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A couple of months ago. Shortly after I stopped writing her.
I blink long and hard.
The fake friends, the hovering parent, the worry and stress of wanting to fit in just like most any other person out there… I was her bouncing board.
I was so caught up in my own loss and anger, I never stopped to think how suddenly abandoning her after seven years would hurt her. Not that I’m responsible for her actions, but I am responsible for mine. She relied on me.
“Why are you here?” she asks, turning it around on me.
I look at the duffel bag in my hand, unashamed I needed a shower, but then that answer would lead to more questions. Why am I living at the Cove? Where are my parents?
“Mmmm,” she gloats, a fake smile on her pretty face. “So others have to own up to you, but not the other way around, huh?” She backs away toward the stairs. “My mom is only a phone call away. I’ll get taken straight home with a slap on the wrist. Hope you enjoy your long, hard night in a cold cell,” she taunts and then calls over her shoulder. “Oh, Mr. Security Guard? Help!”
She spins around, and I reach out and grab her, pulling her back into me. “Shut up!” I growl, clamping a hand over her mouth.
But she immediately slams her elbow into my stomach, trying to get away, and I stumble backward, pulling her with me. She loses her footing, falls into me, and we both tumble to the floor.
I grunt, my back hitting the ground and my arms still around her struggling body. She lies on top of me, her back against my chest.
She squirms, trying to get away, the friction of her ass pressing into my groin. I tense, heat blanketing me.
Fuck.
She pulls my hand away, gritting under her breath. “Let me go.”
“Stop moving then.”
“You don’t get to judge me,” she goes on, turning her face to me, her breath falling on my cheek. “Or jerk me around or make demands. I’m none of your business.”
Her body struggles in my arm, and her ass rubs against me again, making me groan.
But then I hear something.
I take her jaw, forcing her still as I whisper against her ear. “Shhh.”
She suddenly stills, and we both stop breathing as the guards enter the library.
I catch a flash of light through the stacks and hear keys jingle. They’re talking, but I can’t hear what they’re saying.
Ryen casts a worried look up to me, and I stare back, h
olding her gaze.
“What are you going to do?” I whisper low, for only us to hear as I search her eyes. “You gonna turn me in?”
She lies there, breathing in and out but not making a move. My arm around her waist tightens, and I can’t stop myself from moving my thumb over the skin of her jaw.
Her eyes—those blue eyes—have a dozen different emotions going on in them when she looks at me. She can say the nastiest things, but if I see fear or sadness in her eyes, I’m done for.
Her rash guard has ridden up in the struggle, and a few inches of skin is exposed. I slowly slide my fingers over her stomach, watching as her eyelids flutter closed.
“Yeah, I told you, man,” one of the guards calls out. “They bolted out the door. Let’s search the grounds.”
I graze my lips across her cheek, her neck arching up more and more until her lips are millimeters away from mine. I can taste her fucking breath.
“Pull up your shirt.”
She opens her eyes and shakes her head, looking scared.
