by Jo Raven
Of uncertainty.
What am I? Her ally in her mission to get Ryan? Her trusted sidekick and fuck-buddy? A friend with benefits?
Should it matter? Why does it feel so important to me? I don’t have the luxury of falling in love, of feeling serious about anything, not now, not with my brother still missing and the situation at my parents’ home precarious as ever.
I wanna fight for her. But despite what Ryan said, she doesn’t want me to.
So why do I feel guilty for having almost sex with both of them?
Stop it, Rid, dammit. It’s just physical release, and neither of them really wants me. With good reason. I’m a mess, and they know it.
So why do I feel like that—so out of sorts?
“Hey, there’s this event for the children at the hospital,” she says, studying the spines of the few books I have on my shelves, the box of cookies in her hands. “On Wednesday.”
“What event?”
“The one I told you about last week. Just an afternoon with Disney songs and movies. We dress up as their favorite characters and play with them.”
“Sounds cool. Have fun.”
“Rid.” She bats her lashes at me. “Pleasepleaseplease?”
“Please, what?”
“Will you come? Simone will be out of town, and Candy has morning sickness and—”
“Candy’s pregnant?”
“Yeah, you didn’t know?”
Lots I don’t know. Might explain why Jet seems so distracted lately. Why he hasn’t called me like he usually does, to check up on me.
“Rid… go with me?”
“Uh.” Not so sure about this. “I’m not good with kids.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. And you’ll look dashing as Superman.”
“Superman?”
“Or Batman. Or whatever you want.”
I don’t want to dress up as anything. Pretend anything. “Let me think about it.”
“You’re not going to try them?” Brylee holds out the box of cookies to me, and I take one mechanically.
“Chocolate?” I ask before biting into the brown crust.
“Coffee,” she says cheerfully just as I choke on…ground coffee? “And sea salt.”
“Argh,” I agree, choking on the dry and salty paste. “Woh?”
Why? Why oh why?
“I think I might have forgotten the sugar, though.” Brylee taps a short, red fingernail on her chin, thoughtful. “I knew I forgot something.”
“Goh,” I agree, still trying to swallow my mouthful of salty coffee torture.
In the end I give up and excuse myself to the bathroom where I spit everything out and flush the toilet.
God. I splash water on my face, and a fit of laugher grips me.
Bry. That girl… Only she could make me laugh by almost poisoning me with her cooking.
Only I’d be so gone for her I’d keep eating up whatever she dishes out without caring if it kills me.
And yeah, my thoughts are kinda fatalistic lately. I’m aware.
Fatalistic, twisted and downright dark.
It’s as if my mind’s preparing for something really bad to happen, and it’s a well-worn rut in my brain, it seems, because all I can see as I look down into the sink is my brother’s still, white face, dead eyes staring up at me.
Shit.
“Rid?” Brylee’s voice sounds disconcertingly close, and I turn to look at her, my face dripping cold water, my heart pounding. “What… are you okay?”
In two steps she’s right there, putting her hands on my wet cheeks, and no matter how much I know I shouldn’t, how I should fight it, I gather her close and kiss her.
Again I’m surprised by how different she tastes and feels to Ryan. Softer, sweeter, her skin like silk, her lips like satin pillows. No dark spice undercurrent when her tongue tentatively strokes mine, no aggressive tussling, just vanilla sugar.
Just as good. Very good, in fact. Delicious, and perfect, like a side to the pleasure of kissing that was missing, a half to a crescent, making the moon shine full.
Riddick the Poet.
Christ.
Why can’t I stop? And no, I’m not talking about bad poetry. I’m talking about her and him. I can’t stop kissing them, touching them, wanting them, even when I’m drowning in my own troubles, even when I feel I’m cheating, when I know beyond any doubt this will end badly.
Her hands move on my cheeks, over my bruised jaw, down my neck to my shoulders. She draws back with a small gasp. “Rid.”
I want to shake her, ask her what she wants, what she decided, what the hell we’re doing, but what comes out is something else.
“What did you say to Ryan about me?” The moment the words are out I curse inwardly because of all the implications –that I talked to Ryan about her, about this, that I care.
She bites her lip. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“Did he come here? Oh God…” She lets her hands fall and steps back, eyes wide. “Did he hit you?”
I grunt, rub at the crease between my brows. “It doesn’t matter. Something happened between you, right? Did he…?” Fuck, I should have guessed. “He kissed you again, didn’t he?”
Motherfucker.
She doesn’t say anything, her delicate shoulders hunched. “It meant nothing.”
“Of course it meant something.”
“Not to him.”
“Bry…” I don’t even know if she’s right or not. He wants her, or he wouldn’t have shown up here, ready for a brawl—but then what was it with the blowjob? Was I a way to release some steam?
I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Turning away from her, I stagger over to the sofa and sink down on the cushions.
She follows me, her expression worried. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything,” I admit. I’m not used to feeling so despondent. I always had hope in the past.
Not so much nowadays. Not for my family, not for this thing between us.
She nods, her copper curls bouncing around her face. “You’re right.”
I give her a bleak look. Here it comes. “Say it.”
“Ryan is an asshole.”
I blink. Not what I expected. “Huh.”
“And I have a crush on him.”
Fuck. “Bry—”
“And on you.”
What the—?
“I want you both. So much I can’t sleep at night. I keep thinking of you and him together. And with me.”
I can’t breathe. Her words, the images, the idea, they’re a massive punch to my solar plexus. I’m gasping like a stranded fish.
“And it’s all wrong. It’s not fair to you, or to Ryan. The Asshole.”
“Listen—”
“I think I’ll use the dildo I bought after all. And to hell with saving myself for anyone. And I…” Her eyes fill with tears. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Why I can’t be normal.”
“You’re normal.” I rush to my feet and draw her into my arms before she runs away. She looks like she wants to. “You’re great. Please don’t go.”
“But I…” She beats her small fists on my back. “I’m not good to you. Or Ryan. Whatever it is he wants. I was always so sure of what I should do. How I should do it. Nothing works! It’s like baking. No matter what I do, nothing ever comes out the way it’s supposed to. And I’m not supposed to want two men. Me! I plan everything in my life. This wasn’t in the plan.”
“You changed the plan. Like Ryan changed his schedule,” I say, my mind trying to absorb all this.
“Yes!” she wails on my shoulder. “Everything’s changing.”
“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
She sniffles quietly. “You think?”
“When you’re unhappy, change can be good.” I turn my face to kiss her hair. “And as you decide what you need in your life, you change your goals. Your plans. That’s not a bad thing at all.”
; “Are you changing? Your plans?”
“I don’t have any plans,” I mutter. Apart from making it through the year sane. I don’t have many choices. I feel as if my life depends on the decisions of others.
But I don’t say that.
“I want you to be happy,” she whispers, and my heart clenches with something like pain. “I’d change my plans to make you happy.”
“You should only change your plans to make yourself happy,” I tell her, certain that’s the truth, and not sure why my eyes burn like that. “You should choose a guy who will give you what you need.”
She pulls back, studying my face. “And what do I need?”
Love.
I shake my head. “That’s for you to decide.”
“I should go.”
I don’t want her to go. Why can’t I promise I’m the one who can make her happy?
Why can’t I acknowledge I’m not?
“Hey.” I catch her hand before she walks away from me. “Here’s a little secret: I like you, too, Bry. You know that, right?”
She smiles. It’s faint but bright. So real. “Does that mean you’re going to the hospital event with me?”
There’s always a catch, isn’t there? “Sure thing.”
***
Leaning against a store front not far from home, I stand smoking and staring out at the snow-covered street and the passing cars.
I’ve just searched everywhere I could think of—again—for my brother. Called everyone I could think of, talked to people on the street, in the parks, even in hospitals and homeless centers. The cold is biting, numbing my face and hands.
I throw the stub of my cigarette to the melting snow, and light up another.
Dead end. End of the road. Impasse.
My chest is too tight. I’m not sure it’s wise to hold out hope for Xavier. No, I don’t think he’s dead, I sure as hell hope not, but he’s probably so far gone by now, so deep in addiction, I have no clue how to reach him. How to bring him back.
I don’t have any hope that he’ll come back and that things will return to how they were before.
My heart is hammering against my ribs. Has been since the realization hit me. Since my first cigarette standing outside this shop. My stomach is twisted into a knot. It’s damn cold.
And nothing fucking matters.
“You should choose a guy who will give you what you need.”
Not me. Nothing I can offer.
“I want you both. So much I can’t sleep at night. I keep thinking of you and him together. And with me.”
Why am I thinking of this now? As if my worry for my brother wasn’t enough, why do I have to remember the things Brylee said, the feel of her hands on my cheeks?
And Ryan.
The cigarette drops from my numb fingers. I watch it burn in the snow until it goes out, smoke drifting upward.
A broad shadow falls over me. “Rid?”
No fucking way. I squint up, against the white of the clouds, at his shadowed face, and swallow hard. “Fuck off, R.”
He sighs. “What’s going on?”
“Jesus.” I turn to a random direction and start walking, slipping in the frozen slush. “I’m not in the mood to fight or fuck tonight.”
“I don’t want to…” He starts after me. “Rid, wait.”
“Holy shit, are you deaf, or stupid?” I walk faster, my leg aching, the pain flaring in my lower back as I unsteadily step over a pile of snow. “The fuck.”
His hand snags my elbow, stopping me from faceplanting.
This scenario feels familiar.
“Which part of Fuck Off didn’t you understand?” I snap at him, jerking my arm out of his hold. “Let go.”
“Let me help.” He hovers as I come to a halt, not touching me, his face serious. “I won’t fight or try anything, just… I swear, Rid. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
I wish I could deny something is wrong. So instead I start moving again, limping down the sidewalk, away from his intense, concerned gaze.
I don’t want his concern. I don’t need it.
“Rid, come on, man.” He’s still keeping pace, dammit. “Can we talk?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, gimme a break.”
I’ll fight him if I have to, if it means he gives me space. I’m going to lock myself up in my apartment until I can think straight again, whenever that happens. I can’t face the world right now.
Can’t fucking breathe.
“Rid, slow down.”
He grabs me just as my shoe slips in the melting snow, and for a heart-stopping moment, it’s like I’m flying, tethered only by his arms around me.
This isn’t our first dance.
The thought almost sends me into hysterical laughter, but it dies in my throat as he grunts, steadying me, holding on tight. I should push him away. Curse him to hell.
Circles. It’s all circles, wheels spinning, going nowhere.
Except his arms feel good around me. They feel like the only thing keeping me from sinking tonight.
“Talk to me,” he whispers. “Talk to me, Rid.”
“It’s my brother,” I say against his strong shoulder, forgetting for a moment that I should be shoving him off. “I’ve looked everywhere. I’ve waited for too long. I can’t find him.”
“Then we’ll hire a PI,” he says. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”
I snort against his jacket, and I’m scared it’ll turn into tears. “I can’t afford a fucking PI.”
“But I can,” he says softly, reassuringly. “We’ll find him, Rid. You’ll see.”
And for no good reason at all, I believe him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Angel Food with Creamy Frosting
Ryan
Finding a PI to hire isn’t hard, neither is explaining to him why he’s looking for Riddick’s brother. It takes me all of a morning to find one who seems reliable. He assures me he’s done this plenty of times, and that families looking for their loved ones who have vanished due to drug addiction often reach out to him, seeking help.
I give him all the info Riddick passed on to me yesterday and return to work and my pissed-off supervisor. She doesn’t like the fact I’m, as she puts it, “slacking.”
Slacking? After working overtime and weekends?
But okay, maybe she has a point. I’m not concentrating, not on work, anyway. I’m not myself. I punched a co-worker for fuck’s sake, and thank God he didn’t say anything, probably afraid I’d say he threw the first punch. Nothing but his word against mine.
No, I’m not concentrating, not with my thoughts torn between Brylee and Riddick.
I think of how I kissed her. Of how she pushed me away and left my office.
Of how I drank myself stupid and went over to Riddick’s place, and punched him for fuck’s sake—then kissed him. How I sucked him off.
Jesus.
How I found him on the sidewalk, looking frozen stiff and in shock. How I helped him to his apartment and to his bed, promised to find his brother for him, and left him to rest.
My heart trips, making me uneasy, so I pop a pill and hope for the best. I’m just tired. Considering I barely slept last night, these same memories and thoughts bouncing around inside my head, it’s no wonder I feel like fucking roadkill.
I think again of Brylee’s shuttered expression as she walked out, and then of the exhaustion in Riddick’s posture, in his eyes, when I left him.
I hope he’s okay. I hope they’re both okay. God, I can’t believe how selfish I’ve been, how self-centered, when others have bigger problems. Least I can do is make sure the people I care for are all right.
What the hell, Ryan? Stop with the crazy talk. Help Riddick, by all means, but don’t get involved. With him, or her.
You know why you can’t.
As if I could ever forget. Though, come to think of it, being with them I do sometimes forget.
Dangerous.
My phone chirps. Another message from my father. I ignor
e it, then hesitate. This isn’t like me. Holding grudges, least of all against him. He’s a good guy. A bit overbearing at times, especially since Mom died, but hell, he’s the only parent I got left.
I shoot him back a quick text that I’m fine and look forward to having lunch on our usual day, usual time, and heave a sigh of relief that it’s done.
Caring for my father is safe. After all, he not only knows my fear, but is more obsessed with it than I am.
Like I said. Safe.
***
The PI reports to me by Monday. Following up on some leads, he says. I thought he’d have something for me by now, but I’m impatient, that’s all. I have no clue how long it could take the guy to find someone who doesn’t want to be found.
If Xavier isn’t found, I don’t know how I’ll break the bad news to Riddick. Just the thought gets my heart tripping in my chest.
At least I thought to ask for his phone number last time. I text him with my update, and get no reply.
I rub at my chest, staring at my phone, willing it to chime, to give me an indication I’m doing something good, something useful for Riddick. That I’m helping him.
That he’s not upset with me.
It doesn’t fucking matter if he hates your guts, I tell myself. It shouldn’t matter, because you have no feelings for him, just like you have no feelings for Brylee.
But I’m a bad liar, and I feel particularly frayed today, like old fabric, worn and thin and coming apart.
It doesn’t help that Brylee is not around. Where is she? I haven’t seen her since the day she walked out of my office. It’s as if she’s hiding from me.
Or not coming to work at all?
Shut up, Ryan. Be serious.
But as the day advances, and I don’t see her anywhere as I run from meeting to meeting, the worry grows. It’s ridiculous. Fucking nuts.
It’s because of the state I left Riddick in, I tell myself. That’s all. But I can’t stand it. I can’t pretend anymore that I don’t care.
Giving in, I head to her office to set my fears to rest—but she’s not behind her desk. Another girl is sitting at the desk across from hers, typing at her computer.
She looks up. “Can I help you?”
“Brylee.” By now the worry is gripping my chest like a fist, and I force a deep breath into my lungs. They feel crushed. “Where is she?”