“I bet that lasagna is even better.”
“Well…you’d be right.”
* * * * *
Dinner was…awkward.
Riley couldn’t think of a better word to describe it.
It was just awkward.
Bree tried to get Toby to talk to Riley.
Toby went out of his way to talk to his mom about things he didn’t think Riley would understand.
The kid was sharp.
Usually, giving somebody the cold shoulder was a skill that came much later in life.
Toby was a natural at it, though.
By the time he’d stuffed his face—and his belly—full, Bree looked pale and strained and Toby had already been sent to his room.
“Nice to know your appetite is still strong,” Bree said, her mouth drawn tight.
“Hey, I don’t get a home cooked meal too often. Very little ruins my appetite.”
She stood and started picking up the plates, but he whisked them away, carrying them over to the sink. “You cooked. I clean. Those are the rules.”
“Says who?”
“I do.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, breathing in the scent of her. “But if you want to pour me another glass of wine, I wouldn’t argue.”
She did and she topped her own off, then hopped up to sit on the counter, staring toward the bedroom where Toby was. He’d slammed the door behind him, but Bree had let that go.
“What am I going to do about him?” she asked softly.
“Give him time. And keep doing what you’re doing.” He shrugged, rinsing a plate off before looking over at her. “You can’t make this better with hugs, kisses and cookies, Bree. But he knows you love him and he loves you.”
She sipped her wine, then looked over at him. “He’s so angry.”
“I know.” Jerking a shoulder in a shrug, he moved on to another plate. “After Mom and Dad died…” He paused, shaking his head. “It’s a different scenario and they are two different kids, but Charli was twelve when it happened, too. She got angry, Bree. She was angry for a long time. Wouldn’t talk to me or Con. She was getting in trouble at school.”
“I…” Bree looked away. “I didn’t know that.”
“I know.” He shrugged. “It got bad for a while. I thought they might take her away.”
“What changed?”
“Huh.” He smirked and shook his head. “Well, one day I brought her home after she’d gotten into another fight and Shame was at the house. He was, well, he got Con through it. I know it hurt Shame as bad as it did us, but he was Con’s rock. And for a while, he was Charli’s too. She had blood on her shirt, on her face and her hair was a mess. I was running on next to no sleep and too busy trying not to go ballistic. Shame looks at her and says, ‘I guess you figure since you lost your parents, it’s no big deal if you lose your brothers, too.’ She didn’t get what he meant. We could tell, just from the way she looked at him. So Shame spelled it out, told her that the state would end up taking her away from me if I couldn’t prove to them that I could take care of her.”
Riley finished the last of the dishes and rinsed his hands, staring out the window. It faced out over the back of B&B and he could see Shame out there, filling orders at the outdoor bar and flirting. “It was like he’d worked magic. The very next day, she was acting…different. Not like herself, but she wasn’t a juvenile delinquent in training, either.”
“Somehow I don’t think that approach will work on Toby.” Bree’s voice was husky.
“You don’t need that approach. You just need to love him and keep some limits, Bree.”
He moved closer, needing to be near, but not trying to do anything else.
Toby was awake, after all.
She was the one who reached out and closed a hand around his shirt.
She was the one who tugged him close.
She was the one who kissed him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
She slid her hands down his chest.
Riley caught the first one and dragged it lower, while fisting his hand in the thick mass of her curls.
She moaned against his mouth as he guided her hand to his cock and he waited. Waited to see what she would do, how she’d react.
She rubbed him through his jeans and he thought he just might lose it, come right then and there. As he had when he was a teenager. As he had when he’d touched her just a few days ago.
Bree wiggled closer, her hips pressed against his thigh, seeking him. He shifted them on the bed and reached between her legs, stroking her through her panties.
Panties…
The bed.
His hazed mind tried to tell him that something wasn’t adding up, but he couldn’t figure it out and he didn’t care. He only cared that Bree was touching him again.
Slipping one hand inside her panties, he traced a path down through curls gone slick with need and found her wet and waiting for him.
She closed around his fingers, greedy and tight.
He thrust his cock into the fist she’d closed around it.
“Fuck me, Riley,” she said against his mouth. “Now. I need you now. I want you…”
“Yeah.” He caught both of her hands and drew them above her head and in a blink, he was inside her.
Once more, something kicked up in the back of his head. You’re dreaming, man. This isn’t real.
But it was. It had to be. He could feel her against him. Taste her.
She moaned against his lips and wiggled—
“Stop!”
The harsh cry, sharp and almost desperate, did what that voice in the back of his head couldn’t.
It woke him up.
Bree shoved against his chest and he let go, watching as she half-fell on the floor as she scrambled to get away from him.
“What the…”
Reality slammed into him, hard and fast, as he caught sight of the terror on her face.
Bree sat on the floor, several feet away from him, staring at him with wide, stark eyes.
And she was most definitely not caught up in some haze of passion.
He felt sick.
“Bree…”
She got up and half ran, half stumbled into the bathroom.
He caught up with her just in time to see her double over and empty her stomach.
“Fuck, Bree. I’m—”
“Don’t.”
The weak whisper tore at his heart.
What had he done?
But even as that question burned, a knowledge began to form.
“Bree, please. I’m sorry.”
“You…shit, Ry. You don’t need to apologize, okay?” She moved to the sink and rinsed her mouth out, then splashed water on her face. “You were half asleep.”
“That doesn’t—”
“I kissed you!” She spun around, glaring at him. Her face was flushed now, eyes glittering. “I kissed you, damn it. I had to wake you and you were still dead to the world, so I kissed you. And you kissed me back and it was all just fine but then you took my hands…”
Her voice broke and she clapped her palms over her mouth to stifle the sob.
He reached for her but she backed away.
“I can’t. Not right now. I can’t. Toby’s sick.”
Words came spilling out of her in a violent torrent, as if she couldn’t get them out quick enough. As if the words were a barrier between them. “I just came to tell you that. I have to drive him to the ER or something. He’s sick. He’s too hot and I don’t have a thermometer.” She laughed brokenly. “I don’t even have insurance on him.”
She moved to pass him.
He caught her arm.
She froze.
“You don’t have to take him to the hospital,” he said, letting go of her arm.
“He’s sick,” she said. “I know you think he needs to toughen up or something, but he’s sick.”
“I don’t think he needs to do anything but listen to his mother better,” Riley snapped. “And that wasn’t what I
was implying. I’ll call Charli. She can come take a look at him.”
Bree opened her mouth, then closed it.
There were still tears in her eyes and she was still pale.
“Okay?” He wanted to say more, but she was so close to running away from him already that he couldn’t dare chance it.
“Okay.” She swallowed and nodded, staring at a point past his shoulder. “Okay.”
* * * * *
“Is he asleep now?” Riley looked up from his beer as Bree slid out of the room.
Charli had left over an hour ago.
He’d just gotten back from the pharmacy twenty minutes earlier.
Toby had an ear infection. A few days on antibiotics and he’d be as good as new.
“He’s…yes. She put some drops in his ear to numb it up. He went right to sleep.” Bree shifted uneasily on her feet, her gaze flicking from the beer to his face, then back.
“Want one?”
“Something stronger.”
He nodded and got up, moving to the cabinet where he kept the hard liquor. He splashed some Knob Creek bourbon into a glass for her and put it on the table.
She approached warily, like a deer easing her way into a field.
“Who was he?” Riley asked after she sat down.
She froze.
Again, he thought of a deer, one caught in the headlights and too afraid to run.
“Riley—”
“A man put his hands on you in violence,” he said calmly, staring at the center of the table so he wouldn’t look at her and see the fading bruise on her eye. “I’m already trying to keep from killing Donnie. Is he the one who made you afraid of men, Bree?”
A shuddering sigh escaped her. “Ry, there’s no point in talking about this.”
“Don’t tell me there’s no point,” he said gently. He picked up his bottle, lifting it to his lips. With a few long pulls, he drained it. Then taking great care not to move any more than necessary, and never toward her, he rose and carried the bottle to the recycle bin. “If you don’t want to tell me, then don’t. And tell me that. But don’t tell me there’s no point.”
He started across the living room.
“It wasn’t Donnie,” she whispered.
He froze.
“It was…” Her voice hitched.
Slowly, he turned.
She held the glass of bourbon in trembling hands and as he watched, she tossed it back—the whole thing. When she lowered the glass, her eyes were watering. “I need more,” she said, gulping the words out.
She shoved back out of the chair and fumbled through the cabinet until she got the bottle.
Her hands shook as she poured, but he didn’t offer to help.
He was afraid to even move.
“It was a long time ago, Ry. I don’t like to think about it. But…sometimes, it comes up on me and I just can’t stop it. I can’t block it out.”
“Who was it?” he asked again.
She gave him a pleading look. “Don’t ask me that.”
He swore, shoving the heels of his hands against his eyes while fury pulsed inside him.
“No wonder you don’t trust men. No wonder your son doesn’t.” He started to pace. “I up and left you behind so I could chase a football scholarship. You were smart and dumped me. But then you end up getting…”
His mouth went dry and he couldn’t even say it.
Swearing, he spun and drove his fist into the wall.
Bree cried out, clapping a hand over her mouth.
And he felt like a bastard.
“Don’t,” she said.
“I’m sorry.” He lowered his hand, staring at the blood that splattered across the surface. It figured he’d hit a place where there was a stud. He couldn’t have hit drywall. Flexing his hand, he grimaced but determined nothing was broken.
“You… Riley… I…”
Shaking his head, he turned to look at her. “It’s okay, Bree. I’m sorry. I handled this wrong. I just—” He laughed bitterly. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was love you. Be with you. Make a family with you. And I’m just—”
“Stop it! Just— Damn it, this isn’t your fault!” She gave him a broken look. “Riley, it happened right before I broke up with you.”
Then, with a ragged breath, she began to cry.
For a moment, just a moment, he couldn’t even move.
He couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t think.
“It— Wait…”
But she was crying, and she was shaking.
The questions he had didn’t matter.
He went to her.
She shoved at him, but he scooped her up into his arms and carried her over to the couch. “Don’t,” she whispered, cringing in on herself. “How can you even want to touch me now?”
“Because I always want that. I want to love you. Kiss you. Hold you. Keep you. Nothing has changed that, Bree. Not in ten years. Nothing ever will.”
She collapsed against his chest and started to sob.
And he closed his eyes, holding her tightly.
* * * * *
“Damn, brother.”
“Not now, Con,” Riley said without even taking his eyes off the bag he was pounding. In his mind, he was seeing Bree’s face all over again. As she cried. As she told him. He was feeling her hands clutching at him. Then he was feeling her body go rigid as she panicked when he’d kissed her. He’d been still half-asleep, unaware that he’d scared her.
He’d scared her.
Because somebody had hurt her.
Somebody had raped her.
She wouldn’t tell him who it was.
Not yet.
The bag went flying back after a particularly vicious kick and Con caught it, steadied it.
“I said, not now,” Riley spat.
“Hey, I didn’t ask you anything.” Con just held the bag.
Riley continued to pound on it. Right jab, left hook. Knee. Right, left, knee. His breath came harder, faster.
A shadow fell into his line of sight. He didn’t look up.
It was Shame.
He should have figured.
Shame had been there earlier, taken one look at Riley and left, probably just to call Con.
Bastard.
He didn’t want either of them there right now.
With a roar, he slammed his right fist into the bag as hard as he could and Con staggered back a few steps with a grunt.
He spun away, rage chewing at him and came face to face with Shame.
“Need to go toe-to-toe with somebody?” the other man asked, his pale eyes shrewd and full of an awful knowledge.
He knew, Riley realized. Shame fucking knew.
“Get out,” he said over his shoulder to his little brother.
“Nah.” Con came a little closer. “That ain’t happening. The two of you end up going at it, one of you might end up on the floor.”
“Only one man I want to put on the floor right now. But I want to talk to Shame.”
Shame tilted his head to the side, studying him. “Why?”
He opened his mouth to respond, then stopped, unable to explain with Con standing there.
The anger continued to blister and burn inside him and he couldn’t do anything to turn it off or silence it.
He grabbed Shame, hands fisting in the other man’s T-shirt. Shame tensed, but other than that, there was no reaction.
The gym was mostly empty, but Riley knew the guy at the desk saw him.
Still, he couldn’t stop himself.
In a low voice, he asked, “Did you know?”
Shame lifted a brow. “I know a lot of things, man. You need to be more specific.”
A phone rang. Riley recognized the ring tone. And he ignored it.
Giving Shame a quick shake, he demanded again, “Did you know?”
The ring cut off abruptly and he heard his brother talking. “Ah, he’s…um…he’s sort of busy. Can he— Okay. Okay, I’ll try to get him.”
&
nbsp; “Not now, Con,” he said, still glaring at Shame.
Shame, his light blue eyes expressionless, never looked away from Riley.
Con appeared at his side. “Talk to her.”
“Her? Bree?” He glanced down at the phone Con extended.
“No. It’s—” Con looked around, his green-gold eyes narrowed. “It’s one of your…friends.”
That could only mean so many things and he started to brush Con off. Now wasn’t the time.
“Something’s wrong, I think,” Con said, pushing into Riley’s personal space. “And she said the cop had been out there. I don’t know what’s going on here, but this is important.”
Nothing was important, compared to Bree.
But he reached out slowly, and grabbed the phone.
Turning away from Shame, he sucked in a breath and tried to refocus his brain. It was harder than it should have been and his heart was pounding in his ears, racing and roaring like a dragon. He wanted to shake Shame, grab him and make him talk.
But nobody made Shame say anything until he wanted to.
So he sucked in another breath, squeezed his eyes closed, then pressed the phone to his ear.
“Hello?”
Marnie’s voice, hesitant at first, said his name. “Riley?”
“Yeah. Marnie?”
“Yes. It’s me. Riley, I—”
“Marnie, now’s not a good time. Can you—”
“Riley, are you following me?”
The words caught him off-guard, and surprisingly, they were like a splash of cold water in his face, too, cooling his anger. “What?”
“You heard me. Are you following me?”
“No. Why would ask that?” Something ugly began to brew in his belly and he turned to look at his brother and friend.
“Because somebody is. I…Riley, look, I’m sorry, but I’m having a hard time right now. This cop showed up. Did one of your clients kill herself?” Marnie’s voice cracked.
Riley didn’t know what to say.
“Answer me!” Marnie shouted.
“I…” He closed his eyes. “Yes. I don’t know why—”
F*ck Club: Riley Page 12
