Total pages in book: 186
Estimated words: 176552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 883(@200wpm)___ 706(@250wpm)___ 589(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 883(@200wpm)___ 706(@250wpm)___ 589(@300wpm)
But this wasn’t that life.
I had to say these next words, get them out before I lost my nerve. “Ryder,” I began, my voice steady despite the tremor building in my chest. “I’m not lying. Brooke is beautiful inside and out. She’s kind, smart, and she looks good beside you. Better than anyone else ever has. There’s a reason she’s the first real girlfriend I can remember you having since Ellie.”
“Are you saying you’re not any of those things?” He kept going before I could answer. “I can tell you right now, you’re all of that and so much more.”
I looked away. If I didn’t, I’d cave. “You know why this can’t happen, Rye. It’s not about Ashton. It’s not even about Brooke.” I pushed forward before I could stop myself. “You need someone who’ll stop you from being… you.”
God, that sounded awful. It hurt so damn badly saying that to him. I would never stand in the way of his authentic self. I adored every flawed, dangerous, twisted part of him. That was the crux of everything. The ugly, glaring truth of why I tried so hard to keep up this exhausting pretense of only being his friend. One of my worst fears was becoming an enabler. Despite often trying my best, I wasn’t the girl who’d always pull him back from the edge. I had loved him too long in the dark to demand he stay in the light.
It had taken everything, so much time, to get him to who he could pretend to be now. I didn’t care that he would ruin me if we ever let us happen, but I refused to be the reason he ruined himself.
“You mean she’s naïve enough to believe who I am, even when I’m pretending. Even when it’s just us.” His glance in my direction was fleeting but hollow. “That’s the kind of girl who never notices the worst of someone until it’s too late. You think I couldn’t keep her in the dark forever if I wanted to?”
I flinched. “I hadn’t thought of that, no.”
The silence that followed wasn’t cold. It was suffocating. He pulled into my driveway without another word, the truck rumbling beneath us before falling into a weighted hush. I reached for my bag on the floorboard, fingers brushing the strap, when his hand shot out and clamped down on my shoulder, not in a painful way, but unyielding. He leaned over and snatched the bag himself, and when he looked up, the warmth I always relied on, the affection I’d come to read in his eyes—even at his worst—was gone.
What stared back at me was something unreadable, laced with what I could only describe as unhinged focus. I don’t know why, but the advice about handling predators from a documentary me and the girls got sucked into at 3 a.m. last weekend popped into my head. Ryder would never, in a million years, hurt me.
Still…
My brain served up flashes of that narrator’s calm, clinical voice: Don’t run. Don’t make sudden movements. Hold your ground. Show them you’re not prey.
The irony almost made me laugh.
Ryder wasn’t a wild animal waiting to pounce. He was my best friend. My person. The boy I’d loved before I even knew what love could turn into, before I knew it could feel like both a curse and a blessing.
“You let that piece of shit get you pregnant?” he asked, voice low, but deadly steady.
I was rightfully fucking baffled.
“You think these are mine? What the hell, Ryder!”
He moved. Fast. His fingers gripped my chin. The pressure wasn’t cruel; it was controlled to make sure I didn’t look away. “Answer me, Sassy.”
Fury ignited in my chest, hot and sharp. I shoved his hand away. “They aren’t mine! Jesus, Ryder. I don’t have unprotected sex, and I’m on birth control.”
His stare pinned me in place, scanning every inch of my face like he was searching for fractures, a crack in my composure, any flicker of guilt he could use to justify his suspicion. I met him head-on because I had nothing to hide. He exhaled then, and a fraction of tension left his shoulders.
“I’m sorry. I had to be sure,” he murmured, the words gritted out like they hurt to say.
I snatched the bag back and turned away from him, throwing open the door, damn near launching myself out, and then slamming it shut with enough force to shake the frame of his truck. I barely made it to the walkway before his arms locked around me from behind in a brutal, breath-stealing embrace.
“Let me go,” I snapped, twisting in his grip, anger and disbelief boiling over.
“No.” The word came raw and guttural. His forehead pressed against my shoulder. “You don’t get to walk away from me upset.”
“Ryder…” I groaned, my fight stuttering, even though my mind still reeled.