Page 50 of Sweet Oblivion

He stops because he was going to say like last week.

But this wouldn’t be anything like last week because last week...

Because that was the last game before . ..

Everything else in my life will be theafter.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean?—”

Damn it. He’s trying so hard. And whether anyone else wants to admit it or not, we’re in this mess because of me. Not that it isn’t Roger Dennings’s fault. But if it wasn’t me. If I hadn’t mouthed off to him. If it was anyone else outside, Ryker’s life wouldn’t be sitting on the edge of a blade, waiting to see which way it falls. He wouldn’t be forced to marry me to protect himself. None of this would be happening.

“Stop, Ryker. You didn’t say anything wrong.” I slip the shirt over my sweater and look down. “How’s it look?”

Ryker’s pupils darken, and his stormy blue eyes shine, deep and dark. Damn... “Perfect.”

“Well, okay then. What time’s the game?”

DELANEY

Once I learn how to argue and stand up for myself without crying, it’s over for all you bitches.

—Delaney’s Secret Thoughts

“Oh my God.” Seriously, I might as well stomp my damn foot while I’m at it. “Remind me why you’re all here?”

“To keep you calm.” Kaleigh looks at me through the reflection in the bathroom mirror, a curling wand in one hand and a long chunk of my hair in the other. “And to make you look so hot, your husband-to-be drops the ball.”

“No,” Ashton and Lexie both yell while I shake my head.

“He doesn’t typically touch the ball,” I argue and add a little setting powder to the abundance of makeup I had to use to cover the black eye from hell. Seriously, I think the one under my right eye might have taken up permanent residence on my face. “And why would I need to look hot for him?”

“You don’t,” Ashton declares from my bedroom. “But you know you’re going to be photographed today. We’re here to make sure you’re comfortable and confident.”

“And to keep all the assholes away,” Lexie adds from somewhere near Ashton.

“Should have brought Dillan for that,” Kaleigh mutters, curling the last strand of hair. “Would you stand still? I’m almost done.”

I freeze and watch her behind me as she brushes out the curls and pulls the sides back in a pink ribbon. “I could have done this myself.”

“You could have.” With quick fingers, she ties the ribbon in a bow and smiles as she fluffs my hair around my shoulders. “But why would you when you have us now?”

She rests her chin on my shoulder and leans her head against mine. “I should have gone home with you that night, Lane. If I hadn’t been dancing?—”

“No. Don’t.” I tip my head to hers and watch her in our reflection. “Don’t do that. It’s not your fault, and it’s not my fault. It’s Roger Dennings’s fault. Only him.”

Another thing, if I keep saying it, I might finally start believing.

“You know...” she whispers. “I might want to be as strong as you when I grow up.”

“Yeah well, I might want to be as carefree and confident as you. Put us together, and you’d have one hell of a woman.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Her smile is forced, but I don’t call her on it. “Are you ready for the crazy train?”

“The what?” Because that sounds awful.

“Oh, Lane. If you thought the game last week was madness, how do you think it’s going to be when you’re walking in as Ryker Beneventi’s fiancée?”

So much for staying calm.