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“Talk to me,” he whispers. “Talk to me, Rid.”
“It’s my brother,” I say against his strong shoulder, forgetting for a moment that I should be shoving him off. “I’ve looked everywhere. I’ve waited for too long. I can’t find him.”
“Then we’ll hire a PI,” he says. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”
I snort against his jacket, and I’m scared it’ll turn into tears. “I can’t afford a fucking PI.”
“But I can,” he says softly, reassuringly. “We’ll find him, Rid. You’ll see.”
And for no good reason at all, I believe him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Angel Food with Creamy Frosting
Ryan
Finding a PI to hire isn’t hard, neither is explaining to him why he’s looking for Riddick’s brother. It takes me all of a morning to find one who seems reliable. He assures me he’s done this plenty of times, and that families looking for their loved ones who have vanished due to drug addiction often reach out to him, seeking help.
I give him all the info Riddick passed on to me yesterday and return to work and my pissed-off supervisor. She doesn’t like the fact I’m, as she puts it, “slacking.”
Slacking? After working overtime and weekends?
But okay, maybe she has a point. I’m not concentrating, not on work, anyway. I’m not myself. I punched a co-worker for fuck’s sake, and thank God he didn’t say anything, probably afraid I’d say he threw the first punch. Nothing but his word against mine.
No, I’m not concentrating, not with my thoughts torn between Brylee and Riddick.
I think of how I kissed her. Of how she pushed me away and left my office.
Of how I drank myself stupid and went over to Riddick’s place, and punched him for fuck’s sake—then kissed him. How I sucked him off.
Jesus.
How I found him on the sidewalk, looking frozen stiff and in shock. How I helped him to his apartment and to his bed, promised to find his brother for him, and left him to rest.
My heart trips, making me uneasy, so I pop a pill and hope for the best. I’m just tired. Considering I barely slept last night, these same memories and thoughts bouncing around inside my head, it’s no wonder I feel like fucking roadkill.
I think again of Brylee’s shuttered expression as she walked out, and then of the exhaustion in Riddick’s posture, in his eyes, when I left him.
I hope he’s okay. I hope they’re both okay. God, I can’t believe how selfish I’ve been, how self-centered, when others have bigger problems. Least I can do is make sure the people I care for are all right.
What the hell, Ryan? Stop with the crazy talk. Help Riddick, by all means, but don’t get involved. With him, or her.
You know why you can’t.
As if I could ever forget. Though, come to think of it, being with them I do sometimes forget.
Dangerous.
My phone chirps. Another message from my father. I ignor
e it, then hesitate. This isn’t like me. Holding grudges, least of all against him. He’s a good guy. A bit overbearing at times, especially since Mom died, but hell, he’s the only parent I got left.
I shoot him back a quick text that I’m fine and look forward to having lunch on our usual day, usual time, and heave a sigh of relief that it’s done.
Caring for my father is safe. After all, he not only knows my fear, but is more obsessed with it than I am.
Like I said. Safe.
