Page 94 of Sweet Oblivion

Isit quietly in the SUV, staring at Ryker’s profile. A muscle in his jaw ticks as his teeth grind together. I’ve seen Ryker in a million different moods over the past few weeks. Happy, frustrated, concerned, turned-on. But I haven’t seen him angry. Not since that night. And never with me. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

“What would telling you have done besides ruining your night with your family?” I push back, defending myself, clasping my hands together in my lap, refusing to acknowledge the nervous tremble there. “He came in. I told him to leave. He left. I called Liv. What else is there to tell?”

“I should have been your first call before Olivia, Lane. If you have a problem, you call me,” he argues, his voice firm but not yelling. Not yet.

“Why? Why would I call you? Are you a lawyer? Could you have helped the situation?” I turn my head and watch as he pulls onto a darkened Main Street and stops at the single red light. “I called the person with a law degree who you’ve trusted to deal with this for you. For us.” Shit. No hiding thetremble in my voice that time. I hate confrontation. Even if Iamproud of myself for standing my ground.

Ryker turns his head to me, his angry eyes softening. “You call me because it’s you and me, and I will always come when you call.”

“What?” That doesn’t even make sense.

A car horn sounds behind us as the light changes to green, and I fight the urge to flip the driver off. This feels important, more important than I realized.

“Fuck off,” Ryker murmurs, taking the words out of my mouth as he pulls the Rover through the light, his face back to tight lines and narrowed eyes before he turns into the parking lot behind Love in Bloom, my skin crawling with the need to get out of this car. So I do.

I climb out before Ryker has a chance to stop me and go right to the shop door, quietly letting myself in and not so quietly letting it slam behind me.

“Delaney,” Ryker growls as he follows me, apparently not getting that I need space. “What are you doing?”

I stop in the middle of the workroom and stare at the flowers sitting in buckets, covering every imaginable surface. Blues and pinks and yellows and purples. Beautiful wildflowers. Perfect roses. Full hydrangeas. And tiny butterflies adorning them all. It’s beautiful.

“Delaney,” he pushes, softer this time, and I spin, my gaze downcast.

“Genevieve asked me to stop in and okay the flowers. She wanted to make sure I didn’t have any tweaks before she put it all together tomorrow, and the shipment didn’t come in until after I left earlier.”

He crosses the room and lifts my chin, and damn it, I feel like an ass. He couldn’t see my lips.“Sorry.”

“Don’t. I heard you. But I want to see you. Why won’t you look at me?” Jesus, this man...

“I don’t want to do this, Ryker.”My hands shake, but for once, I’m sure I got the words right.

He takes both hands in his and steps into my personal space, leaving no room for retreat. “Don’t want to do what, Delaney?”

“Fight. I don’t want to fight about this. Please...” My shaky voice betrays the firm words. “I’m sorry.”

“We’re going to fight, Lane. You’re going to think I’m wrong. I’m going to think you’re wrong. We’re going to talk about whatever we’re disagreeing about, and we’re going to move on. Don’t apologize if you think you’re right.” His hand slides up my neck and under my hair.

“Fight with me. Fight for why you think you were right. Make me understand it.”

“You’re not mad?” I ask, tugging my hands free and wrapping them around his waist, hesitant to believe him as he shakes his head. “I don’t like fighting, Ryker. It never ended well for me before.”

His fingers dig into the base of my skull, massaging away the tension, and I drop my head to his chest. “How did it end, Delaney?”

His voice is soft, nearly hesitant. He knows he won’t like the answer he gets.

“Badly. Always badly. My father wasn’t a man scared of punishments. When I was young, he’d send me to my room. Sometimes for a day or two at a time. As I got older, got bigger, he started grabbing too hard and realized how easily I bruised. Only instead of that dissuading him from hurting me, it’s like he enjoyed it more. He got off on seeing my bruised skin. I learned quickly not to piss him off, and he learned quickly how to hurt me in places no one would notice.” I swallow down my shaking voice and lift my head. “There’s a lot of ways to quietly break a person.”

The hum of the refrigerator is the only sound in the quiet room for a long few beats.

Too long.

Long enough for me to question if I should have stayed quiet.

“Why didn’t you leave, Delaney? Why’d you stay?”

I’ve asked myself that so many times. Came up with a million answers. But none of them matter. None but one. “Fear.”

I don’t go into detail.