See that guy sitting in the back at a table, wishing he could take the ice sculpture on the table and smash it against his own skull so he could leave? That’s me. I’m miserable, and the thoughts of bleeding all over the white linen table just to piss Madalyn off actually sounds pretty good. Makes me smile. I’d gladly take stitches over this bullshit.
I don’t like events like this. Hell, I actually made it through all of high school and college without attending bullshit like this.
I don’t like dressing up and pretending I’m something I’m not, and I certainly don’t want to spend the night in the same vicinity as Austin. . . or Madalyn. . . and worse. . . Brooks.
Guess who gets to do that tonight?
This guy, unfortunately. And you know, while I’m at it, I’ve never understood the term FML. Fuck. My. Life.
I think—and most wouldn’t put much weight on what I think—but events like this are where the term originated from.
Don’t believe me?
Take a look around. Look past all the bullshit decorations, the thousands upon thousands spent in catering, the hideous ice sculptures, and the five thousand dollars a bottle Chateau Margaux on the tables. Peek underneath the mascaraed masks—which I refused to wear—and you’ll see rich, insecure assholes flaunting a status. An image. A persona even they can’t stand on a good day.
Why do they do it?
Money.
Greed.
Power.
The driving force behind everything we know, and Brooks Jacob and Madalyn Campbell are the king and queen of it all.
You wanna know why I live in a trailer?
This is why. I will never be like them.
You wouldn’t believe the looks I get when I show up in a black tux.
My attention’s drawn toward the entrance. I notice Aly’s returned from the restroom. Immediately, like the pull she has on me is gravity, my eyes fixate on her and the floor-length black dress she’s wearing.
Fuck, it’s really hot in here, and I’m definitely sporting a semi. I’ve seen her in a dress before, but nothing like this. I have this image of her in a white dress, walking down an aisle. Only this time it’s not the haunting one I usually have of her marrying the wrong man. She’s with me.
Tenderly, she smiles my way, red lipstick-stained lips contrasting against her porcelain white teeth. Nervously smoothing out her hair, she says something in Tori’s ear who’s standing next to her.
As she nears, my heart’s in my throat, ready to explode. There’s something about the way her dress clings to her curves—and the way Austin’s eyes never lift from hers—as she makes her way over to me. He glances at me, then to Brie beside him, the instigator of his infidelity, his arm tight around her frame.
He knows he fucked up, kinda like me leaving Aly in the arms of a liar. Anger hits me. I can’t help but want to knock his teeth in for looking her way, even now. He never deserved her.
Before Aly approaches me, Emily finds me, her red dress dangerously revealing her fake tits on display. Ordinarily I’m sure Emily is a nice woman, but lately, she’s trying too hard to get me to notice her. She purposely doesn’t sign Luna’s reading list, just so I have to call and ask for it.
“Ridge,” Emily breathes in passing, running her perfectly manicured hand over my chest. “Would you like to dance with me?”
I hadn’t noticed the live band. My thoughts of Aly had been clouding everything else around me.
I glance to the stage, the band who I recognize as Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats. You wouldn’t believe the amount of money they put into tonight, and it shows when you look around. Everything from the twinkling lights strung up, the white linen table clothes, crystal stemware, rose petal entryway, is way over the top if you ask me for a fundraiser.
“Ridge?”
Shit. Emily’s still standing in front of me. I look over her shoulder, at Aly, then back to Emily. “Sorry, but I don’t dance.”
She steps to the side, her hand on my shoulder now. Her disappointment settles in her face, deepens her frown lines. “Let me guess...” Her eyes flick to Aly, then me again. “. . .you’re waiting to dance with her?”
I don’t answer. I don’t think I need to.
My stare immediately goes to Aly, who looks like she wants to rip Emily’s arms off as she watches the interaction with unveiled interest. Is it wrong I want to see them fight?
Don’t answer that.
Emily moves past me, her hand lingering on my shoulder. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
“Am I interrupting?” Aly asks, watching Emily’s retreat to the bar in the back of the room, a glass of red wine in her hand.
“Let me ask you something.” I lean in, invading her space. “What do you think Austin do if I kissed you right now? Just to prove you’re mine?”
Her eyes flicker, as if she wants that, but knows what would happen. It’s one thing to be here, accompanying the same space together, but if I kiss her in front of everyone, it changes shit.
Her inhale comes from deep within, her glass brought to her lips. She takes a sip of her wine. “What would Emily do if I kissed you?”
My chest brushes against hers, the heat of my breath hitting her face. My words push through tight lips and an aching chest when I say, “If he keeps looking at you like that, I’ll fuckin’ kill him. He lost his chance with you, and I’ll be goddamn if he thinks I’m giving him another one.”
I’m not completely serious. I don’t think I’d kill Austin, but you really never know.
She laughs, rolling her eyes. “He doesn’t want me, Ridge.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I know the way he’s watching. He knows what he lost, and given the chance, he’d ask for it back.”
Aly winks. “His loss, your win.”
As the opening notes of “Shake” come on, I reach for her, my palm pressing against the small of her back, fingertips tightening. I lead her to the dance floor without asking.
She gasps, lashes fluttering, setting her wine glass down on a nearby table. “What are you doing?”
“I think it’s called dancing.” Her arms wrap around and over my shoulders, chest to chest, heart to heart. “Unless you’d like to take me up on the offer to fuck in the bathroom because I’m still up for that.”
Her body shakes with laughter. “You’re so bad.”
My lips press to her forehead, but never her lips. “Something tells me you wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I wouldn’t.”
We sway, move, breathe together when I whisper, low and throaty, “The dress. . . I never stood a chance against, but I can’t wait to rip it off.” I slide my hand slowly down her back, searching her face the whole time. I pause... and then slide my hand down some more.
Her mouth pops open. “Ridge, stop.”
I move her just right so she can feel my erection, and she blushes, tenderly, beautifully. “I just can’t help myself.”
“So?” I’m hopeful when she raises an eyebrow, but then she giggles. “The Walking Dead?”
I gasp. “Those little jerks are watching it without me, aren’t they?”
She nods.
“I’m disappointed.” I actually am. They promised me.
“They really like you.”
I can’t help but think it’s a warning. My fingertips brush her cheek. “They’re great kids, Aly. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
Her lashes flutter, her eyes filling with tears she won’t let loose. “This is crazy.” She’s changing the subject, motioning with her head to our surroundings. “I can’t imagine how much money they’ve put into this.”
I chuckle, my mind elsewhere, on Aly, her body and the things I want to be doing to it. “And it doesn’t even look good. But you, you look good. Good enough to eat.” My mouth finds the curve of her neck, gently biting.
Giggling, she shrugs her shoulder to stop me, squirming around, a restless desire she can’t hide from me. “It does too look good.”
“Whatever,” I mumble into her skin, more pressure applied to my teeth. “I want to leave.”
“Oh, come on.” Aly pushes back on my shoulders. “You asked me to dance. Stop biting me.”
“I only asked you to dance so I wouldn’t have Charlotte glaring at me.” I nod over her shoulder to the table in the center of the room.
Aly glances toward the table where Charlotte’s sitting beside my mother, then back to me. “She’s confused.”
“Do his parents know you’re getting a divorce?”
“I’m sure they know, but it’s not like they see the boys that often. They didn’t even come to their birthday party.”
“I’m not surprised.” I gesture with a nod to the stage. “I could grab the microphone from the band and let everyone know you’re divorcing the cheating asshole?”
“Uh-huh.” She shakes her head, smiling. “Though I’d love to see everyone’s reaction, behave.”
“What if I don’t want to? Did you bring your van?” I waggle my eyebrows toward the door. “Maybe Frank needs another lesson?”
She grips the back of my neck, yanking at my hair. It doesn’t discourage me. Now I’m really thinking about taking her to the van. “Nope. Rode with Henry.”
A throat clears, and I swing around, and I’m met with dark eyes that match mine.
A man I’d rather die than to be around.
Brooks Jacob.
He looks to Aly, then me, a glass of amber-colored whiskey in hand. “Mind if I dance with my daughter-in-law?”
Yeah, I fucking mind. My jaw tightens, and it’s everything I can do not to reach out and grab his goddamn neck and shove him against an ice sculpture. “I do mind.”
“Is that any way to treat your dad, Ridge?” he asks, raising the glass to his lips.
I laugh, but it’s not one of amusement. “My dad died.”
Aly glances between the two of us, her body stiffens, and she worms herself closer to me. Instinctively, I wrap my arm around her tighter, no longer moving to the music.
He shifts his weight, his other hand finding residence in his pocket. “I just want to dance with Alyson.”
I hold my ground, my grip on my girl tightening. He won’t take her from me. Not this time. “No.”
There’s pressure against my hand, harder. Aly’s gripping it. “Ridge, it’s fine.”
I shake my head. He lies. He doesn’t want to dance with her. He wants to tell her lies, make her believe them. My eyes find hers, pleading. “I don’t want him touching you.”
Brooks downs his glass and sets it on a nearby table. He sways, and I know now why he approached us. He’s drunk, like the night he hit me. The night I left. “You’re awfully protective of someone who still technically belongs to your brother.”
My lids fall shut, my nostrils flare. “She was never his,” I breathe. “Like I was never yours. Blood or not, you will never be my father, Brooks.”
Do you notice his reaction? He wants to hit me, but he doesn’t. His eyes shift to Aly, waiting for her to be upset with me for not telling her the truth.
Aly’s gaze turns to mine, and I want to curl against her, lose myself in her hold. Her steady features falter, a sympathetic expression is one I don’t want. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I shrug. I don’t know what else to tell her. Do you see the way she’s staring at me? Like I’ve kept a truth from her. My eyes meet hers, and my vision blurs. I inhale shakily as I breathe through my nose and press my lips shut tight against this feeling that tears through me like a tornado of lies, destroying everything in its path.
Brooks steps forward, his jaw is tense, steady breaths, trying to withhold his anger toward me but failing. “You didn’t tell her?”
My fists clench, ready to shove him away from me. “Why would I? You’re nothing but a lying piece of shit.”
I sense another lingering glance, another judgmental pair of eyes, their burn unmistakable. She hasn’t lost her ability to make me uncomfortable and undeniably unwelcomed. She reaches for my arm. I fling it away. “Ridge,” Madalyn warns. “Don’t cause a scene.”
Have you ever felt your life shake? Have you ever been hit with an image to the point where everything around you becomes fuzzy and shaken? Your lungs feel tight, and for a brief second, you can’t do anything. You are unable to move, unable to think, unable to even react. I have. I experienced something I never thought I would experience.
That’s how I felt when Madalyn told me Mike wasn’t my dad. That’s how I felt knowing Brooks was my father. A repulsive, lying, drunk man who manipulated everyone around him, was my blood.
That’s how I feel now seeing Brooks again. And still, here he stands before me, waiting for my response, loving that he’s pissed me off. Again.
I hate this man. No, I despise him.
Brooks blames me for a lot of things because it’s easier than blaming himself. Austin. . . he’s his prize possession. The kid could do no wrong in his eyes.
I’m the bastard child. The firstborn who destroyed his good time. And like the coward he is, he let another man raise me because that was easier. That fit into his plan. He married later, to Austin’s mother. . . and when she died, he came back to Madalyn. I don’t really care how it all happened, but it instigated the divorce between my parents.
I’d like to tell you this never had a lasting effect on me, but I’d probably be lying.
“I have to leave,” I whisper to Aly solemnly, motioning toward the doors. I didn’t want to do this with Brooks, not now, not ever. Most of all, I didn’t want to hurt Aly anymore.
And that’s the only reason I walk away from Brooks. Her and those boys.
If I don’t leave, I know what’s going to happen. I’m going to react.
I let go of Aly, but her hand instinctively reaches for mine. She gives me a steady look, lashes unblinking. “I’ll go anywhere with you.”
I don’t look away. I can’t. I absorb the meaning, but say nothing, my eyes cutting across the room. Hundreds of blank faces waiting for a reaction I’m not going to give them. They know the hot head side of me. They know the fifteen-year-old kid who lays a motherfucker out just for the reaction. But I’m not that kid anymore.
Cash’s face flashes in my mind and then Grady’s, and I remember why I’m walking away.
I won’t give them what they’re looking for. Not this time. I gave him exactly what he was looking for when I left. Me walking away from him when he wants a scene, that’s exactly the response he’s getting.