F*ck Club: Riley

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F*ck Club: Riley Page 6

by Shiloh Walker


  Riley almost wished he’d let the boy whale on him a few more times. Bree caught him around the waist and Toby windmilled his arms, shouting, “Let me go! I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him!”

  His casted arm caught her in the face and she cried out.

  “That’s enough!” Riley shouted, his voice booming around the room.

  Both mother and child cringed.

  Toby rebounded fast, though.

  Tough little sucker, Riley couldn’t help but think.

  “That’s enough,” he said again, calmer.

  “You gonna hit me now?” Toby demanded, sounding far older than his five years.

  “No. I’m going to get your mama something to clean up the blood from her face.”

  Toby froze, looking stricken.

  Bree gave Riley a look designed to cut him off at the knees. He just stared her down and eventually, her gaze fell away.

  Con had already moved to get her something for her bleeding nose and she accepted it, holding it to stem the flow, head tilted back in a practiced move.

  It sickened Riley, made him realize she knew too much about that sort of thing. He wanted to hurt something, batter it into a pulp. But the only worthy target wasn’t even close by.

  He started toward Bree and Toby cut him off. “I won’t let you hurt her.”

  “I would cut off my arm first.” Then he slanted a look at her. “You smacked her in the face with the cast, buddy. You need to calm down.”

  Toby glared at him, still shaking.

  Brianna was pale. “I’m fine, Riley. I’m fine.”

  As the adrenaline crash started to kick in, Toby reached out to grab at his arm. He’d hurt himself, the stubborn little guy.

  Sighing, Riley dragged a hand down his face.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Like you care.”

  Again, an attitude that surpassed his age, but Riley could only imagine the shit this boy had faced. Deciding he was done with the attitude—and all this crap—he moved a few feet closer and bent down, putting his eyes on level with the kid’s. “Listen up. I wasn’t hurting your mama. I never would. Now you went and hurt her and yourself. I’m asking you, man to man, if you’re okay.”

  Toby didn’t seem to know how to take that and he looked away, jerking the shoulder of his uninjured arm in a shrug.

  Bree stepped forward then and took Toby’s hand. “I should…” Her words trailed off and she pressed her lips together until they all but disappeared. In the end, all she did was shake her head before guiding Toby off into the room where they were staying.

  He was hurting, though. Riley could see it.

  “Damn,” Con breathed out as the door shut.

  “Tell me.” Riley clenched a hand into a fist and turned away.

  The brothers stared at each other and Riley thought of a hundred things he could say, but it all would have been wasted because everything he was thinking, he could see echoed in Con’s eyes.

  Without either of them speaking a word, they set about cleaning up the small disaster Toby had caused—the flowers that had spilled from the wine bottle, the blood that had splattered from Bree’s nose.

  By the time they had finished, there were unhappy noises coming from behind Riley’s bedroom door—the room he’d turned over to Bree and Toby. Riley tried not to focus too hard on the tears he heard or Toby’s argumentative outbursts and he squashed down his thoughts about what his father would have done if he’d heard him talking to his mother that way. Toby and Bree were living an entirely different situation than what Riley had lived with his parents.

  He tried not to think about the strain and anger he heard in Bree’s voice, or the exhaustion.

  Finally, she got him to take some of the medicine the hospital had prescribed him for pain. He hadn’t really needed it since he’d left, but then again, he hadn’t gone and smacked his broken arm into something, or somebody, either.

  “Maybe I should go,” Con said, his voice low.

  Riley just nodded, his gaze on the bedroom door.

  It stayed shut.

  Con left and after his brother was gone, after his footsteps had faded, Riley settled down at the table with a cold beer and determination.

  But the bedroom door stayed shut.

  Thirty minutes passed.

  Sixty.

  Finally, after more than an hour, Bree slid out. She caught sight of him and went still.

  A weak smile curled her lips and he knew she was trying to figure out a good excuse to duck back into the bedroom.

  He nodded at the chair on the other side of the table. “Why don’t you sit? You look exhausted.”

  She blew out a breath. “I am.” Smoothing her hands down her jeans, she glanced back over her shoulder toward the bedroom door, and then finally she came over and sat down, her face wan, her eyes dark with shadows. “Toby fell asleep. The medicine…it knocks him out.”

  Riley nodded and lifted up his beer. “Want one?”

  She licked her lips, hesitation flickering on her features. “I don’t know. Don used to…”

  “You’re not Don. I’m not Don.” He didn’t let his hand tighten around the bottle, mainly because he was afraid if he did, he might throw the fucking thing.

  “I know. I just… Hell, you know what? Yes. I want a damn beer.”

  He got up, got her one, and another for himself, out of the fridge. After taking care of the bottle caps, he took one to her, then sat back down with his own and studied her. “How is Toby’s arm?”

  “He’s just sore, I think. I called his doctor. He…um…well, they told me what to watch for. If it bothers him, I need to call back.” Her cheeks flushed. “I am so sorry for what he did.”

  “You don’t need to apologize.” Riley picked up his bottle and took another drink. “He was upset, didn’t know what to think. I take it you explained things to him?”

  “I…well, I told him that I wasn’t hurt.”

  Silence stretched out taut and heavy. Riley clicked his tongue and lifted his bottle up once more. His mouth was terribly, horribly dry and his throat was tight. “Here’s the thing. You’ve probably told him that a dozen times, Bree. What’s going to make him believe this is any different?”

  She didn’t have any answer for him.

  He watched as she grabbed her bottle, fumbling it up to her lips and draining half of it before lowering it back to the table. She got up and paced a few feet away, looking out the window over the busy terrace that held a lot of the evening crowd from B&B. “I think maybe Toby and I should find somewhere else to stay. He needs someplace where he’ll feel secure, where he knows he’s my only focus.”

  Riley locked his gaze on the bottle, biting back the instinctive response that leaped to his lips. He’d known that was coming. He knew Bree, knew how her mind worked, even if he didn’t fully understand it.

  So he’d known her thoughts would turn to that and he’d spent much of the past hour thinking about it and he’d already figured out how to handle it.

  “I think maybe you shouldn’t do that, Bree.” He kicked back in his chair, striving for the most relaxed position he could, hoping she’d never figure out that what he wanted to do was barricade the door and keep her from leaving him—ever.

  She shook her head, only barely acknowledging him.

  “He’s angry, Ry. He doesn’t trust you. I need him to know—”

  “Of course he’s angry,” Riley said, interrupting. “Why shouldn’t he be?”

  In a huff, she turned around, glaring at him.

  Before she could say anything, he continued. “And no, he doesn’t trust me. He only sees me once in a blue moon and if you take him out of here now, he’s not going to trust me. That’s a crap move, Bree. He needs to know he can trust people—men.”

  At that, her eyes narrowed.

  “Are you telling me how you think I should care for my child?” she asked softly. “How I should raise my boy?”

  Oh, pissed you off there, didn’t I?
>
  For some reason, the idea pleased him. Bree hadn’t been angry often enough. She needed to be angry. Angry, instead of scared.

  “I’m telling you what I’d do if you want to raise a man,” Riley said, his voice just as soft.

  “He’s not a man!” Bree took a step forward, color rushing to her cheeks.

  “Not yet. But he’s going to be. And right now, the only examples he’s had of men in his life are the ones who’ve raised their fists to you. How is he going to learn how to be a man if he is never around a man who treats you, and other women, with respect?” He moved closer to her and when she would have pulled away, he caught her arm. He kept his grip loose and if she’d tried to pull away, he would have let her go.

  He’d let her go so many times. It was like holding onto water.

  Precious, life-giving water.

  But she didn’t pull away. “I can teach him how to treat women with respect.”

  Riley reached up and touched her nose. There was a red mark on it from where the rough material of the cast had scraped her nose and the area itself was swollen. He doubted Toby had hit her hard enough to cause a break, but he knew she had to be sore. He kept the contact light and gentle, just a light stroke down the slope of her nose as he said, “Yeah. I think you will—or you’ll try.”

  “That was an accident!” She smacked his hand away.

  “And the way he was talking to you in there?” Riley shook his head. “That’s where it starts, Bree. You didn’t even try to correct him.” When she would have cut him off, he shook his head. “Look, I can’t understand where you’re at, how you feel, but I know what it’s like to be a pissed-off kid. And I know if I’d talked to my mama the way he talked to you? Pissed-off or not, my dad would have put me in my place. That is why I respect people. It was taught to me.”

  She glared at him, eyes big and wet and angry.

  Then, to his surprise, she spun away and shoved her hands through her hair, a harsh, angry scream breaking free. “You think I don’t know that I’m failing him? You think I don’t get it?”

  “You’re not failing him.”

  “I am!” She turned back, striding over to him and grabbing him by the front of the shirt. She shook him, desperation making her voice tremble. “Donnie broke his arm because Toby tried to make him leave me alone! He was standing up for me again! I’m not doing this anymore. I’ve got to be stronger for him.”

  “Brianna…” Riley went to her and cupped her face in his hands.

  “Don’t try to make me feel better about this. You can’t.” She gripped his wrists and shook her head.

  But he didn’t let go.

  “Baby…being strong doesn’t mean you can’t accept help.”

  A broken noise escaped her and she sagged against him. “I…” Her eyes closed. “Riley, I don’t know what to do. I don’t even have a job now.”

  “Stay here. Let him figure out he can trust me. And hell, I can probably help with the job thing. I’m always needing help around here.” He had no idea what he’d have her do, but he could figure out something. Paperwork, maybe. Yeah. He hated all the damn paperwork anyway. And he either needed to get better about payroll or hire it out. She’d gone to school for that sort of thing. Maybe…

  Later, he thought. He’d think it through later.

  “You’re always needing to save me.” She tipped her head back and looked up at him.

  “Then help me out. Let me do what I need to do. Stay here.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Fancy seeing you here.”

  Riley didn’t tense up as Halle Chance came to a stop next to him. He continued to stare down at the woman in the casket, her makeup done to perfection, her porcelain skin soft and smooth. They’d done well. Candi would probably appreciate it.

  She almost looked as if she were sleeping.

  Almost.

  But she was cold.

  He’d already touched her hair and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  He didn’t know exactly why. Not reaching out? Not calling her? Or maybe it was just because that what he’d suspected had finally come to pass—her demons had caught up with her.

  She didn’t deserve to be in this pristine box of gleaming mahogany while a man who’d raped and battered and taken away her sense of self roamed free somewhere.

  Riley would like to remedy that last part, but she’d never told him who it was.

  “You frequently make…calls like this, Mr. Steele?”

  “Detective Chance,” Riley said, voice calm and easy. “Why don’t you…?”

  The voice of his mother rose in the back of his head and smacked him hard enough that he almost winced. He was in a funeral home. That was like a church.

  Gritting his teeth, he turned and faced her. “Have a nice evening.”

  “Have a nice evening?” she asked, her voice lilting up in amusement. “Why does that sound like you’d like to say something entirely different?”

  “Because if I said what I was thinking, my mother would spin in her grave,” he muttered, cutting around her.

  He didn’t know anybody here and made no attempt at pleasantries. He was, by far, not the only single man there, either. Candi Lowe had been a social woman, bouncing from party to party, only spending her nights alone if she chose to.

  A few of the guys he saw, strangers all, looked almost as shell-shocked as he’d felt when the cop had told him earlier.

  But some looked almost…relieved. Shamefully so.

  He realized he wouldn’t have to worry about her calling him again, wouldn’t have to eye the phone and wonder if he should call her.

  But he didn’t feel relieved.

  He felt like shit. Like a guilty shit, because he should have called her, should have reached out to her. He’d known she was riding low when he’d left her and yet when she’d called to cancel their regular monthly appointment, he’d let it go. He’d asked if she wanted to reschedule and she’d given him the sassy laugh he knew so well. Can’t wait to see me, can you, Ry?

  He’d agreed, even though he’d dreaded it, if he had to be honest.

  He should have called.

  “You look like a guilty man.”

  He’d made it all the way to his car without realizing that Detective Chance had followed him. Now, turning slowly to face her, he slid his hands into his pockets. “Do I?”

  “Why should you feel guilty? It was suicide. Open-and-shut case.” A cynical smile twisted her lips as she studied him.

  “If it was suicide, why are you here?” he asked, taking a step forward.

  “Because sometimes people get…pushed. Driven.” Her eyes, hot and full of passion, burned into his. “Sometimes somebody does something they’d never do without that push.”

  “And you think…” He blew out a breath, staring past her toward the crowded funeral home. “This isn’t business for you, is it? It’s personal.”

  She flinched. It was a tiny reaction, one she hid almost as quickly as it came, but he’d seen it.

  As she smoothed her features, he focused on the building in front of him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know who she was to you, but I’m sorry for your loss. And yeah, you’re damn right I feel guilty.”

  She ignored the first part of his comment, focusing on the last with laser precision. “Just why do you feel guilty, Mr. Steele?”

  “Because I knew she was fucked up. I knew she needed help. I did what I could, tried to talk her into seeing a therapist, but she wouldn’t.” He would have turned away, but she blocked him.

  “What makes you think she needed help?”

  He laughed. It hurt his throat, his chest, to do it. The sound was like rusty razor blades. “You know how to do your job, detective? If so, then you should already know why she needed help. But she figured she’d rather hang out with me than on a therapist’s couch.”

  He needed to go before he said something else, before he let her dig him a hole and he jumped right in.

  “I need to get back to my
bar.” With a short nod, he cut around her.

  “She told you she was raped, didn’t she?”

  It was a comment more than a question and he paused to look back at her. “Guess you know how to do your job after all.”

  Chance inclined her head. “I guess you know about the first time. But what about the most recent?”

  He stilled. “What?”

  As if an icy bucket of water had been splashed in his face, he held still as she closed the distance between them. “I hadn’t seen her in three years. Candi is—was—my cousin. So you’re right. It’s personal. I’ve known about you in theory for a while. She’d talk about her fuck buddy, never mentioned that she paid him. But I didn’t like the idea. Seemed to me you were using her.”

  “I don’t go looking for woman to use.” They came to him.

  “That’s neither here nor there.” Chance waved a hand. “But she was…getting better. Talking. She’d call me every now and then. She’d laugh. Then a month ago she called me and told me she was going to kill herself.”

  Riley felt as if she was digging the knife in slowly. Twisting it.

  Her gaze—cold and emotionless—held his.

  “I got there just in time to call the paramedics, watch as they pumped her stomach. When she woke up, she told me about the man who’d been waiting in her apartment—her very nice, very secure apartment. And he raped her. Then he just walked away.”

  “I don’t rape women.”

  Chance studied him, her gaze sharp, probing. “I guess we’ll just have to see.”

  * * * * *

  The lights over B&B were off when he pulled into his parking space in the back. Downstairs in the main part of the building, though… He grimaced as he climbed out of the car and studied the terrace, separated from the bit of property he’d claimed as his own by paneled wood and latticework. Eventually, the lattice would hold vines and climbing flowers, if things worked out.

  Right now, he could see through the little X’s made by the crisscrossing strips and the sight of all of the people on the terrace, leaning against the railing, sitting at the seemingly randomly placed tables should have made him smile.

 

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