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“It will be okay, Ry. Next time we see them, we’ll kick ’em in the shins,” Kylan adds, squeezing me from behind.
I snort as a tear leaks from my eye. I quickly swipe it away and bask in their love and sense of loyalty while I choke back a sob. The assholes didn’t just impact my life. They impacted theirs, as well.
The twins loved the time they spent with the guys, and as much as Wyatt was their first favorite, Wes quickly became their second.
Sighing, I close my eyes, attempting to stave off the memories of all the time the twins spent with my guys. Fuck they aren’t mine anymore. Wyatt would teach them how to sleuth around the house undetected. Lev played video games and taught them code. Sebastian showed them the difference between Windsor and Pratt knots. Wes, he’d spend endless hours going on imaginary missions to destroy evil invaders. And Owen bought them their own knives so he could teach them the places on the body to aim for to cause the most pain.
How could all of it have been pretending?
All of the dates, the moments shared, and the words said. How the fuck could they have all been fake?
“You’re the best protectors any sister could ask for,” I whisper, bending to finally return their embrace before they bolt toward Jamie.
Tears leak in rivulets down my face, and I can feel the panic grip me, crawling over my body as all of my senses attack me at once, with tightness wrapping around my chest, the nausea rising in my throat, the whirring in my ears, and the overpowering smell of dread.
I let them in, and they destroyed me. Them and the whole goddamn town. I didn’t want to play their twisted game. They forced my hand. And for what? To chew me up and spit me out?
Rage melts away my sadness. All the Loves, Angels, and Doves were as bullshit as the counting and dirty sluts. I feel my pussy clench at the memory of Wyatt and Owen taking my virginity or Wes pushing me to my knees.
So many firsts with them.
I groan, questioning every moment and interaction over and over again. I freaking hate being this conflicted.
Was it real? Was it not real?
I want to pick up my phone and get answers so badly, but how much clearer could they have been? The declaration solidified with a ring. I was not theirs. I was only good enough to be a toy. For the first time in my life, the sting of betrayal surfaces every insecurity that even my mother’s lies couldn’t garner.
The will to give up is calling me. I can almost see it off in the distance. Like a mirage, it uses my greatest fantasies to compel me to succumb to the peace by quitting.
A hand clasps my shoulder, forcing my eyes to snap open and suck in a lung full of air before meeting the warm gaze of my grandmother’s knowing stare. “Breathe. It won’t stop the pain, but it will remind you that you survived and are still here to fight.”
“What if I’m tired of fighting?” I challenge because I am that. Tired.
Tired of being strong, tired of being the adult, tired of the bullshit, tired of hurting, and most of all, tired of being deceived by the people who are supposed to love me. I’m just fucking tired of it all.
“Then you rest, gathering your strength, until you’re ready again. Because while we can be here to fight alongside you, this battle is yours to lead, my dear.” With that, she squeezes my shoulder again before corralling the twins and heading up the stairs of a mansion that rivals the Edgewood Estate. The ranch-style estate sits on what feels like endless acres of land on the Colorado mountainside.
“This is where Thomas’s associate organized for us to live in the few hours we were on the plane?” I ask.
“Oh no, Sweetheart. This is the Bradford Estate. Thomas had to say that just in case someone was listening,” my grandmother explains.
A summer breeze blows my hair from my face, and I lift my chin to the sky as it envelops me.
Today, I’ll give into despair, allowing myself time to mourn, but tomorrow. . . tomorrow, I’ll begin to gather my strength. For now, I’ll do what my grandmother instructed.
Breathe.
2
ARIAH
The pounding in my skull is a reminder never to cry this much ever a-freaking-gain. Thank fuck for the blackout curtains in my room because, otherwise, the ache when I try to open my eyes would probably be unbearable.
Groaning, I rise from the bed and head for my en-suite bathroom, careful not to bump into or trip over anything. The expansive room has a different setup than the one back in Edgewood, and I can’t remember where the couch and desk are.
I make it to the sink unscathed but don’t dare to turn on any lights. The longer I can avoid any brightness, the happier my aching head will be. I grab my toothbrush and start trying to revive myself before going downstairs. I’m supposed to officially meet some members of the Bradford family today.
Once finished in the bathroom, I throw on shorts and a band tee before shuffling my way down the steps. As my feet hit the landing, I overhear hushed voices in a heated argument.
