by Gail McHugh
I hunch over, my face inches from hers as she cups my jaw and whispers, “I like you, and I think my brother does too,” she singsongs, but sobers quickly, fear dotting her innocent features. “Do you ever have to take medicine?”
“Sometimes,” I answer, feigning a calming tone. Unease coats my stomach as I touch her cheek, hoping to settle her some. “Your brother told me you’re the best medicine-taker in the whole wide world.”
“He did?” she questions, her smile resurfacing.
“Yes, he did. Are you gonna show me how good you take it?”
She nods and reaches for my hand, leading me toward the kitchen. My own fear blisters along my skin as she hops up onto the kitchen table and snaps open the top two buttons of her blouse, exposing a small portion of her chest just below her collarbone.
Casey points at a paper-thin scar on her chest, the delicate skin slightly raised as though a small stack of quarters is beneath it. “This is called a port. There’s tubes under here that helps the medicine go into my body. The doctor said this was the best thing so I don’t always have to get stuck with needles in my arms.”
I drop into a chair next to her, completely disturbed that she knows any of this. My pulse ping-pongs as Ryder pulls a medical kit from the cabinet, sets it on the table, and opens it, a calming smile on his face with each movement he makes.
“That’s a tropical antisep—” Casey’s nose scrunches in confusion. “How do I say that, Ry?”
Ryder grins, popping a soft kiss onto her forehead. “Topical anesthetic.”
Casey tries the word again, failing to pronounce it correctly. She giggles. “Whatever that is, it helps numb my skin so when Ryder puts the needle in my chest, it doesn’t hurt as much.”
As much . . .
My breath snags. Her statement—the bravery in her tone—seeps dawning through my gut.
Though death stared me in the face when I was Casey’s age, it wasn’t aimed at me. I spent my days alone while my parents slept, and my nights as equally alone and scared while they ran around town doing whatever they had to do to get their next fix. Concerned neighbors eventually called the authorities. I think the day they died was the morning they were supposed to go to court to prove they were fit enough to take care of me, because it was the first time I’d seen my father in a suit and tie.
I remember staring at him, not sure who he was. His hair wasn’t a mess, and his eyes didn’t look tired. I remember smiling at him. He smiled back and walked into his bedroom. For a minute I felt calm, like maybe things were about to change for the better. That they were about to change. I swallow, knowing I couldn’t have been more wrong. He came out of the bedroom, his eyes soulless, empty, and cold. He shook when he told me he loved me. It was then I felt confused. He’d never once said those words to me. Come to think about it, neither did my mother.
Ever.
Numbness rolls through me as I think of our final moments together. The exact moment my father told my mother he was sorry for fucking all of us up. The exact moment he cried, telling her he’d love her forever. The exact second the first bullet rang through the air, followed by the bloodcurdling sound of my mother gasping for a full breath as she looked at me one last time. I saw the demented hollowness in my father’s eyes before he shoved the gun into his mouth, blowing his brain straight out the back of his head. In the middle of our living room, where I used to watch cartoons before school, my father’s six-foot-two, husky frame landed on top of my mother’s tiny body, crushing it.
A thud . . .
My screams . . .
And then nothing . . . nothing but deafening silence.
The memory splinters my soul, but before I know it, it’s gone. The splash of running water snaps me back into the present, my past evaporating into the casket of my heart.
“What are you, Casey?” Ryder asks over his shoulder as he scrubs his hands with antibacterial soap.
“Your little cancer warrior,” she answers with a small smile.
“That’s right.” He dries his hands and turns, a proud grin cracking his mouth. “The bravest one ever.”
I grab Casey’s hand and hold it tight, knowing nothing I’ve ever seen, heard, or felt compares to what she’s facing. This child’s living with a fear I can’t comprehend. One that’d slay all of my fears put together.
“Ready?” Ryder asks, his tone soft and caring, everything it should be.
Casey nods, clenching my hand. My heart swells, anxiety building thick in my throat as Ryder slips on a pair of medical gloves and cleans the area around her port with Betadine swabs.
Casey looks at me, the cool blue of her eyes misting over. “Are you scared of needles?”
“No,” I say, running my free hand along the back of her neck. “Are you?”
“I used to be.” She sighs, a single tear slipping down her face. “But not so much anymore.”
It takes everything in me not to drag her little body off the table and run out of the apartment with her. I wipe the tear from her cheek, my need to hide her away, sheltering her from the sinister storm she’s in the middle of, growing with each unsteady breath.
“A little cold,” Ryder warns before spraying the anesthetic on her skin.
“Hurry, Ry,” Casey pleads, her voice weak yet panicked. “It doesn’t last that long.”
“I have to make sure you’re numb, Case.” Ryder ducks his head and stares into her eyes, trying to keep her focused on the silly faces he’s making. His tactic works.
Casey’s tiny giggles bounce around the kitchen, their musical notes blocking out the sound of Ryder popping the cap off a weird- looking needle. With a small, clear tube like a tail—and plastic wings stretched out on either side—it reminds me of a dragonfly. Ryder presses his gloved finger against Casey’s port a few times, his attention honed in on her face as he says, “Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?” Casey smiles at me, completely unaware that Ryder’s pricked her skin with the needle.
“Aardvark.” Ryder pushes the medicine through the syringe, his attention cutting between Casey’s face and the needle.
“Aardvark who?” she manages, a thin sheen of sweat dotting her upper lip.
“Aardvark a hundred miles for one of your pretty smiles.” Ryder pulls the needle from her chest, and before she can blink, he rests his lips against her forehead, kissing away her remaining fear.
Close to immobile, my heart tugs, the magnitude of what this man means to this little girl—what they mean to each other—scraping tears up my dry throat. I swallow the sound before it can leave me, warmth pinching my stomach into a beautiful knot as I observe them.
“It’s over?” Casey asks, uncertainty flashing in her eyes.
“Yeah, kiddo. It’s over,” Ryder answers, his voice heavy with relief as he applies a small piece of gauze over her port. “You’re all set, warrior. Go get cleaned up, and we’ll get ready to leave.”
With Ryder’s aid, Casey slides off the table and heads for the bathroom, the bounce in her step less tangible as she slips around the corner. Quiet reigns, the events from the last few minutes whispering across my mind as Ryder looks at me with exhausted eyes. Stress lines cut across his forehead, wariness drowning his beautiful features. Overcome, I watch him swipe a tired hand over his face and turn, resting his palms against the counter. As though having no control over my body—a magnet pulling in my gut—I stand and move toward him, each tentative step I take carried out with shallow, quick breaths. I come up behind him, lift a shaky hand and tap his shoulder, my pulse lurching as he turns and meets my gaze. Our connection strikes, a bolt of emotions paralyzing us as we stare at each other.
I touch my fingers to his stubbled cheek, my conscience crying out that my actions are wrong, so very wrong, but my heart mutes the warning as I move my palm to the back of his neck.
His muscles go taut, restra
int lighting the fiery blue of his eyes. “Amber, don’t.” The words come out not as a rough warning but a soft plea. “Don’t do this.”
“I have to,” I whisper, trembling. “You’re . . . amazing, Ryder. What you did for her, everything you do for her . . . I just . . .” I drop my eyes to his chest, my heart galloping as I register his hands gripping my waist. Their heat sears through me, a thrill jumping from cell to cell. “You’re tender, cocky, gentle, and an asshole all at the same time. You’re kind, giving, nurturing. You’re . . . everything.”
My lips find his, testing, teasing, barely touching. Our breathing comes faster, harder as I pull him down, our foreheads pressed together as we stare into each other’s eyes. “Please . . . I just . . . Just once more. That’s all I need.”
I think . . . hope.
With hunger demolishing all traces of restraint from his gaze, Ryder buries his hands in my wavy curls and looks at me a beat before capturing my lips in a slow, passionate kiss. I sigh into his mouth, my senses drowning in his familiar flavor as I fall in step with his calculated strokes. On a deep groan, he draws me closer, his tongue dipping in and out, out and in. Still, nothing about his touch is rough, yet everything in it screams that he needs me in this moment.
In this wicked space and time of his life.
Every lick and nip is a soft caress, like he’s trying to burn the sensation of my lips into his memory. My pulse hammers in staccato mode as I melt the full weight of my body into his. With my blood swimming through my veins, and sinking further into everything that is Ryder, I feel the emptiness of his soul slice through me. A dull ache pinches my heart, spreading its misery through my muscles as he cups my cheeks and deepens the kiss with a gentleness I never knew he possessed. My breath catches, wiped from my lungs as he glides his lips along my jaw, down the base of my throat. The cadence of his exotic growl slips through my ears, dizzying my head in the sweetest way.
“Christ, I fucking want you so bad,” Ryder whispers hoarsely. He drags his lips back to mine, his kiss urgent, greedy. However, he brings it down a notch, his movements revisiting slow, sensual, worshipping this moment for everything it is. Worshipping me for all I am. “So badly, peach. More than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone. You drive me crazy. Your smell, skin, eyes.” He sucks my lip between his teeth, a groan punching from his chest as he runs his fingertips along my bare arms.
Goose bumps pop, deliciously pricking my skin as I tighten my grip in his hair.
“Your little giggles, pouts, personality. Every single fucked-up scar you own in and out. All of it. All of you.” He licks into my mouth, his tongue exploring mine with precision as his hands find my nape, their hold possessive. “Fuck. It should’ve been me. Not him. Me.”
And just like that, our moral compasses spring due north, Brock the center of its attention—our attention. We slowly break the kiss, our breathing choppy from the loss.
Gaze locked on Ryder’s, I shake my head as I fight back tears. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” I whisper nervously, shame, remorse, regret, and embarrassment sinking their razor-sharp fangs into my heart. I step back, but Ryder snags my elbow, gently pulling me into his chest. “No, Ryder.”
“Don’t ‘no’ me, Amber,” he says, his soft voice bordering disciplinary as he sweeps a wayward piece of hair away from my cheek.
I stare into his eyes, their light blue intensity shocking my system, disrupting every mortified thought.
“No one’s guiltier than the other here. We got caught up in everything. That’s it. Don’t get all fucked up on me.” A lazy grin surfaces on his lips as he moves another piece of hair off my shoulder. “You’re already fucked up enough. I know my kiss has those panties needing a thorough washin’, but I don’t need your last bit of sanity hanging on my conscience. It was the moment—that’s all. You hear me?”
“Ryder,” Casey croaks from behind us.
We both spin, the hairs on my neck awakening with fear that she might’ve witnessed what happened between us.
Ryder’s face sparks with anxiety, but he masks it with a cool smile. “You ready, kiddo?” He crouches down next to her, touching his knuckles to her temple. “I just need to grab my keys, okay?”
She shakes her head, a frown dragging across her lips. “No. I don’t feel good anymore. My tummy hurts, and I’m getting tired.” She tangles her arms around his neck, resting her pale cheek against his shoulder. “I threw up in the bathroom. Can we just go tomorrow, please?”
I push my hands through my hair, my stomach bottoming out. While I was seducing her brother into kissing me, she was in the bathroom, puking. On nervous legs I move across the kitchen and kneel next to her, seconds away from losing my own lunch. Inwardly praying for her forgiveness, I place my hand on her back. She gives me a weak smile, her dusty blue eyes glassing over with unchecked tears.
“Yeah. Of course we can, Case,” Ryder says, his voice grave as he lifts her into his arms. She wraps her tiny legs around his waist, her cheek still cushioned against his shoulder as he carries her down the hallway and into a bedroom. Deafening silence swirls around me as I slump onto the couch and squeeze my eyes shut, every ounce of my being convinced I’m the devil’s spawn.
Seconds?
Minutes?
Hours?
Feeling detached from my body, I’m not sure how much time passes before Ryder emerges from the bedroom, quietly latching the door.
I stumble to my feet, guilt taking root in my stomach. “Is she okay?”
He nods, his face stressed all over again. “Yeah. She’s all right. I should’ve known better than to expect her to go anywhere after her treatment.”
“It’s all my fault,” I blurt, moving toward the front door. “If I didn’t come by—”
“My sister would’ve never gotten to meet you.” He pulls my hand off the knob.
I shake my head, sure I’m the last person she needed to be introduced to. “She wouldn’t have thrown up.”
“She still needed to take her meds,” he counters softly. “Has nothing to do with you.”
“You would’ve been in the bathroom when she got sick, Ryder.”
“Not necessarily.”
My brows knit together. “How so?”
“She gets embarrassed by it, and doesn’t usually call for help. Most days none of us even knows she got sick. Again, nothing to do with you.” He rests his forearm on the doorjamb, and with his mouth pulled into a grin, his gaze dares me to continue. “She seriously likes you, Amber. She talked about you until she fell asleep. Believe it or not, she’s not a very trusting child, so that says a lot.”
“Really?” A small smile forms across my lips.
“Yeah, really. She’s digging you.” He looks at me through his thick, dark lashes, his expression turning soft. “Nothing that’s happened here today’s your fault. None. Of. It.”
I manage to pry my eyes from his. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“That’s quite possible,” he says slowly. “But only because you’re making me feel guilty would I attempt this.”
Bringing my gaze back to his, I fall silent.
He chuckles, the full hearty sound resonating through the room. “You know I’m only kidding, peach. If you didn’t drop by, we still would’ve played Hedbanz, and she would’ve beaten me like she always does. After she kicked my ass, I still would’ve played the coolest-brother-in-the-universe part and taken her to Toys-R-Us.” His attention moves between my lips and eyes.
My body responds the only way it knows how, the only way it has from the second we met. A shudder rolls through me, my skin and thoughts instantly heated.
He clears his throat, his voice a whisper. “I can’t say I would’ve wound up enjoying a kiss from a certain beautiful someone if she didn’t stop by, though. It added . . . flavor to my day. But I’ve already ex
plained to that beautiful someone that the both of us took part in that kiss, so we’re equally guilty. All we can do from this point on is make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
I say nothing as I open the door, and step out into the afternoon sun. The late September heat slides down my skin and attaches to my every pore, disintegrating my breath as I turn, meeting Ryder’s eyes. For a brief moment, I feel what he said can be achieved. As long as we don’t put each other at risk for a slipup, there’s no reason we can’t remain what we are.
Whatever that is, I’m not sure.
However, as I get into my car—heart thundering in my ears and Ryder’s predatory gaze locked on mine—I can’t help but wonder if we’re both delusional. Have we already fallen, toppled over like two defeated chess pieces, into a pit of emotions neither of us can drag ourselves out of?
I drive away not knowing the answer.
CHAPTER 10
Amber
“THE SOUND OF your clock’s annoying,” I say to my therapist. “Really annoying.”
Martin swings his attention to the clock on his desk and jots down the time on his nifty yellow notepad, keeping track of how many dull minutes he has left with me. Each and every “brain picker”—including this one—couldn’t give a shit about my problems. But as long as they’re getting paid, they’ll act like they care for a whopping hour.
Hence the reason I’m in school for psychology. Besides being able to help my screwed-up patients, I swear there won’t be a single fucking clock in my office.
“You’re trying to change the subject, Amber.” Martin’s chocolate-brown eyes assess me. “Are you going to make this a habit every time you come to see me?”
With a jittery knee, I stare over his shoulder at the flower-patterned wallpaper. “Depends on what kind of mood I’m in.”
“Well, in that case, I take that as a yes. That’s what you do every time you’re here.”
I flick my eyes in his direction, hoping the way I’ve narrowed them tells him I’m not impressed. Not even close.