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He scoops me into his arms and pulls me against his soaking wet hoodie, saving me and breaking me all at the same time.
chapter 56
Gabe
“If you can’t win, don’t play.”
~ Meredith Morgan
(played by the award-winning Meredith Wade)
Raising Ryder: Episode17
The sky opens, dumping water as if the first part of the storm had been the warm-up and the downpour is finally hitting full throttle.
The Packshirt Jess must’ve taken off my chair plasters her skin the way the fallout of Kim’s kiss plasters her face. Rain mixes with the steady stream of blood dripping off her foot and colors the chipped sidewalk.
It’s my fault Jess ran. My fault she got hurt.My fault. My fault. My fault.The chant thunders through my head as an extension of the lightning striking my chest.
“Put me down.” She twists in my arms.
Thrown off balance on the slippery sidewalk, I almost drop her. I readjust my hold, cradling her closer to my chest. “I know you’re pissed. But you’re bleeding.”
It takes one glance down at her foot for the fight to drain from her body. She lets me carry her to the closest building. Some fancy steakhouse that doesn’t open until five. The heavy glass door gives against my shoulder, and I take her inside anyway.
Dim chandeliers throw off a steady glow on two waiters draping white cloths over wood tables. An older woman wearing a dark dress and a manager vibe gives instructions to a guy in a tux slicing limes behind the piano bar.
“We’re closed.” The hostess stops stacking menus behind the podium and wrinkles her nose at the pool of water forming on the gray slate floor.
I try to charm her with a smile that just won’t come.
Behind the bar, the older woman cuts off her conversation and marches toward us, probably to bounce our asses.
The sight of Jess’s foot pauses her stride. “I’ll meet you in the bathroom with a first aid kit.” She gestures to the back of the restaurant.
I choose the symbol of the skirt over the symbol of the pants and score. In the foyer-like entry, a leather love seat sits against the wall. Easing Jess onto the cushion, I try not to think about the last time I took her into a public restroom.
There won’t be any sleazy pictures posted this time. But my kiss with Kim—and Jess’s reaction—has to already be racking up hits.
Kneeling in front of my girl, I try to decide if that’s rain running down her face or tears.
She rubs her eyes and sniffs.
Definitely not rain. I lift my hands to wipe her cheeks, and she backs into the corner of the couch. Her silent rejection tramples me with the hooves of a hundred horses.
Goosebumps line her wet arms. A puddle collects under her yoga pants. Drops of blood pool under her foot. We’re both soaking. My sweatshirt weighs twenty pounds, and my socks are swimming inside my shoes. I have nothing dry to offer.
A quick glance around for paper towels finds me a wall of hot air dryers. I peel off my hoodie, do the same with the T-shirt underneath, then wring it out and wrap it around her foot as a temporary bandage.
Pulling her leg into her lap, she squeezes her toes and glares at my chest like I have some secret agenda that involves me apologizing with my abs.
When I try to explain the Kim-clause in my contract, it won’t be my abs doing the groveling. Shit like that doesn’t work on Jess. If it did, the rest of my clothes would already be on the floor. “Can we talk about the lobby?”
My question triggers a fresh wave of tears.
And every one of them shreds me.
The door to the bathroom swings open. The manager steps through carrying a small blue box and squats next to Jess. “Do you need anything else?”
