I’m not stupid. A little oblivious, yeah, but I got it, I understood why he did it. I guess I wasn’t mad about that. I wish he had told me sooner, but ultimately, that wasn’t a big deal. Once it all came out, and Ryder and I were hooking up, it was clear I flirted with him in Miami well before the jet ski. Jesus, had he offered me his cock that night we spoke in the booth, I’d have sucked it. And he must’ve known that. So it’s not like he preyed on some innocent straight boy.
The truth was that I was embarrassed. No, mortified and humiliated, actually. Because what hurt, what made my stomach tie up in knots all night, was them talking about it. Not the liking guys part, or the crush on him part, that was silly bullshit. It was how, in my mind, I could hear them sitting at their table, talking about me. It made my fucking skin crawl.
I squirmed in my seat and rubbed my shoulder blades together. I knew they didn’t mean to hurt me. If Ryder wasn't gay, and I came out, they were the kind of people to join a support group for parents of gay kids or some shit. Even though I wasn’t their son.
Because that was it. That’s what fucking hurt the most. I thought of them like family, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t in on the joke—I was the joke.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, then spread the fingers across my eyes, causing little starbursts behind my lids. There wasn’t any wetness, but they stung.
My family was okay, but his was amazing. Feeling like one of them for so long made me who I was. The entire growing-up part of my life was under their influence. But I never was, and that fuckingsucked, man.
I sniffled and wiped my eyes. They were a little wet.
I needed to tell Ryder it wasn’t just him. It was all of them, and me. I might have overreacted a little, but… I wanted an apology. For the revenge thing. For all of it. I think I owed himone, too. But mostly, I wanted to see him drive up and park so I'd know he was okay.
“Jesus.” My eyes were heavy, too.
Once he was good, we’d talk. I didn’t know how it would go, or if we would still be a thing after we spoke, but I missed him. And loved him. And very much wanted him to show the fuck up before my body gave out.
???
The light streaming through my windshield woke me up. My tongue tasted of the stale air. The last time I remembered looking at the time, it was almost three. I tapped my phone screen. It was almost six thirty in the morning.
“Fuck!”
I scrambled out of my car, almost falling. His car was still missing, and I called him on the way to the door. And… it rang! But still ended with, “You’ve reached Dr. Ryder Beckett. If this is a medical emergency, please hang up and call…”
The tip of my finger went white as I pressed his buzzer, thinking maybe he took a rideshare or taxi home and didn’t see me passed out in my car. No answer there either.
I sat down on the curb under his apartment building’s awning. The parking lot was wavy in the morning sun, or it was just my eyes. Ryder wasn’t home or answering his phone. I was worried, but more so, I was exhausted. The stress and lack of sleep sat on my shoulders.
My phone had gotten heavier since I pocketed it. Ryder’s recording once again told me to call 911.
“Fuck.”
I pushed images of him dead in a ditch away. There was nothing I could do. Sleeping in my car again felt stupid, when I could get actual rest in my bed. What if he didn’t come homeand went right to the wedding from wherever he was? What if he didn’t go to the wedding at all? No, that wasn’t him. Ryder would never miss his brother’s wedding, even if he should.
I’d just have to go there and try to catch him before the ceremony.
Chapter Twenty Five
Ryder
At no point during my brother’s entire bachelor party was I as hungover as I was that morning. I didn’t know where I was, how I got there, or what the fuck happened.
I was in a bed, in a bedroom that looked like a fancy hotel. The sound of automatic shades lifting had woken me up, letting me see just how high above the ground I was. But I still didn’t put it together until I heard Rickie’s voice coming from somewhere else in the apartment.
“Woof. I told you to use my makeup-removing tonic last night,” she said.
Another voice that sounded familiar, but I couldn't place, responded, “Girl, that shit’s like two hundred a bottle. Good old soap and water do just fine for me.”
Rickie laughed until she coughed. “No offense, but they do not.”
“Sit on it and rotate,” the other voice said.
I dragged myself out of bed, still dressed under the covers. My phone wasn’t on either of the nightstands, but my wallet and keys were.
When I walked out into the kitchen and living space, floor-to-ceiling views of Central Park greeted me. There was some kind of party there the night before. Cans littered the several multi-level, misshapen coffee tables. The white, fluffy-looking couches and chairs were also oddly shaped. It felt like the cover of some magazine.
