Ryder’s gaze falls to me. His face is riddled in pain, in anger, and turmoil. Without a word, he wheels around and storms toward the truck.
“I think that’s our cue.” Griffin appears at my side. He gives my brother a cautious look. I don’t think Drake even sees. He’s too busy glaring his eyes into slits at Ryder’s back. Griffin hands me the bags of food. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you. The ladies of the Kings will want to meet you too. They’re nosy, so get ready for the questions.”
Griffin leaves with a wave. I can’t find the energy to do the same.
All at once, Drake shoves past me, storming after Ryder.
“Drake!” I call after him. “Don’t.”
My brother ignores me. This is a disaster.
“Hey.” Sasha spills out onto the porch, a worried wrinkle to her nose. “Oh my gosh. Is that—”
I nod, unable to speak.
Hudson joins the meltdown next. “Stay here,” he says, in what Sasha calls his cop voice.
Sasha takes my hand. “Sorry, Aves.”
My heart dissolves into nothing but a bloody pulp of hurt. Two men who’ve held my heart for different reasons still hate each other.
It’ll never change.
Ryder
“Ryder.”
The hair raises on my arms. I can’t look at him. Old wounds split open and ooze the anger, the hurt I buried deep inside a long time ago.
Drake stops a few steps away. Either I need to leave or stay. I slowly turn around.
Older, broader, but beneath that beard is the face of the guy I once considered a brother. I don’t want to look at him, don’t want to see the arrogance, the satisfaction, or worse—remorse. If there is regret in his eyes, it will be a battering ram against the hardened steel I’ve carefully wrapped around my heart. Mistrust and resentment have been crucial pieces in shaping the man I am today. If those crumble, then what? I’m not sure I even know how to truly allow someone inside anymore.
Then again, if he’s not sorry, if he’d still rather I didn’t exist, I’ll be worse off than before.
Another guy steps next to him. “You’re Ryder Huntington, right? Your name was on the police report from the other . . .” His voice trails off when he catches his slip.
I curse under my breath. So much for anonymous.
The damage is done. Drake tilts his head. “You’re the one who called the cops? Is that what this is about?”
“Hey.” Griffin whistles, drawing attention his way. People can say what they want about Griffin Marks, he might think life is a lollipop land filled with puppies, but come at his people and he’s a bulldog. “That was a misunderstanding. I’ve spoken with the cops. My guy was looking out for my house.”
“Drake,” the cop says. “I really don’t believe it was personal. Not like this seems to be.”
He turns his glare back to me. Drake follows.
The driveway is long and curved, but Ava’s slowly meandering toward us. Is that Sasha McMaster? If Griffin is what people call my bulldog, Sasha is Ava’s.
Keep it together.
Drake’s face softens a bit. “Look, if you did that to Ava because of me—”
“I didn’t even see her before I called the cops.” My body trembles in tension. “Don’t flatter yourself. I don’t think ofyouenough to scheme up a way to hurt your sister.”
Drake flinches. He shoves his hands in his pockets and takes a step back. “Got it.”
We stand there in the sounds of wretched silence.
