The clouds have let loose; water comes down in sheets. There’s no sense in shielding my hair, so I don’t. Taking quick steps, I follow Ridge, rushing outside.
I pride him in not reacting. It’s more than I would have done. Brooks approached with the intention of causing a scene, and Ridge didn’t give it to him.
Ridge’s in front of me, his eyes wild, his mind elsewhere. He keeps walking, his hands clasped behind his head as he stares up at the sky like it holds the answer.
Tentatively, I step toward him. Hearing my heels clicking against the stone, he turns, his eyes closed, lashes drenched in drops. “Do you want me to get Henry? He can give us a ride.”
He shakes his head, a denial, a plea to let him go alone.
But then he surprises me and whispers into darkness, “Come with me.” Dropping his hands. He looks so much like the boy in a stolen car, begging for my innocence. He wants to escape.
This time I’m going with him.
Wind slaps at my face, a constant wall of water obscuring my vision of him.
I nod, no words needed and reach for his hand. His finds mine, fingers tightening, holding, assuring me it’s going to be okay. We run through the rain, to his motorcycle where he straddles it, kick starts it and then hands me his helmet.
I have a moment when I hesitate because this isn’t safe. This is unexpected, and I didn’t plan for it. But I also didn’t plan on falling in love with my childhood friend.
I get on the bike with him, which isn’t easy seeing how I’m wearing a damn dress, but I manage to do it. “Are you. . . ?” My words fade, my eyes closing, tears swallowed instead of released.
Ridge shakes off my question, revving his bike. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
I don’t blame him, but I also don’t want to let him leave. Closing my eyes, I try to stop thinking. Taking a breath, I push weight against my chest.
He wastes no time getting to his trailer, and we shuffle inside, his hand still on mine until we get inside, and he finally let go. I feel the loss of heat immediately.
He looks at me, his hair soaking wet and matted to the side of his face. No words. No reaction.
I have no idea what to make of everything that just happened, so I remain quiet, waiting for him to speak first. My body is still running on pure adrenaline, and it’s taking all that I have to remain still, much less remain quiet.
My body shakes from the cold, my dress ruined, my hair. . . I don’t even know, but I know it’s flat, stuck to my face and my makeup looks like I should have joined the boys watching The Walking Dead.
I close my eyes and try to stop thinking, but I can’t. Not any longer. “Is Brooks really your dad?”
After kicking away his shoes and tie, Ridge turns, ripping his wet jacket off, and slaps it on the ground. He flops down on the couch just inside the trailer. “Father. Not dad.”
I step closer. “Are you. . . how long have you known?”
Ridge leans forward and rips his white dress shirt away, tossing it next to his jacket, leaving his chest bare and him only in his black slacks. “Since the night I left town.”
“And that’s why you drove the car through the building?” I sigh into my hands.
Ridge dips his chin down and runs his thumb over his lower lip. “That’s why.”
My heart aches for him, his reactions that night finally make sense. “Did Mike know?”
“I never asked. Madalyn says he did, but I never confronted him about it.”
Okay, he’s talking; this is good. It’s then, and only then I have the courage to finally ask, “That night in the car. . .” I pause. His eyes find mine, knowing what’s coming next. Something I’ve always wanted to know but haven’t had the courage to ask yet. “Why did you want to have sex with me so bad?”
He breathes out slowly as my words fade with each pause. “Aly, you’re putting too much weight into it. I was fifteen, angry, and not thinking.”
I sit next to him, my dress clinging to my body, and I’m half tempted to rip it off like he did his shirt and jacket. “Was it because of him?”
He raises an eyebrow, leaning his head back against the couch. Wiping water from his face, he sighs. “Who?”
“Austin. Did you want to have sex with me because he asked me out?”
“That’s part of it, but again, I was fifteen fucking years old,” he spits. There’s so much fire in his eyes and words, willing me to understand it had nothing to do with me and everything to do with the circumstances. “I didn’t know what I was doing when I picked you up, just that I was angry, and you were the only one I could think of who would help me forget.”
It did have something to do with me. “Do you—”
He holds his hand up. “I don’t want to talk,” he responds immediately, voice insistent. He waves to the counter beside me. “Hand me that bourbon.”
I reach for the bottle, giving it to him and then tucking wet strands of hair behind my ears. “Do you really think drinking is the answer?”
“No. I don’t think it’s the answer, but it’s gonna fuckin’ help.”
I know he doesn’t want to talk, but I can’t wrap my mind around it. “Ridge, this is big. Brooks is your dad.”
He unscrews the cap, tosses it aside and drinks straight from the bottle. “That man is not my dad. My dad died.”
My skin starts to itch. Obsessively. I scratch at my chest. I have to get his damn dress off. With the material wet, it’s like being wrapped in Saran Wrap. “That makes you Austin’s brother,” I mumble, unzipping it.
Ridge’s attention is on me, removing my dress. Well, attempting to. It’s like trying to take off a sports bra when you’re sweaty. An impossible task.
Chuckling, Ridge shakes his head, entertained by the sight of me. “It technically makes me his half-brother. Why does it matter?”
When I have the dress off, leaving me in only my bra and very skimpy panties, I throw my hands up, slapping them down at my sides. “I don’t know.”
Ridge eyes my body, the image causing him to shift and lean forward, his hands on my thighs trying to pull me into him. “You’re thinking too much.” Letting go, he hands me the bottle. “Have some bourbon.”
I shake my head and sit next to him. “I don’t want any.”
He flops back against the couch, running his hands through his hair. “Well. . . have some anyway, and then we’ll talk.”
I push the bottle back at him. “I want to talk sober.”
“I don’t.”
Now we’re having tug-a-war with a bottle of bourbon. “You’re impossible.”
“No, I don’t think I am.” He takes a drink, then points his finger in my face. “Getting you to let me stick it in your ass, that’s proving to be impossible.”
“Keep it up and I’ll never let you in.” I take it because why not. Maybe then if he’s relaxed and I’m relaxed, he might actually talk to me.
IT’S HOURS LATER, nearing midnight when we are talking, and the conversation shifts to us and what all this means. I’m nervous I’m going to say something I’m going to regret, or worse, confess feelings he might not have in return.
“Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this. . . .”
“Fuck that.” Ridge shakes his head, swallowing over another drink. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me.” His words are direct, a challenge. One he’s not backing down from.
I blink and swallow painfully. Shit’s real now, isn’t it? Goddamn that bourdon.
Ridge dips his head forward, waiting. “Don’t ignore me.”
I look away, out the window toward the track in the distance, but with the low lighting in here and the lack of light out there, I can’t see it.
Ridge reaches for me, his breath bourbon filled as he brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. “Tell me you don’t love me.” His tone softens with each word.
“Why?” I whisper, resisting the urge to clam up and tell him nothing.
Ridge runs his thumb under my chin, tilting my face to meet his gaze. Slowly, he brings his forehead to mine and closes his eyes, releasing a defeated breath. “Because I love you.”
When this first started in this very same trailer, I told myself that it was just sex.
It wasn’t. Not with our history. It never could have been.
Frustration clouds Ridge’s face, and he slouches on the couch, looking almost defeated. “When I saw you walk into the school that afternoon,” he begins, “I wanted you back. I wanted what we used to have.” He smirks, takes a sip and winces from the bite of the straight whiskey. “I wanted what was mine.”
I shift on the small couch. Ridge meets my gaze, his darkness challenging me.
I take a drink straight from the bottle.
Then another.
“And that night in the back of your mom’s car?” I prompt, handing him the bottle back, wanting so desperately to finally have the answer. Why had he wanted to have sex with me so bad that night?
Taking the bottle from me, he sighs. “I stole her car, picked you up, tried to get you to give it up to me, and then I drove the car into the building.” His eyes glisten with pain. “I wasn’t just going to use you, Aly. Yeah, I wanted you, but it was more than that. I loved you, even then.” I move to straddle him, wrapping my hands around his neck.
Snatching the bottle from his hand, I take a swig. “So all that talk about you only wanting to fuck me was a cover up for what you really felt?”
He rests his chin on my shoulder. “Yes.”
“What an asshole.” I shake my head, feeling my tears running down my face.
Pulling back, he stares at me through red-rimmed eyes brushing my tears away with the swipe of his thumb over my cheek. “I fell in love with you, and that shit never let up. Not one bit. It wasn’t poetic or even romantic.” He laughs, laying his head back against the couch, almost ashamed. “It was a shit move.” Lifting his head, he stares at me and I know what he says next holds meaning by the tenderness in his eyes. “I still love you, even now.” He takes my cheeks and pulls my face to meet his. “Did you hear me?”
I don’t say anything at first. Our noses brush, and I draw in a careful breath, trying to find the words he desperately wants to hear.
“Are you going to say something?”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.” I purse my lips, already tasting the saltiness of the tears wanting to break free with his confession.
Ridge Lucas loves me. Has he ever loved anything?
Before I can think too much and overcomplicate everything he told me, our lips come together, needy and demanding.
“Tell me you feel the same way,” Ridge demands, his kisses never stopping. “Fuckin’ tell me.”
“I do.” I sniff, more tears falling, my words whispered against his lips. He needs to hear me say it while looking him in the eyes to understand the meaning behind me saying it. I pull away from his face, sucking in a breath. “I love you.”
Ridge shakes his head, a sad smile on his face. “Where does that leave us?”
“I don’t know. Where do you want it to leave us?” I ask, not wanting to assume anything.
He brings my hands to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”
He lays me back, hands cradling my head as he settles himself between my legs. “Is this what you want?”
I nod, my legs wrapping around him, refusing to let him go. “It’s what I want.”
This time I’m not telling him no.
Leaning forward, his mouth finds mine, deepening an already erotic kiss. He kisses me like I’ve never been kissed before. Like I should have been kissed all along. My breathing is harsh, heavy breaths I can’t control, trying to process the last twenty minutes when his mouth returns to mine.
When I meet his dark eyes, he reminds me of the fifteen-year-old boy that night in his mom’s car—nervous, intense, and well, kind of crazy, begging for me to have sex with him to mask the lies he’d been told. He’s still Ridge, so more than likely still crazy, but this time it’s different.
As the rest of our clothing falls away, I tell him how much I love him.
When he fills me, he tells me, and he doesn’t stop until I arch and fall apart beneath him. I don’t stop until he lets go, his harsh breathing softened in the curve of my neck.