Amber to Ashes

by Gail McHugh

  It could be the Master Morgan clogging my arteries, the wire of nerves rattling my rib cage, or quite possibly my newly appointed, nameless boyfriend’s shot—at what I believe was a lame version of a fuzzy nipple—which slows the motion reels of my brain. Who knows the reason? But at this point, brain slow or not, I’m positive the tension-filled air’s about to thicken, a dense fog of ass-kicking swallowing the oxygen from my lungs as Bibbidi-bobbidi-Bimbo climbs up from her minute-long affair with the ground. The tap from her finger on Ryder’s shoulder momentarily steals his attention from the insanely pissed-off-looking ogre, who’s currently rising like The Empire from his bar stool.

  “Oh, fuck,” a familiar voice croaks.

  Lee!

  Yep, that was Lee, his boyish physique swooping over the bar a millisecond before my nameless friend’s fist leaves a decent-sized dent in the back of Ryder’s skull.

  The next several minutes include my brain really fucking off: spots of bar stools sailing through the air, bone-cracking testosterone-filled grunts, and random gasps from onlookers filling my ears and vision as I’m tossed—mosh-pit-style—against the wall. With my view of the main event clogged by a horde of amped-up college students, I don’t see the rest of the show. Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to, couldn’t bear it. As I completely black out—my brain taking its final, fizzed shit—I know when I wake up that I’ll remember one thing . . .

  Remember nothing, this moment sure to tattoo its wickedness across my heart.

  • • •

  I wake with a start, my senses strumming back to life as soft fingertips trace figure eight patterns across my forehead. I open my eyes and look straight up into Ryder’s, my head resting cozily in his lap as I try to figure out if I’m dead or not. With a hesitant grin, he moves a piece of hair away from my face, his free hand holding an ice pack against his bloodied bottom lip as I realize I’m not dead.

  Nope. I’m in heaven, Ryder my welcoming angel.

  “Where are we?” I ask, liquor dominating my confused thoughts as I press a featherlight palm to my cheekbone. Shooting pain—the kind that makes the heavens burst into star-spangled colors behind your eyes—jerks me back to life. “Ahh, God! And who or what hit me with a brick?”

  “You, my sweet peach, are in the backseat of my car.” Winking a baby blue at me, he tackles my heart to the ground by placing a soft, lingering kiss on my lips. The heavenly copper taste of his blood stains my tongue, my heart pouncing from my chest as I try to pull myself from the euphoric fog his touch has draped me in. “That shit was some of the best . . . straight-up . . . animalistic fucking we’ve ever done.” He pauses, a smirk lifting his mouth. “Tell me it was as good for you as it was me.”

  “I, uh, we,” I stutter, watching him raise a wounded, disapproving brow. “I don’t remem—”

  “Just kidding,” he says flatly as he lifts my head from his lap. He climbs over into the front seat, his voice not so sexually merry as he guns the car to life. “Well, I wasn’t kidding about the backseat part. Hopefully you’re sober enough now to realize you are, indeed, in the backseat of my car.” He shoots me a look from the rearview mirror. “Wanna know where we are? What really fucking happened?”

  “Yes!” I blurt, equally as hurt as he apparently is, but growing pissed off about him withholding information from me. Who does he think he is? A goddamn FBI agent? “Of course I wanna know where we are and what really happened, you asshole!”

  He chuckles, I think. It could’ve been a growl. I’m not sure. Either way, I’d welcome anything at this heated stage. “We’re in the back parking lot of Ram’s Head because you and I got kicked the fuck out after getting into a fistfight. You stole some guy’s drink, he tried to beat the shit out of me after I threatened him about touching you, then you decided the girl sitting on my lap was Hailey. The chick had no idea what was going on when you attacked her.”

  It all comes rushing back to me, less the part where I romped on Hailey.

  Madeline’s pom-pom-driven speech about going after him.

  The desperate escape from my dorm.

  The agonizing pain of seeing Ryder suck face with that bitch.

  I sober some as anger possesses every cell in my body.

  Switching gears, my hand connects with Ryder’s dimpled cheek—whack!—as I climb over into the passenger seat.

  “You asshole!” I hiss, vexed. “I’ve been calling you, texting you, leaving you message after message, and I catch you helping yourself to that whore?”

  Whack!

  “That . . . that, sorry excuse for wasted oxygen?” I cry, growing angrier.

  Whack!

  “You left me hanging to go back to her?”

  “Goddamnit, peach! That girl wasn’t Hailey!” Before I know it, the bastard pulls me over the console and into his lap, my heart whipping out of control as his eyes flare wider. “So help me, Amber, if you try to fucking move or smack me again, I’m gonna—”

  “You’re gonna what?” I lift my chin in defiance as the first half of his statement, the one he revealed before he so eloquently pulled me into his lap, finally hits me.

  Wasn’t Hailey . . .

  Wasn’t Hailey . . .

  Wasn’t Hailey . . .

  I can tell he sees the realization smeared across my face, because a slow grin consumes his. “Are you ready to listen?” he whispers, the tension hardening his shoulders easing some as he presses his lips to the wound, continuing to hammer nails of unforgettable pain into my cheekbone. “Because, if so, I’m ready to talk.”

  Whack!

  My right hand snags the corner of his bloodied lip in an Oscar-worthy smack, the back of my skull pouncing off the driver’s-side window as I squirm out of his hold. I blink, my shock mirroring his, as fear sets in. Reacting like any normal, drunk, underage college freshman would, I catapult to the passenger side, where I swing open the door, landing face-first into a heap of snow as I dive out of the vehicle.

  The sounds of Ryder opening his door, his trunk being popped ajar, and his footsteps crunching toward me have me convinced that my final smack pushed him a little too far. Just a guess, but I’m pretty sure he’s about to tie me up and toss me into his trunk, a double layer of duct tape sealed across my mouth ensuring my screams go unheard as he dumps me into the icy waters of the Chesapeake Bay.

  On that note, I decide getting to my feet is my best form of escape from Ryder’s wrath. As I attempt to stand, alcohol hindering the usually simple act, Ryder’s footsteps become heavier, faster.

  Shit. This is it. Death by love.

  Again, the deadliest disease to the human race.

  Before I can flip onto my back, I’m lifted from the ground and wrapped in a wool blanket that reeks of gasoline and cherry-flavored cigars as Ryder spins me in his direction. I crane my head back, my eyes roving over his beautifully bruised face as he lets out a sigh.

  “Now, why would you go do that?” He cups my cheeks, the warmth of his hands a reprieve to my frozen flesh. A grin flitters across his mouth, his head ticking back and forth in mock disappointment as he adjusts my snow cap. “I had ya pinned for being slightly smarter than what you’ve displayed tonight. Guess I was wrong, eh?”

  “I did it because I needed to get away from you, asshole,” I scoff, my heart shredding into tiny puzzle-sized pieces. “Because I . . . I hate you.”

  “No, you don’t,” he insists through a growl, his hands coming around the small of my back.

  “Yes, I do,” I toss back over a fuck you huff as I try to ignore how good it feels being pressed to his chest again. “Try” being the operative word. I can’t ignore it, my body responding to his touch the same way a child responds to candy. I’m mentally high, euphoria exhausting every excitement-masked breath I take. “I honestly do.”

  “Impossible.” He kisses the crown of my head, pulling me closer. “If that wer
e true, then why’d you come looking for me?”

  “Because I . . . I . . .” I freeze up, the thought of telling him I love him, after witnessing what he did with Hailey’s evil lookalike, after leaving me to gulp back antidepressants like Pfizer was going out of business the last few weeks, sending a chain of icicles up my spine as my confession crystallizes on my tongue.

  “Say it, peach,” he insists again, his voice softer, calmer. Oh God. He’s using that I’m about to fuck you-straight into next year bedroom tone. The tone that had me panting the second I heard it, my panties instantly soaked. The tone that’s whispered beautiful words, devastating stories, and lethal threats into my ears. “I want you to say it.”

  “Say what?” I ask, playing stupid. There’s no way he’s on to me. How could he be? He doesn’t love or need me, his earlier escapade the perfect candidate for that example. If he loved me, tonight would’ve never happened. He wouldn’t have had that chick on his lap, wouldn’t have allowed her to kiss him. Cheek or not, no. That’s not how love works. I think . . . “What the hell do you want me to say, Ryder?”

  “What I know you need to.” If at all possible, he pulls me closer, our bodies a single, beating organ as he dips his head. Nose to nose, his eyes hold mild warning, his breath wafting over my cheeks before he touches his lips to mine, attempting to entice the words from my mouth. “Say it or else I am gonna hurt you.”

  “Hurt me?” I question through a maniacal burst of laughter, losing my shit as I give him an incredulous once-over. I don’t lose it like I did earlier, though. Not in the physical sense, at least. Nope. I lose it worse this time, tears dumping from my eyes as my messy emotions bleed out, pouring in thick, sloppy sheets of confusion onto the snow below us. “You couldn’t hurt me any more than you already have! I saw you with that girl. Watched you all but let her rape you on the bar stool!”

  “And why would seeing that hurt you, Amber?” he snarls, repinning me to his chest, his fingers kneading my hips with nervous urgency as I try to push him away. No luck. His grip around me tightens, his eyes fire-blue as his lips reclaim their position, hovering just above mine in a vengeful tease. “Fucking say it, already! Say it! Why did that bother you?”

  “Because I’m in love with you, goddamnit!” I cry out, relief, panic, and shock all playing a dirty game of cat and mouse with my heart, sending my emotions straight into a meat grinder as Ryder stares at me a beat before crushing his mouth to mine. Without hesitation I fall in step with his hungry kiss, our lips searing the specks of snow dusting them into heated droplets of water as we attack each other. My hands make a boxing bag out of him as I punch my fists against his chest, pissed at what he’s put me through. Still, in the middle of a growing snowstorm, I devour his touch, taste, and scent. “I love you, Ryder ‘King of Assholes’ Ashcroft, and you murdered me! Murdered my love by ignoring me for close to three weeks after you fucked me!”

  He slows the kiss, his whisper hoarse, desperate, as he tucks his face in the crook of my neck. “Say it again, momma. I need to hear you say it again.”

  “That you ripped my world apart, dick?” I moan, my fingers tangled in his hair as he works his mouth down the curve of my collarbone. “You hurt me, bled me dry. How many more metaphors concerning my pain would you like?”

  “No, sweets.” He breaks the kiss, his thumbs skidding across the chunks of mascara sledding down my face as his eyes make contact with mine. “Tell me you love me again.”

  “I love you.” It comes out breathlessly, automatically, no questions as to where it’s born from or where it’ll end up worrying my mind.

  It’s said as though it’s been said a million times before, the confession tingling familiar on my tongue as though the three words know who their rightful keeper is. It’s said with everything I am, with all I have yet to become, my heart aching for our lost past, still—pounding anew with curiosity for what the future holds for us.

  “I love you, Ryder.”

  “Again,” he commands, his gaze locked on mine as he drags his thumbs along my lips. “Say it again, peach.”

  “I love you,” I repeat, trying to keep my voice even despite my racing heart.

  That all goes to shit as his lips seize mine, his arms draping the blanket over our heads, sheltering us from the blowing snow. The kiss starts off slow and tentative, a pang of ache—the deepest form of loss—in each soft stroke of our tongues as we reacquaint ourselves with each other. But it doesn’t take long for the kiss to implode as our bodies reunite, fierce passion lighting us up with every moan and breath. Hands grappling at each other, we fall into what’s defined us from the first look, the first touch: a combustible ball of sexual attraction. My ass hits the hood of his car as he whips the blanket off our heads, splaying it out over the running vehicle behind me.

  Before I know it I’m on my back, Ryder’s hardened body nestled between my legs as I wrap them around his waist. Oh God. He’s going to fuck me right here on the hood of his car and I’m gonna let him. I need him that badly, my heart aching to feel him inside me.

  “I’m so in love with you, Amber Moretti,” he says against my skin, his sincerity causing me to shudder. A swell of hope crashes over me as he cradles the back of my head, bringing my face to his. “So fucking in love with you, I don’t think you’ll ever understand it.” A deep kiss, his lips nourishment to my starving soul as he slides his hand up under my T-shirt, exposing my breast. A flick of his tongue against my nipple and I’m drowning, lost to his pleasure, my back bowed, arching into him as the heat coming from the running vehicle beneath me, and Ryder’s heat from above, surround me, keeping me warm. “I thought I was dying the last few weeks,” he snarls, his mouth revisiting mine in a ravenous kiss filled with greed and, almost imperceptibly, hostility. “Not seeing your beautiful face, not hearing your sweet voice. Christ. I wasn’t gonna be able to hold off another day without breaking, without coming to get you. I tried to drink you away, snort you away, and sleep you away, but none of it worked.” Another kiss, this one softening its angry rhythm, but still potent, destructive to my heart as he whispers, “I was losing it without you near me, momma. You’re stuck in my head like a memory, everything about you making up every stained, dark piece of who I am. Again, you’re . . . mine.”

  “Wait a second.” I rear up, confusion riffling through my brain as I push a willpower-forced hand against his chest. “You tried to drink me away, snort me away, and sleep me away, but you never called me, didn’t answer a fucking text?” Pissed as hell, I gather myself and head into the middle of the street to hail a cab, ignoring Ryder’s pleas for me to stop.

  He snags me by my elbow, but I cut him off, my hand darting up to smack his beautiful face for the very last time. Whack! “You claim to love me, swear I make up every piece of who you are, but you—for reasons I better know within the next ten seconds, or else I’m aiming for your football this time—decided, out of nowhere, to just up and clear yourself from my life? I’m not a chalkboard, Ryder! You can’t just erase your stamp from my skin.” Tears, pure in everything broken within me, scurry down my face, humiliation eating away at my insides as I flag down an approaching cab. “And don’t even get me started on the girls? What number did Hailey’s twin make for you? Five, ten, a hundred?!”

  “Zero!” he bellows, curling an ironclad arm around the small of my back. Pressed chest to chest, our hearts thumping in furious unison, his words drop from his mouth like an atom bomb. “Yes, I picked up girls! Picked up tons of them! Hell, I brought every single one of them back to my place, dead set on fucking the living shit outta them! But I never went through with any of it! Couldn’t because how much I love and need you in my life, Amber!” Turning from Hyde straight into Jekyll, his eyes soften with an apology, his voice dimming to a whisper as the same sincerity from earlier oils his tone. “Like it or not, you own every mangled piece of this pussy-whipped maniac, peach.” He touches his lips to mine, soft, teas
ing, as he brings my hand to his chest, splaying it across his heart. “I can’t blink, eat, sleep, or breathe without thinking of you, without thinking of us and what we were meant to be from the start.”

  My breath evaporates into a chilled puff of smoke as I temper down, trying with everything in me to weed through the confusion continuing to layer my skin. “Then why run away from me, Ryder?” I whisper, hoping to understand his reasoning. “I’m lost. Why . . . hurt me the way you have?”

  “It’s hard to explain,” he mumbles, waving the cabbie away as his vehicle all but crashes into the curb.

  “Enlighten me.” I whip around, shaking my head at, none other than the terrorist driver from earlier. “No, you stay! I don’t know if I’m going home with this one yet.”

  Bin Laden smirks and mirrors the patriotic, departing salute I’d left him with a few hours ago, a chuckle blaring from his mouth as he speeds off down the road.

  Ryder’s attention hones in on the cab’s fading lights as it disappears around the corner. “What the hell was that about?”

  “Don’t worry.” I grab hold of his jaw, my eyes narrowed as I direct his attention back to me. “I don’t care how hard it is to explain. Explain everything to me . . . now.”

  “Brock,” he rumbles through gritted teeth, his jaw hardened. Shoulders squared slabs of concrete, he starts for his car, leaving me alone, beyond confused, and pissed off in the middle of the street. “Fuuuuck!” He swings his fists through the air, curse after curse tumbling from his mouth as he picks up an empty bottle of champagne from the ground, rocketing it against the exterior brick wall of the pub. The thing explodes into dust, tiny green particles glittering like diamonds in the wind as it mixes with the slowing beads of snow.

  I jump, his sudden anger flashing across my chilled bones. Scared but growing angrier, I follow after him, determined to find out what the hell’s going on. None of this makes any sense. Brock—though not as amped by the idea as he was when he first brought it up—said he’s cool with the three of us giving it another go. As I jerk open the passenger-side door—Ryder’s eyes capturing mine the second I slip into the seat—nothing can prepare me for what he says.