by R. K. Ryals
Roman’s head re-entered the truck, his bleak gaze meeting mine.
I leaned forward so he could see the intent in my eyes. “I need you just as much as you need me, brother. You don’t have to do this alone. I do love you.”
We Braydens didn’t express affection. We just didn’t.
Roman’s eyes were suspiciously wet as he clutched his stomach.
“I’ll stay,” he said finally. “I’ll stay, and I’ll try.”
I sat back, a sigh escaping my lips.
Roman groaned. “Can we get out of the truck now?”
I chuckled, putting the truck in reverse before driving it back to the front of the cabin. I parked, pulling the keys out.
“You’ll try?” I asked, my eyes sliding to Roman.
He nodded, his gaze on the river below. It was too dark now to see it, but he stared at it anyway.
I climbed out, rounding the truck before opening his door, ignoring the streaks of vomit that clung to the outside of the vehicle.
“I don’t need help,” Roman insisted.
He climbed down and immediately stumbled.
I pulled his arm over my bare shoulder. “Maybe not, but I’m giving it anyway.”
We trudged into the cabin. The living area was dark now, one lamp left on, the glow highlighting a figure on the couch, her sandy hair pulled up on her head. The steady inhale and exhale of breath was a sure sign Haven was sleeping.
I deposited my brother on a bar stool next to the kitchen island and opened the fridge.
“I can’t eat,” Roman protested.
There were two tin foil wrapped sandwiches just inside the door, and I took them out, my gaze sliding to Haven’s prone figure. She seemed used to taking care of people. I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had ever taken care of her.
“You need to try,” I insisted, handing him the ham and cheese with mayo before digging a Gatorade out of the cooler. “If nothing else, take a few bites and drink something. You’re going to end up dehydrated.”
Roman took the blue drink I handed him, taking several large gulps before clutching his stomach.
“Take it slower. It’s not a race,” I admonished.
Roman threw me a look. “I just want a shower.”
He took a few bites of his sandwich and a few more swallows of Gatorade to humor me. I had no doubt he’d lose it as soon as he got in the bathroom. I wanted to make this better for him, and I couldn’t.
“There might be some Dramamine in my bag,” I offered.
Roman shook his head. “Just a shower,” he repeated.
He climbed off the bar stool and moved to the bedroom he’d used earlier, pausing just long enough to glance over his shoulder. “I will try,” he said.
It would have made me feel better if he’d said “I will stop,” but I had to be happy with try. I nodded, and he disappeared into the room.
I polished off my sandwich, cleaning up my mess before moving into the slate bedroom. Stripping my blue jeans off, I entered the bathroom and turned on the shower. There was the faint scent of apples. My lips curved when my gaze found a small bottle of Suave apple-scented shampoo. Haven.
The shower I took was too short, but I was tired, and I pulled on a pair of plain grey sweat pants with only one objective in mind.
Haven barely moved when I lifted her from the sofa, her damp hair brushing my shoulder as her head rolled into my chest. It put her mouth too close to my nipple, and I shivered with the desire it caused as I carried her into the bedroom, gently laying her on the bed before pulling the comforter over her small frame.
Despite my family’s wealth, I didn’t always need the best of everything. The sofa would be just as comfortable as the bed.
I had just reached the door when the bedside lamp clicked on, her voice stopping me.
“Your feet are going to hang off the end of that couch.”
I grinned, my back to her. “My feet hang off a lot of things.”
She sighed. “I really would prefer it if you took the bed.”
I threw her a look over my shoulder. “Are you offering to share?”
A faint blush crept up her neck, her gaze falling to my chest before moving back to my eyes.
Shifting, I gestured at the room beyond. “It’ll be fine, I promise. The sofa converts into a bed.”
She threw back the comforter and pulled her legs over the side of the bed. “Let me take it then. It can’t be a large bed.”
I glared at her. “Can you let a man be chivalrous?”
She froze. “Is there such a thing?” she asked.
The grin came unbidden, my gaze going from her legs to her face. “You’re a funny one, you know that?”
She frowned. “That didn’t sound like a compliment.”
I stepped toward her. “You have a way of making people relate to you.”
She snorted. “I doubt that.”
I was in front of her now, my face peering down into hers. “Really, you do. A few hours of knowing you feels like days.”
“Sounds tiresome,” she teased.
“It’s a gift,” I countered.
There were sudden lines in her forehead, a troubled look in her eye. “Some might call it a curse,” she murmured. “By the end of this trip, you’ll want me gone.”
It was my turn to frown, my gaze studying her face. She had green eyes so dark they could be mistaken for brown and lashes so long they almost touched her brows. True, she was more willowy than curvy, but she was beautiful in an understated, elegant kind of way. The faint freckles on the bridge of her nose drove me crazy.
“Why do you think that?” I asked.
There was something stark and open about her eyes when she answered, “Because I am better at being abandoned than I am at keeping people.”
Chapter 15
Haven
The words came unbidden, slipping from my mouth before I’d even realized what I’d said, my sleep-fogged brain waking up in horror.
Blinking, I looked away. “I didn’t mean that.”
River didn’t say anything for a long moment, our breathing the only sound in the room. Inhale … exhale. Inhale … exhale.
He shifted, the muscles in his arms bunching as he lifted them. The possibility of River touching me made me tense, and his hands fell again.
He cleared his throat. “You have a lot of experience with abandonment?”
It was the wrong question for him to ask.
I backed away. “I didn’t mean that,” I repeated.
The back of my legs hit the bed, and I froze. I didn’t like the way River looked at me now. I wasn’t sure if it was pity or something more complicated, and I hated myself for finding him attractive. Roman’s words from earlier kept haunting me, his yelled accusations about River, about how he’d run away. It hadn’t taken much to put two and two together. We came from a small town. Everyone knew about the Brayden murder a year ago, and Poppy had refreshed my memory with the article at work. River had run away from his family out of grief. I didn’t need to find myself attracted to someone who found running an easy out. My dad had been a runner, and yet River had done something I knew my father would never do. He came back.
“You meant it,” River said, his words low, deep.
My gaze slid to his, watching as his brown eyes searched mine. “I shouldn’t have said it.”
“But you did,” he responded.
I snorted. “You’re not being chivalrous anymore. Chivalrous men would let it go.”
One corner of his lips lifted, the smirk both challenging and dangerous. “I never said I liked being chivalrous. Manners are bred into me, but it doesn’t keep me from being curious.” He took a step toward me, his eyes narrowing. “There’s something about you …”
His words trailed off, and my hand went to the quilt on the bed as I stumbled back. “There’s nothing,” I insisted.
His grin widened. “I make you uncomfortable.”
Scoffing, I crossed my arms. “The hell you
do.”
There was something predatory about his gaze now, a glinting look in his eyes I suspected drew more than a few women to his bed. I wasn’t that innocent. I knew that look.
“Sometimes it helps to forget things.” He was in front of me again, his hand coming up to my face, pausing before sliding against my cheek, moving with infuriating slowness to my neck before tangling in my hair. The rubber band I was using to keep it up snapped, my hair falling like a wavy, apple-scented curtain around his fist.
I swallowed hard. “I don’t like to forget things.”
His face was so close now, I could smell the minty scent of his toothpaste, could see a small scar on his forehead, and a small bump in his nose as if it had been broken before but didn’t heal perfectly. It seemed he and Roman had a thing for broken noses.
“Why?” he asked me. “Is it because you like to hold grudges?”
I had a hard time remembering what we were talking about. Something about how it helped to forget things and how I didn’t like to forget them. His fingers tightened on the back of my head, turning my face up so that his lips were just above mine. I almost pulled away. I didn’t kiss strangers. Everyone I’d ever had a relationship with had been a friend first, someone I felt I could trust to some extent before I kissed them. I wasn’t sure I could trust River. There was something dangerous and terrifying about that. It didn’t help that he was a blue blood, that he was someone entirely inappropriate.
“No,” I whispered. “I don’t like to forget things because I don’t like to repeat mistakes. I don’t like feeling out of control.”
His breath was on my face, on my lips, and I shivered.
His gaze dropped to my mouth. “Because being out of control means letting someone else run your life? I’ve got enough experience with that for both of us.”
And just like that I wanted to kiss him. Not because he looked hungry, desperate for something to take away his tension, but because he looked like he was out of control and I had plenty of experience with control. We both had something the other needed, whether we knew each other or not. He’d lived a life under someone else’s control. I had lived mine needing control for survival.
When my fingers touched his face, his eyes widened, as if he was shocked I’d take any sort of initiative, but then the look in them changed, grew heavy with something I had little experience with. Desire.
The pressure of his lips on mine when it came was shocking, electric. I’d kissed boys before, had even lost my virginity at sixteen in an awkward moment with a friend of mine I’d dated for two years, but there was something different about this.
One of River’s hands pressed against the back of my head, his other sliding down to my back, his fingers playing with the hem of my shirt before resting on my hip.
His lips tangled with mine, his tongue seeking entry into my mouth. I gave it to him, the warm feel of him overwhelming as I clung to his shoulders, my palms sliding to his arms. The muscles there were tense and hot, full of restraint despite the urgency in his kiss. I could feel the slight swell in his skin where Roman had head butted him, but it didn’t seem to be bothering him. His passion burned me, causing my toes to tingle and my skin to catch fire.
River pulled my hips into his, and I gasped at the contact, at the hard feel of him against me. My fingers dug into his skin, my hips pressing against his in a silent battle we both seemed to be fighting, a desire to be close without crossing the lines. His palm slid down to my buttock, deepening the contact, and I whimpered without meaning to, the sound becoming an invitation I felt too willing to give.
When his palm slid to the back of my leg, lifting it so that he could settle against me, I didn’t fight it, I welcomed him. His mouth had slipped from my lips, his tongue pressing against a sensitive spot just below my ear. As he pushed against me, his sweat pants tight where they pressed my middle, his lips returned to mine, tangling with them in a frenzied dance that matched our hips.
Pressure built within me, and I heard his moan as we stumbled against the bed, his hand catching us, his fingers splayed on the comforter. My leg climbed higher on his back.
“Haven,” he whispered against my lips.
There was no doubt there was something he wanted to say, but a loud bang interrupted him, the sound of a door slamming loud in the quiet cabin.
River and I froze, our breathing hard as he held me above the bed, one of my legs wrapped around him, our eyes locked.
There was cursing beyond the bedroom door, the sound of Roman’s voice obvious as he stumbled in the dark. There was dry retching and more curses.
River’s eyes closed, his forehead crinkling with helpless pain.
“I should go,” River whispered, but he didn’t move, his body still resting against mine, his breathing slowing despite his racing heart. My shirt had ridden up, the fabric bunched just below my breasts, and I could feel the skin of his abdomen burning against my stomach.
My gaze searched his. “He needs you,” I whispered back.
He nodded as I let my leg drop, using one of my hands to brace myself against the bed.
River backed away, pulling my shirt down gently. “Look—” he began.
I shook my head, my gaze going to the door, my cheeks burning.
“You go do what you have to do. He’s in a lot of pain,” I interrupted.
River moved to the door, the lost contact making me shiver from the sudden cold. There was certainly nothing wrong with the air conditioner in this cabin.
Pausing at the entry, River glanced over his shoulder, his forehead creased. “Who are you?” he asked.
I didn’t understand the question, so I just stared at him.
He shook himself and moved out of the room. There was murmuring beyond the door as River called out to Roman and got a weak reply.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, I pressed my fist into the pit of my stomach. I wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, what had compelled me to let him kiss me. All I could see was the look in his eyes, the one that screamed words he probably didn’t know were there, a gaze that begged for shelter. Mom had once told me she’d named me Haven for two reasons. The first because it had sounded romantic when she’d read it in a book, the second because having me in her life had rescued her, had given her a reason to live for something, had given her a reason to keep fighting for better things. I was her haven.
For a moment, I could swear I’d seen a similar look in River’s eyes when he looked at me.
Chapter 16
River
I took the image of Haven’s face with me into the living room; the way the lamp’s glow had highlighted her sun bleached hair and light freckles, the way her eyes had watched me, wide and confident. There was something tragic but welcoming about her gaze. It felt safe and chaotic all at the same time.
Rubbing the back of my neck, I approached Roman carefully. He was stooped, his hand on the kitchen counter, the muscles in his arms bunched where he gripped the marble.
“You okay?” I asked.
The sudden question in the silence made Roman jump, and he glared at me from under his arm, the sweat on his brow obvious. He’d changed into a red sleeveless tee, the tattoos on his upper arm barely noticeable in the low light given off by a utility bulb just above the stove. Those tattoos had been a source of many arguments between Dad and Roman a few years back. Most of them were self-inflicted.
“I’m fine,” Roman answered.
Moving around him, I pointed at the couch.
“It might help to lie down,” I suggested, remembering Haven’s words from earlier.
Roman shrugged. “I’m afraid to.” His gaze met mine. “I’m afraid if I lay down, I won’t be able to get back up.”
Taking his arm, I fought him when he tried to pull away, bracing my shoulder beneath his armpit before leading him to the couch.
“I’ll stay with you,” I said.
Roman winced. “I’m not a two-year-old, River.” He sat, his eyes searching the r
oom before narrowing. “You weren’t in here before when I came out.”
I avoided his gaze.
Roman’s eyes widened. “Were you screwing the waitress? Already!”
Anger welled up inside my chest, but I bit it back. “I wasn’t screwing anyone.”
Roman laughed, the sound harsh. “You were with her!”
A hint of accusation marred his tone, but I shook it off. Haven’s tragic eyes still haunted me. I’d never kissed someone and walked away from it feeling empty, as if I needed more of her to feel full.
“Three days, Roman. We have just three days. There’s got to be a way we can make it through without bashing each other.”
The shock on Roman’s face was evident. “You had sex with her! My blue blooded brother stooping to that level? A one night stand with a waitress. The same brother who’s lectured me on countless occasions for sleeping with someone beneath me?”
It was my turn to wince. “I didn’t sleep with her.”
Roman watched my face. “Oh, but you came close.”
I was truly angry now, and I could tell by the way Roman pressed himself into the couch cushions he knew it.
“I brought you here to help you,” I said, my voice cold.
Roman fisted his hand against his stomach. There was no doubt he didn’t feel well. Even his eyes were weak, but there was fight in Roman. A lot of fight.
“You brought me here to help me only to hurt yourself in the process?” Roman asked.
“She’s just a girl,” I answered irritably.
Roman lifted a brow. “Somehow I doubt that.” A distressed look passed over his face, and he leaned forward, gagging hard even though nothing came up.
I sat at the end of the couch, lifting a hand toward Roman as he rocked back and forth, but dropping it when he threw me a glare.
“You still have nightmares?” Roman asked.
I sighed. “Nightly. I don’t sleep much.”
He curled into the fetal position on the couch, and I sat at the end, watching him. The fact that he laid down in front of me was proof of his pain. Braydens were never weak, even around each other.
“The pills kept the dreams away,” Roman admitted.