I knew that massive body. I knew the man slamming the door closed to the truck before stomping around, his gaze sweeping across the front of the house. Back and forth, behind him and in front of him. Looking.
His gaze landed on me just standing there, holding my hands to my chest. I could see his eyes narrow. See the great big breath he puffed out of his mouth. I could tell his shoulders dropped, his hands going loose at the same time.
“You didn’t tell me you were leaving.”
Something inside of my freaking soul stuttered. My throat seemed to choke on every letter in the alphabet, and all I could do was press my lips together and, after a second—after that thing inside of me stuttered then stuttered some more—I nodded.
But I managed to get the words out. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
And Rip… Rip blinked. His nostrils flared. His chest went in and out, and he said with all the calmness I had never witnessed out of him before, “How many times I gotta tell you that you’re not a bother?”
I held my breath.
He made sure to look me right in the eye. “You need me, you call me. Any time. Any day. It’s that easy.”
Why did that make me uncomfortable?
“You don’t gotta do everything alone.”
“I’ve never wanted to, Rip.”
And something on that striking, handsome face seemed to splinter. Ripley’s chin dipped down once, and then one of those long, massive thighs went forward. One size twelve or thirteen foot set down on my grass, and then Rip was stalking toward me. His hands at his sides, his nostrils wide, and that gaze locked on me.
And before I knew it, before I could process where he was going, he was there.
Standing directly in front of me, so tall I had to tip my head back to look up at that face that was easily eight inches taller than me.
I didn’t realize I was tearing up until I felt the tears pooling in the corner of my right eye and then felt something brush them off just as quickly.
It wasn’t my hand that did it though. It wasn’t my fingers that swept beneath that eye and then swept beneath the other eye.
It was Ripley’s fingers that did so.
Before I could get another word out, and before I could blink at that, that huge hand slipped into mine like it was nothing and he tugged me toward the side of the house.
I opened my mouth to tell him I appreciated him coming out here, but that he didn’t have to stay. But even though I opened my mouth, nothing came out of it. I wasn’t dumb or stubborn enough to tell him to let go of my hand. I needed it. I wanted it. So even if it was for these crappy circumstances, I’d take what I could get.
I could more than likely remember everything that happened afterward if I bothered trying hard enough to. But when something feels more like a terrible dream than reality, most of the time, some things go into your memories forever and other things, you just decide to live through.
Sometimes you have enough shitty things in your life you’re forced to remember without adding more. I was picking and choosing at this point. It was all I could do.
Going through my house, room by room, with trash bags was one of the single most painful things I had ever done before. Worse than packing up my things when I was seventeen, shoving what I could into a duffel bag and two plastic grocery bags, and leaving my parents’ house without a single clue what I would do or where I would go.
But what I could and would remember was how Rip stood with me, his hand holding mine the entire time we threw things away.
It was all some weird memory I wasn’t going to pick up and go through any time soon, or ever if I didn’t have to.
My whole body tightened as I took in the television I had saved three months to buy that now had a massive crack through the center of it. That was only the beginning. Broken dishes, four flipped dining room chairs, my mattress, and drawers that had been ripped out and gone through.
I didn’t let myself cry as I realized hardly anything had been stolen with the exception of about one hundred dollars in cash I’d hidden in my drawer and two hundred under the bathroom sink. My laptop was missing and so was my tablet. There was just so much… destruction. What was the point?
My chest ached, and it felt like I couldn’t breathe for a long time.
It was enough to remember the night before when I’d kicked my clothes aside on the floor, trying my best not to imagine some stranger going through them, putting their hands all over things I had bought with a whole lot of love.
And so much of it had been destroyed.
My safe place had been ruined, and I didn’t know what to do.
* * *
Hours and hours later, after filling up ten contractor-sized bags, after cleaning the hell out of everything while Rip went to the home improvement store to buy the things he needed to fix my door, after ordering Vietnamese food while he fixed the door because I had to feed him for doing all these things for me… when I was exhausted and wanted to go to bed, a hand went for my wrist and Rip gripped it.
“Come on,” he said in that voice that wanted to lull me to sleep.
“If you’re still hungry, I can order some pizza.”
“I’m not hungry.” He tugged again. “You can’t stay here tonight.”
I didn’t want to stay there tonight. Or the next night. But I didn’t want to leave it either.
“You’re coming with me.”
I was?
I was what?
“Come on. I’m not in my twenties anymore. I’m usually in bed by now.”
What? I glanced at my watch and saw the time. It was almost midnight. Holy crap. How had this taken so long?
How was I even awake?
Rip tugged at my wrist again. “You’re not staying here. Don’t give me that face.”
Me making a face? Was he serious?
I didn’t want to stay, but I didn’t want to leave either. He’d already done enough. He had already done so much more than a boss should do for his employee, which only reminded me that I hadn’t told anyone what happened yet. Not even Mr. C. And man, that made me feel guilty. What had Rip told him as the reason why I left?
His thumb swept over the back of my hand, and his voice was genuinely really tired. “Come on. I’ll get you a hotel room if you don’t wanna stay with me.”
All I could do was stand there and blink.
He blinked back. “Now, Luna. I’m too tired to give you shit.”
I wanted to tell him that I was fine. That I didn’t need to go home with him or stay at a hotel, but my mouth didn’t move.
God, I was such a wuss. It was pathetic. I could sleep here. There was a lock on the door again.
It would be fine.
I would make sure it was fine.
I wasn’t—
“Luna. I’m tired, baby.” Rip sighed, giving me a gentle squeeze.
I looked up at him, exhaustion weighing down my eyelids. I watched as his hand came toward my face and his finger slipped across the bottom of my eye. There weren’t tears there. There couldn’t be. I had already done enough crying for the next decade. But his finger didn’t go anywhere else; it stayed there, under my eye.
“Let’s go.” He was still speaking softly, his face genuinely exhausted. “You’re not staying here. You’re going to be fine. You don’t want to stay at a hotel? Stay at my place. You don’t want to stay at my place? We’ll get you a room.”
I stared.
“It’s nothing nice, but I got a bed you can take, and a lock on my door, and some food in my fridge.”
I didn’t say anything.
The hand around my wrist loosened and he slipped his fingers through mine once more. “Let’s go,” he tried insisting again.
But I didn’t “go.” I just stood there, trying to imagine what his place looked like, what his bed looked like… and I still didn’t go anywhere. I didn’t want to stay at a hotel, and for some reason I didn’t understand, I didn’t want to stay at his place either. He was my
boss first and foremost. My boss.
But Rip was even more tired than I was or wanted to go to bed earlier because he sighed, “All right, baby girl. We’ll stay here.”
* * *
Looking around my bedroom, I blew out a breath that felt like it would have weighed a ton if it had any mass to it, and I wrapped my arms around all the blankets I’d managed to collect from around the house. Lord, I could finally feel every hour I’d been awake in every inch of my bones.
Making my way to the living room, I held everything as tight as possible. The blankets, two pillows… I was going to sleep on the floor, I’d decided. Luckily, the couch was a pull-out sofa, and the assholes who had broken into my house hadn’t bothered doing more than stabbing at a few cushions.
But the same question I’d been wondering over since last night remained. Who the hell would do this to me? Why would they?
The idea of it made me want to throw up. It was so mean…
It’s just stuff.
It was just stuff.
And I had insurance. That was something. I had called them while Rip had gone to the store, and it had taken almost an hour to get everything sorted and in motion.
Something was better than nothing.
I found Rip sitting on my couch with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at the television sitting on the small entertainment center across from it.
If he looked exhausted, I didn’t want to know what I looked like.
“I’m sorry, Rip,” I said, really feeling like a thoughtless ass right about then. How many times had he brought up how tired he was?
“If you want to go home…” I’ll survive alone.
He simply shook his head, and I’d swear on my life his eyes drooped for a moment. “I’m staying here,” he repeated for what had to be at least the fifth time since he’d brought up that option.
“Yeah but…” I made myself say it. “You can go if you’d rather go home.”
“I’m staying.”
Did I really want to beg him? Not really.
“Okay.” I swallowed. “Thank you then.” Focus. “Let me help you make up the sofa bed then—”
“No sofa bed. I can sleep on the couch.”
I eyed the ruined cushions and the length and then weighed the chances of him actually getting any sleep on it.
“Eh, Rip, you’re size ginormous and my couch is size normal.”
He slid me a look that under any other circumstances might have made me laugh. Without another word, that long body unfolded itself from the furniture, getting up to feet that I knew were long, and he turned to me, that handsome face aimed right at me. “Couch is fine, Luna. I’ve got it.”
He had it.
With a nod that I wasn’t completely feeling, I walked up to the couch, beside him, and dropped the mound of sheets and blankets, and extra pillow on the end. I watched as Rip got to his feet as I shook out the sheet and then tucked it into the cushions.
But he didn’t say a word as he watched what I did for long moments before finally asking, “You wanna sleep here too?”
Did he…?
Numbly, at least that’s how I felt, I thought about his question for all of fifteen seconds—if that—and said “Okay” before I could stop myself.
Okay. To sleeping on the couch too.
Who does that?
Me. That’s who. Someone was going to feel really dumb and needy later.
But I’d worry about that afterward. Way afterward. My pride wasn’t so big that I’d try to be tougher than I really was.
Because the truth was: I didn’t want to be alone.
And I was a dummy for thinking that.
But oh well.
“All right,” Ripley said softly… so softly, I couldn’t help but glance at him, wondering where all this tenderness was coming from.
He just feels bad, my brain whispered.
“Come on,” Rip kept speaking, and I looked up to see him dropping onto the couch and leaning back with a big sigh. His arm was up on the back of the seat as he let out a deep, exhausted sigh. “Stretch out here, I can sleep in this corner.”
I blinked, the exhaustion hitting me hard. He wanted me to lie down while he slept sitting up?
“I can sleep anywhere. Come lay down. I need to get some rest.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Everything will be fine,” he said.
Pressing my lips together, I nodded. He was here. I was going to lay down beside him. Okay.
God, how I wished that was true.
It wasn’t, but for tonight, I would take it.
Rip patted the spot beside him. “Come on.”
I did.
I took two steps and plopped down on the couch, one cushion down away from him.
He yawned, watching me the whole time. “You all right?”
“Yeah,” I told him pretty half-heartedly, toeing off my boots. I had forgotten I’d put on Pac-Man socks that morning. It was the most fun I’d wanted to go. That, and all my jewelry had been strewn all over the place.
Before I could realize what he was doing, he reached across the couch and grabbed my hand, pulling it—and me—toward him. I stopped what I was doing and blinked at the sight of his big hand, those long fingers, perfectly short nails, engulfing mine. Then he pulled again, making me stretch out on the couch.
Rip got to his feet, grabbing the pillow and blankets from the armchair. He shook out the blanket right before throwing it on top of me. I just watched him as he stood over the couch, kicking off his shoes, his hands going to the top button of his jeans and undoing it. It was my turn to yawn as he walked to the end of the couch, directly beside where I was laying and plopped down. I could feel the heat of his thigh and the weight of him make my couch sink.
What I wasn’t ready for was the hand that snuck beneath my head and lifted it—Rip lifting my freaking head—, before effortlessly sliding the pillow under my head before his fingertips touched my forehead. “Go to sleep. I’m here,” he said to me.
I looked up, or tried to look behind me, and I saw him stretch out from upside down.
Rip was too busy yawning to notice I couldn’t take my eyes off him. “Sleep, Luna. I’m not going anywhere.”
I didn’t say a word. I didn’t know what to say. Mostly though, I felt exhausted.
Stretching out on the couch, I thought about telling Rip that he should lie down and that I should be the one to sleep upright. I could have slept on the floor.
I rolled over to my side, tucking my hands beneath the pillow under my head. I didn’t think of anything. I just… lay there, listening to Rip’s deep breaths. But I still couldn’t wind down.
When the clock had changed to tell me that ten minutes had passed, a low groan came from the man beside me, and a moment later, fingers settled right in front of my face, palm up. “Nothing’s gonna get you,” he rumbled quietly, his voice rough and mellow.
I stared at those big fingers, taking in the calluses all over them and the palms. They were strong hands. Solid hands. And they made my own itch.
“You think I’d let that happen?”
I rolled onto my stomach and propped my hands under my chin, so I could look up at him. I mean, if he wasn’t falling asleep yet either… “No.”
His head was back against the couch, his eyes heavy and low. “Good, ’cause I wouldn’t.” Those impressive fingers squeezed mine. “You talked to your sister?”
I knew exactly which one he was asking about and couldn’t play stupid. “No. She’s still ignoring my calls.”
“Anybody else heard from her?”
Lord, he was digging that dagger deep when I felt like I’d already gotten the crap kicked out of me. “Yeah, it’s just me she’s ignoring.” I took a deep breath through my nose and slid that dagger in deeper myself.
He made a grumbling noise. “I thought you all left that house because your dad was a piece of shit.”
That made it worse. “We did, but my dad was at his wor
st with me. He just didn’t give a crap about my sisters. That was the difference.”
This pause hung in the air in between us. Then, “What’s that mean?”
“I told you things are complicated. My dad used to tell me that he should’ve pulled out. Him and his wife… even though now that I think about it, I’m not even sure they were legally married… they were the worst people I’ve ever met in my life. They were mean and unhappy and selfish. I don’t… I don’t know why they were together in the first place. Misery invites misery or whatever that saying is.” I took a breath, thinking about them. “And my brother never did anything. He was never really around in the first place. He never defended any of us. I know he hated them as much as I did; he left the second he graduated high school and never looked back.”
I didn’t tell him the rest. About all the times my dad told me I was stupid and worthless. About that woman saying those same, exact things. About all the rest of the things I didn’t want to remember. Not ever.
Those eyes locked on mine and his grip tightened. “I thought you only had sisters.”
“No, I have an older brother too, same mom and dad. I just never talk about him. I haven’t seen him in eleven or twelve years now. I couldn’t even make it until I turned eighteen, you know. I left a couple months into my senior year of high school.” But I didn’t leave my sisters. That part I didn’t tell him.
“They kicked you out?” he asked in that quiet voice.
I sighed. “Not exactly.”
“What’s that mean?”
I scrunched up my toes beneath the blanket. “I mean, they had been counting down the days until I turned eighteen since I was like three. And one day they gave me no other reason but to go. So I left.”
“What happened?”
I squeezed Ripley’s hand and thought about that time in my life. “I did something,” I told him in a very small voice.
There was a pause. “What’d you do?”
I scrunched them again. “I don’t know if I want you to know.”
“Why?” he asked relentlessly, lowly.
“Because I don’t feel bad about it. I don’t even feel a little bad about it,” I admitted.
Luna and the Lie Page 35