Secrets to Hide 3: Just a Little More (12 page)

She was fooling herself; she just didn’t know how else to deal.

Ryan sat in the corner at a tiny round table. The Coke can in his hand went round and round as he fiddled with it. He was agitated. So was she, but she couldn’t seem to get past her apathy to express it like he could. Some distant part of her wanted to reach out to him, cover his twirling fingers with hers and calm him, but beyond the abstract awareness of it, she was helpless to act. The energy, hell, the
give a damn
she needed just wasn’t quite strong enough.

If he’d been Brad? Then she could’ve done something. But Brad wasn’t here, because she’d told him not to be. She’d rejected him. It was for the best—his best—but that didn’t mean the gaping hole in her gut was going away anytime soon, if ever. She’d lost her other half, and it was her own fault. The only comfort she got was in knowing Brad didn’t have to carry that guilt as well as everything else.

The scrape of Ryan’s chair startled her out of her pity party. He stood abruptly, his need to move apparently overcoming the careful manner with which he’d handled her since they’d arrived. He wasn’t quiet now as he paced the length of the room. When he caught her eyeing him, he gave her a rueful smile and approached the bed, sitting on the very edge despite the tension filling her body the closer he got.

He didn’t reassure her. Somehow, stupid as it sounded, that reassured her. He accepted her behavior as normal, not something to be alarmed about. And not something to give in to. He simply went about his business and accepted her while he did. Her muscles gradually relaxed the longer he sat near her feet, not talking, not moving, just sitting.

“Do you know how Brad and I met?” he finally asked.

Her voice felt rusty, but minutes shared in silence made it easier to talk. “No.”

“He was hired the first day we opened applications for Thrice. Here I am, sitting at the half-finished bar, minding my own business, and some dude comes up and says, ‘Hey.’ That’s it, just ‘hey,’ and then he walked around the bar and started sorting the liquor.” Ryan shook his head, a grin pulling at his lips. “Presumptuous asshole. Got him hired, though.

“Anyway, that’s not when I started to like him. No”—he rubbed the barely there stubble that had crept up on his chin—“I started to like him the day he found out where I came from.”

Angel felt her curiosity poke its little head up. “Where’s that?”

“The streets.”

What? Preppy-looking Ryan, the man-boy she’d never seen in anything but oxfords? “What happened?”

Ryan shrugged, his head turned toward the window. She wondered if he had trouble meeting people’s eyes when he told them, the same way she did when someone asked about her parents or her past or what she’d been doing since graduation. “The usual. Got in with the wrong crowd, got into drugs. Ran away from home.” He turned back toward her but kept his gaze on the floor. “LA’s not a nice place to be on the street. I mean”—he tilted his head, seeming to consider that statement—“no place is good to be on the street, but LA’s bad. Really bad. The point is—” He glanced up, his pretty blue eyes with the long, long lashes meeting hers, so innocent, so clear. “I’ve done some stupid stuff in my life, and had stuff done to me, a lot of stuff.” Those eyes darkened. “Damien found me one night, slumped in an alley outside Once. The club in LA? I was in pretty rough shape. Two guys’d…” He stopped, cleared his throat. “Yeah, rough shape. So Damien took me to the hospital, and then he took me home. Helped me get cleaned up, get my life together. I’ve been working with him ever since.”

He went silent. Angel turned his story over in her mind, her heart aching for what Ryan had lost. For what she’d lost, so much less than she could have.

“We’d worked together awhile, me and Brad, when he found out. You know what he did?”

She shook her head, afraid speaking would stop the flow of words she desperately wanted to hear.

“Nothing. He didn’t do a damn thing different than he had every day he’d known me. Because it didn’t make a difference.” He stared hard into her eyes as if, by that alone, he could make her understand. “The things we live through make us who we are. They’re not something to be ashamed of. Brad sure as heck isn’t ashamed of you or what’s been done to you. Or where you’re at, whether that’s down in the pits or at the top of your game. He loves you. Damien loved me too, like the younger brother he never had. I would still be on the streets, or more likely dead, if it wasn’t for him.” He stood, watching her for a second longer before heading to the door. “Trust me,” he told her, “the climb back up from the bottom is a lot easier when you’re not doing it alone.”

The door closed quietly behind him. Angel sat, staring at its blank expanse, the silent room mocking her. Ryan’s words ringing in her ears. His acceptance of her reactions made total sense now that she knew. He understood because he’d been there. And he’d come out the other side. She would never have known if he hadn’t told her, couldn’t tell from the outside the scars he carried within. Scars she carried too. The question was, what would she do about them?

Could Brad really love her through whatever was ahead? He couldn’t heal her, but neither would he be carrying her anymore. That hadn’t been fair to him; she knew that now. But did he? Would he hold her hand and not expect anything more from himself? Because she couldn’t do that, couldn’t make him her nursemaid again. Could he walk beside her instead? Could she keep him there, not allow him to take her burdens—could she be strong enough to do that and heal herself at the same time?

She didn’t have the answers. She closed her eyes, wishing she knew, wishing he was here to hold her and let her hold him. When sleep tugged at the edges of her pain, she fell into it gratefully, finally letting the questions go silent. The next thing she knew, the door to her room was squeaking open and the man she’d wanted beside her for so, so long was entering on silent feet.

He looked tired. His shoulders drooped beneath the weight of the last couple of days, but the look he settled on her was strong, determined. He wasn’t taking no for an answer. And suddenly, just like that, she knew what answer she would give.

He stopped at the edge of her bed. The grim line of his mouth softened as he looked at her. “Hey, beautiful.”

When she didn’t respond, just kept watching him, he seemed to steel himself. Taking a seat on the edge of the hospital bed, he took her hand too. She let him.

He didn’t wait for her to speak this time. “I’m staying. And you’re coming home with me. It’s gonna be okay, no matter how long it takes for us to get through this.”

As opening salvos went, it was a direct hit. A tiny spark of amusement lit in her chest. Too bad she’d already come to the same conclusion. “Okay.”

“O—okay?”

She didn’t think she’d ever seen Brad speechless. The fire that had kept him upright as he made his demands seeped away, deflating him.

“Okay,” she said. As tired as she was, a small smile was all she could muster, but she gave it to him gladly. “I’ll come home. And we’ll get through this together. I love you.”

A wet sheen filled his eyes. Angel’s heart ached at the sight. “Come here,” she said, reaching for him.

Settling his palms on either side of her, he leaned down carefully, and his lips brushed hers. Warm. Cinnamon and sweet. He pressed a second kiss into the curve of her neck and shoulder, his chest meeting hers, then his hips and legs as he adjusted himself to lie full out beside her on the tiny bed. She ignored the pang of bruised muscles and ribs and the ache of the bite Daryl had left on her shoulder. None of it mattered. All that did, she held in her arms.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. The wet warmth of his tears soaked her skin.

She reached for him. One arm went, the other wouldn’t, locked to the IV, but she got her fingers in his hair and that was all that mattered. “You are not to blame. You protected me. You love me.” He shuddered at her words. Pulling his head up, she aligned their lips, whispering the words against his mouth. “I better never hear you say this was your fault again. If I do, I just might have to kick your ass.”

Brad’s smile was small but there. She’d take what she could get. She hadn’t gotten over Daryl’s first attack overnight—hell, in weeks. She wouldn’t get over this one today or tomorrow either. Nor would Brad. The guilt would fade, though; she’d damn sure make certain of it.

Brad reached up to trace her lips with a gentle fingertip. He still shook, he was still treating her like shattered porcelain, but that was okay too. They’d heal together, a little more every day, until their lives were back to normal.

“We’re going to be all right,” she told him.

He stared into her eyes. Whatever he saw there, he must’ve believed it, because he took her mouth—and he wasn’t gentle. By the time he was done, she was shaking too. “Come home, Angel,” he whispered against her tender lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Since the day she’d met him on the playground; she just hadn’t realized how much. Now she did, and she was never letting go. As they lay side by side and drifted into sleep, she knew: just a little bit more would never be enough. She wanted it all, with him, forever. And she’d have it too.

Epilogue

Time for a break
. Brad ducked his head to hide a knowing grin, pretending his focus was on untying the long black strings of his apron rather than the woman waiting so impatiently at the end of the bar. Not that he wasn’t focused on her—he couldn’t hope to focus on anything else. From the moment she’d walked into Thrice, Angel’d had his attention. And his tongue hanging out. Not to mention what she did to his cock.

Tossing his apron toward the back counter, he finally allowed himself to turn toward Angel. And groaned. God almighty, the woman was trying to kill him. All that sexy blonde hair was pulled back, leaving her shoulders bare, rising like heaven above a red-leather bustier that did fantastic things for her full breasts. Her slender hips sported the tightest, smallest micromini he’d ever seen. Sexy fishnet stockings drew his gaze down long, long legs to cock-hardening red stilettos he couldn’t wait to feel digging into the backs of his legs.

Hot damn. Happy birthday to me.

Except one of those stilettos was tapping out an unhappy rhythm against the leg of a bar stool, and when he raised his eyes to meet Angel’s, she didn’t look amused.

Uh-oh. Time to pay the piper.

“I swear, beautiful, I had nothing to do w—”

Angel ignored his excuses. She gripped his dress shirt with both fists, pulling him in tight, and cut off his words with her lips. The kiss was hard, aggressive, and damn, but he wanted more.

A nearby snicker finally cut through the lust fogging his brain. He raised his head reluctantly, his gaze meeting the laughing hazel eyes of Damien’s fiancée, Thrice’s general manager, Harley. “I suppose I have you to thank for this?”

The snicker turned into an outright laugh. Brad sent his supervisor a look that promised retribution before yielding to Angel’s pull on his chin. “Hey,” he said, smiling what he knew had to be a sappy smile down at her.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” Angel said. Her arms crossed over her flat stomach, the action boosting her breasts until they threatened to spill over the low-cut cups of her bustier. Brad ogled them openly, at least till Angel cleared her throat. “Who was she?”

Really, this shouldn’t amuse him, but since the source of Angel’s ire was good old-fashioned—and unfounded—jealousy, it did anyway.

“She?”

A distinct snarl escaped Angel’s siren-red lips. “That blonde hussy you were kissing.”

A choking laugh pulled Brad’s attention over a few chairs to where Ryan sat at the bar, right next to Harley, watching. And smirking. The bastard. Too bad for him Brad enjoyed the aftereffects of a little possessiveness now and then. Especially with Angel. The woman could berate him until hell froze over and he’d probably thank her, just for the privilege of seeing her come alive. Passion—of any kind—lit her from the inside like a Roman candle. So beautiful.

“Well?” Angel demanded.

The stupidest surge of masculine pride and, yes, possession welled inside him. Before she could back away, Brad snatched her into his arms. Her struggles only made him chuckle as he tucked his mouth into the crook of her deliciously bare neck. “Is my woman gonna fight over me?”

“I might fight with you if you aren’t careful,” she muttered even as she melted against him. “Better watch it, buddy.”

Brad silenced any further words with his lips.

When Angel’s body melted into his and her tongue made a tentative foray into his mouth, he eased his hold. After a nip to her full bottom lip, he met her half-lidded gaze again. “That blonde was Deidre, and she’s a bit drunk. It’s her birthday too. She kissed me, not the other way around—a fact that will embarrass the hell out of her tomorrow.”

Angel’s “hmph” was only slightly mollified.

“Kissing the customers again?” Kelsey asked as she slid around him, a trayful of empties balanced on her palm.

Brad groaned. “Y’all have to stop. I didn’t do anything. It’s my birthday, for fu—” His gaze skittered away from Angel. “For goodness’ sake.”

Harley laughed, her hazel eyes glinting with mischief, and Brad zeroed in on her. “Don’t think I’ll forget this. You’re just trying to get me in trouble, aren’t you? I bet you made sure she saw that.” Harley knew Deidre as well as Brad did. The woman was a regular and normally a little shy, but she’d had a pretty obvious crush on Brad for a while now, and that mixed with a little alcohol and the excitement of her birthday… Well, things like this happened sometimes.

Harley couldn’t look innocent if she tried, which she didn’t. “Of course I did. But hey, I’ve got to have some way of getting back at you and Ryan.” She threw a wink Angel’s way. “Trust me; Deidre will probably be way more embarrassed about it tomorrow than she was tonight.”

Brad caught a teasing look when he glanced down at Angel. “So these guys like to give you a hard time, huh?” she asked Harley. It hadn’t been that long since she’d started coming with him to Thrice. Therapy had helped with a lot of the scars they’d both carried after Daryl broke into their apartment, but for a while Brad had feared he’d need to look for a new job. No matter how much he loved the people here, he would’ve done it in a heartbeat, but gradually Angel had gotten used to the place. She didn’t come and go on her own—and he never wanted her to—but she spent the occasional evening with him when he had a shorter shift.