throw my hands up, slapping them down at my sides. “I don’t know.”
Ridge eyes my body, the image causing him to shift and lean forward, his hands on my thighs trying to pull me into him. “You’re thinking too much.” Letting go, he hands me the bottle. “Have some bourbon.”
I shake my head and sit next to him. “I don’t want any.”
He flops back against the couch, running his hands through his hair. “Well. . . have some anyway, and then we’ll talk.”
I push the bottle back at him. “I want to talk sober.”
“I don’t.”
Now we’re having tug-a-war with a bottle of bourbon. “You’re impossible.”
“No, I don’t think I am.” He takes a drink, then points his finger in my face. “Getting you to let me stick it in your ass, that’s proving to be impossible.”
“Keep it up and I’ll never let you in.” I take it because why not. Maybe then if he’s relaxed and I’m relaxed, he might actually talk to me.
IT’S HOURS LATER, nearing midnight when we are talking, and the conversation shifts to us and what all this means. I’m nervous I’m going to say something I’m going to regret, or worse, confess feelings he might not have in return.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this. . . .”
“Fuck that.” Ridge shakes his head, swallowing over another drink. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.” His words are direct, a challenge. One he’s not backing down from.
I blink and swallow painfully. Shit’s real now, isn’t it? Goddamn that bourdon.
Ridge dips his head forward, waiting. “Don’t ignore me.”
I look away, out the window toward the track in the distance, but with the low lighting in here and the lack of light out there, I can’t see it.
Ridge reaches for me, his breath bourbon filled as he brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. “Tell me you don’t love me.” His tone softens with each word.
“Why?” I whisper, resisting the urge to clam up and tell him nothing.
Ridge runs his thumb under my chin, tilting my face to meet his gaze. Slowly, he brings his forehead to mine and closes his eyes, releasing a defeated breath. “Because I love you.”
When this first started in this very same trailer, I told myself that it was just sex.
It wasn’t. Not with our history. It never could have been.
Frustration clouds Ridge’s face, and he slouches on the couch, looking almost defeated. “When I saw you walk into the school that afternoon,” he begins, “I wanted you back. I wanted what we used to
have.” He smirks, takes a sip and winces from the bite of the straight whiskey. “I wanted what was mine.”
I shift on the small couch. Ridge meets my gaze, his darkness challenging me.
I take a drink straight from the bottle.
Then another.
“And that night in the back of your mom’s car?” I prompt, handing him the bottle back, wanting so desperately to finally have the answer. Why had he wanted to have sex with me so bad that night?
Taking the bottle from me, he sighs. “I stole her car, picked you up, tried to get you to give it up to me, and then I drove the car into the building.” His eyes glisten with pain. “I wasn’t just going to use you, Aly. Yeah, I wanted you, but it was more than that. I loved you, even then.” I move to straddle him, wrapping my hands around his neck.
Snatching the bottle from his hand, I take a swig. “So all that talk about you only wanting to fuck me was a cover up for what you really felt?”
He rests his chin on my shoulder. “Yes.”
“What an asshole.” I shake my head, feeling my tears running down my face.
Pulling back, he stares at me through red-rimmed eyes brushing my tears away with the swipe of his thumb over my cheek. “I fell in love with you, and that shit never let up. Not one bit. It wasn’t poetic or even romantic.” He laughs, laying his head back against the couch, almost ashamed. “It was a shit move.” Lifting his head, he stares at me and I know what he says next holds meaning by the tenderness in his eyes. “I still love you, even now.” He takes my cheeks and pulls my face to meet his. “Did you hear me?”
I don’t say anything at first. Our noses brush, and I draw in a careful breath, trying to find the words he desperately wants to hear.
“Are you going to say something?”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.” I purse my lips, already tasting the saltiness of the tears wanting to break free with his confession.
Ridge Lucas loves me. Has he ever loved anything?
Before I can think too much and overcomplicate everything he told me, our lips come together, needy and demanding.
