Cricket kisses my cheek. “Tell him.”
I nod. “I will.”
Then they're gone.
The condo falls quiet. I lock the door. Lean against it. And exhale. What a weird fucking night. I pull out my phone, wondering where the hell Ryan is. A text waits for me.
Hey, Perfect. Sorry, this went really late. I'll be home in an hour.
Then another line.
PS: I'm walking funny today;)
I laugh, then immediately adjust myself inside my sweats. Because apparently my body has no control anymore. Fuck. This man really does it for me.
Shaking my head, I head toward the bedroom. I strip down. Slide beneath the covers. And I'm asleep almost before my head hits the pillow.
At some point during the night, the mattress dips. I barely surface from a deep sleep. Just enough to register warmth. Movement. Familiarity.
An arm slides around my waist. Heavy. Strong. A thick thigh settles over mine. I don't open my eyes. Don't need to. My hand finds his automatically. Our fingers intertwine. Then I scoot backward, pressing myself into the solid heat of him, pulling his arm tighter around me. His sleepy exhale brushes the back of my neck.
Safe.
The word drifts through my exhausted mind.
My lips whisper the only words I can muster.
“Kind eyes.”
Forty-Five
Everybody Hurts
Spencer
I woke up this morning reaching for him. The other side of the bed was cold. Empty. For one disorienting second, panic bloomed in my chest. Then I remembered Ryan had mentioned he would be finishing his project with Anthony today.
I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand and squinted at the screen. He had sweetly texted:Sorry, had to leave early to finish this project. I know you have that fundraiser tonight. I won't be able to make it. Don't hate me.A laugh escaped through my grogginess. I don’t think I could ever find it in me to hate him.
The smile faded almost immediately. Because beneath everything else, beneath the affection and relief and warmth the text sparks, there's a pressure building inside me. A dangerous one. A ticking time bomb. The last several days have dredged up things I've spent years trying not to think about. Memories. Fears. Old wounds. Questions I don't want to answer. I've been carrying all of it around like a backpack full of bricks. And every hour that passes without talking to Ryan feels like someone adding another one.
I need to talk to him. Soon. Before I explode.
“...with these new contracts, we can likely budget for more tech in the learning center.” Jen's voice filters through my office. I blink. Right. I’m in a meeting. Daydreaming about him. She's sitting across from my desk, legal pad open, discussing funding projections for THRIVE. “The kids, Bonnie and Jacob especially, want a kitchen” she says. “I think we can pull it off next year.”
I nod automatically. “That's great.” My heart isn't in it. Which isn't fair. Normally I'd be all over this conversation. The thought of giving those kids opportunities they wouldn't otherwise have lights me up. Today, though? Today my brain is somewhere else.
My gaze drifts toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bullpen outside my office. Movement catches my eye. Parker and Dita are standing together laughing hysterically. I frown. Then Parker shifts. My stomach drops.
“What the fuck?”
Jen pauses. “What?”
I stare through the glass. Parker is wearing a T-shirt. A black T-shirt. With Ryan's face plastered across the front. Not just Ryan. The screenshot. The viral screenshot. The one from the leaked video. Ryan's face twisted in pleasure. My vision immediately narrows. No. No fucking way.
Then Parker turns around. The back of the shirt reads:THAT'S WHAT I LIKE DADDY. The words Ryan screamed out during a very private moment.
For a second, everything goes perfectly silent.
