More Than Enough
Page 68
I step out when the water turns cold, reaching for the towel before I’m even fully out. I dry myself, my back turned to him. Watching him watch me would be too much, too intimate, and intimacy is the last—or maybe the only thing I want.
I can’t decide.
“Riley,” he says, his voice deep and demanding. I can feel him behind me, feel his heavy breaths on my neck.
Slowly, I turn to him, grasping my towel tighter.
I look into his eyes, look for a sign of what he’s feeling, what he’s wanting.
He gives nothing.
I move around him and stand in front of the mirror, forcing the tears away. “It’s good to see you’re getting on well with Bacon,” I murmur. “He really missed you while you were gone.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he barks.
I shut my eyes, searching for strength. Searching for calm.
“What do you want from me, Riley?” His voice is loud. So loud it echoes off the walls. He grasps my shoulders, my eyes snapping open at his harsh touch. He spins me around, forcing me to face him. He stares down at me and slowly, the scowl fades and his grip loosens along with his shoulders.
He licks his lips, his eyes on mine. I watch the rise and fall of his chest as his head dips, his nose brushing against mine and I release a sob I’d been holding since I walked into the room. “Is this what you want?” he whispers, his hands moving from my shoulders, down my side and to my waist. His touch is soft, giving me the calm I’d been dying for. He presses his lips, soft and wet against mine, catching my bottom lip between his. I melt into him, into his touch, into his arms, into the single moment of affection I’d been searching for. His lips part, his tongue sliding across mine as he pushes into me. His hands are on my neck now, holding me to him as he strokes my jaw with his thumb. “Is it?” he asks.
I tilt my head up, my mouth desperate for the kiss. “I want you,” I tell him, my palms flat on his bare chest, moving lower and lower. I finger the band of his boxers, his mouth hungry against mine. Then I reach beneath the fabric like I’d done so many times before. Only this time, it’s different.
He’s not turned on. Not even the slightest.
His muscles tense, his hands on my neck releasing me quickly.
My eyes snap open and land on his. Eyes locked—his with anger, mine with fear.
It is me.
“Fucking shit!” he yells.
“It’s not a big deal.” I try to calm him down. “It’s—I’m—you probably have a lot on your mind, baby.” I grasp his face, watching the anger ignite… from his eyes to the rest of his body.
“Fuck!” he shouts, raising his fist.
I cower, my eyes squeezing shut, right before a gust of air hits the side of my face and the sound of shattering glass fills my ears.
I gasp for breath, my tears instant.
Bacon barks.
The bedroom door opens, slamming against the wall behind it.
Dylan pushes my hands away just as Conway and Leroy appear in the bathroom doorway.
I grip my towel tight, my eyes wide and on the floor. My heart, my poor, erratically beating heart…
I cover my mouth, muffling my cry.
“Are you okay, Riley?” Conway says.
I look up at him… my entire body shaking with fear. “I’m fine,” I manage to get out. “It was just an accident.”
He nods before looking at Dylan. “Dude. Maybe—” He doesn’t get a chance to finish before Dylan storms out, roughly pushing him out of the way. He puts on pants and shoes and nothing else and a second later, a door slams shut and his truck roars to life. His tires screech, and what follows is a sound I’ve come to fear.
Silence.
All but for our heavy breaths, mixed in the tiny room.
“He’s been through a lot,” Leroy tries to reason.
“I just need to be alone.”
Conway pushes Leroy out of the room and away from me. “We’ll be out here if you need anything.”
After dressing quickly, I find tape in one of the kitchen drawers and use it to keep the broken pieces of the mirror in place. Then I clean up the mess on the bathroom counter and floor. When I get back out, Leroy and Conway are tidying the living room of the mess they’d made earlier. I find myself cleaning up after them. The living room, the kitchen, the guest bathroom, and the fridge because apparently cleaning is my replacement for drinking. “My mom cleans when she’s upset,” Conway says, leaning on the counter next to the sink as I wash the dishes.
“I’m not upset,” I tell him.
“Leroy and I were talkin’. We thought maybe we could take Dylan to a hotel or something, just for the night—”
“What?” I ask, my fear turning to confusion. “Why would you do that?”
“Just to give you space, Riley. For him to find—”
“But this is his home,” I whimper, patting my chest with my wet hand. “I’m his home.”
Conway doesn’t seem to believe me.
And neither do I.
He pats my shoulders as he walks past. “Good night, Riley. Thank you for everything.”
I wait until he’s gone before opening the fridge and grabbing a beer.
Just one, I tell myself.
I need it to dull the ache.
Dylan returns a few hours later, his entire frame freezing when he sees me sitting in the middle of the bed staring at the unopened bottle of beer. I couldn’t do it—not after everything we’d been through to get me here.
I can feel him approach, but I don’t take my eyes off my temptation. He leans over the bed, grabs the beer and takes it away. “I went for a drive,” he says, walking out of the bedroom. I hear the fridge door open and close and his footsteps returning. He sits on the bed, right in front of me, legs crossed just like mine, but I’m too afraid to look at him. “It wasn’t the same without you, Ry.” He takes one of my hands in his, the other going to my chin, forcing me to face him. The anger in his eyes is no longer there. Now replaced with sympathy and regret. I wish I could believe him. “I missed you riding in my truck, sitting in the middle of the seat like you always do.” The corners of his mouth lift as he wipes my tears, adding, “I had nowhere to put my hand.”
I ignore how his touch makes me feel, how his words seem to remove the effects of his actions. “Dylan, you can’t just do what you did, then come back and act like it never happened,” I say, the shakiness of my voice defying the strength I needed to fake.
He just stares at me, all emotion wiped from his features.
“Babe,” I beg. “You have to give me something here. I don’t know what happened.” I reach out to cup his face, but before I can even touch him, he pulls back.
For a split second, the fury flames in his eyes again but it disappears as soon as he must see the hurt in mine. He studies me, for seconds that feel like minutes, he just looks at me. “I’d never hurt you, Riley,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. He releases a single tear, letting it fall, bringing my defenses with it. “You know that, right?”
“I know, baby.” I spring forward, my arms going around his neck, his going to my waist.
We hold each other tight, finally succumbing to the exhaustion of our emotions.
I can’t decide.
“Riley,” he says, his voice deep and demanding. I can feel him behind me, feel his heavy breaths on my neck.
Slowly, I turn to him, grasping my towel tighter.
I look into his eyes, look for a sign of what he’s feeling, what he’s wanting.
He gives nothing.
I move around him and stand in front of the mirror, forcing the tears away. “It’s good to see you’re getting on well with Bacon,” I murmur. “He really missed you while you were gone.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he barks.
I shut my eyes, searching for strength. Searching for calm.
“What do you want from me, Riley?” His voice is loud. So loud it echoes off the walls. He grasps my shoulders, my eyes snapping open at his harsh touch. He spins me around, forcing me to face him. He stares down at me and slowly, the scowl fades and his grip loosens along with his shoulders.
He licks his lips, his eyes on mine. I watch the rise and fall of his chest as his head dips, his nose brushing against mine and I release a sob I’d been holding since I walked into the room. “Is this what you want?” he whispers, his hands moving from my shoulders, down my side and to my waist. His touch is soft, giving me the calm I’d been dying for. He presses his lips, soft and wet against mine, catching my bottom lip between his. I melt into him, into his touch, into his arms, into the single moment of affection I’d been searching for. His lips part, his tongue sliding across mine as he pushes into me. His hands are on my neck now, holding me to him as he strokes my jaw with his thumb. “Is it?” he asks.
I tilt my head up, my mouth desperate for the kiss. “I want you,” I tell him, my palms flat on his bare chest, moving lower and lower. I finger the band of his boxers, his mouth hungry against mine. Then I reach beneath the fabric like I’d done so many times before. Only this time, it’s different.
He’s not turned on. Not even the slightest.
His muscles tense, his hands on my neck releasing me quickly.
My eyes snap open and land on his. Eyes locked—his with anger, mine with fear.
It is me.
“Fucking shit!” he yells.
“It’s not a big deal.” I try to calm him down. “It’s—I’m—you probably have a lot on your mind, baby.” I grasp his face, watching the anger ignite… from his eyes to the rest of his body.
“Fuck!” he shouts, raising his fist.
I cower, my eyes squeezing shut, right before a gust of air hits the side of my face and the sound of shattering glass fills my ears.
I gasp for breath, my tears instant.
Bacon barks.
The bedroom door opens, slamming against the wall behind it.
Dylan pushes my hands away just as Conway and Leroy appear in the bathroom doorway.
I grip my towel tight, my eyes wide and on the floor. My heart, my poor, erratically beating heart…
I cover my mouth, muffling my cry.
“Are you okay, Riley?” Conway says.
I look up at him… my entire body shaking with fear. “I’m fine,” I manage to get out. “It was just an accident.”
He nods before looking at Dylan. “Dude. Maybe—” He doesn’t get a chance to finish before Dylan storms out, roughly pushing him out of the way. He puts on pants and shoes and nothing else and a second later, a door slams shut and his truck roars to life. His tires screech, and what follows is a sound I’ve come to fear.
Silence.
All but for our heavy breaths, mixed in the tiny room.
“He’s been through a lot,” Leroy tries to reason.
“I just need to be alone.”
Conway pushes Leroy out of the room and away from me. “We’ll be out here if you need anything.”
After dressing quickly, I find tape in one of the kitchen drawers and use it to keep the broken pieces of the mirror in place. Then I clean up the mess on the bathroom counter and floor. When I get back out, Leroy and Conway are tidying the living room of the mess they’d made earlier. I find myself cleaning up after them. The living room, the kitchen, the guest bathroom, and the fridge because apparently cleaning is my replacement for drinking. “My mom cleans when she’s upset,” Conway says, leaning on the counter next to the sink as I wash the dishes.
“I’m not upset,” I tell him.
“Leroy and I were talkin’. We thought maybe we could take Dylan to a hotel or something, just for the night—”
“What?” I ask, my fear turning to confusion. “Why would you do that?”
“Just to give you space, Riley. For him to find—”
“But this is his home,” I whimper, patting my chest with my wet hand. “I’m his home.”
Conway doesn’t seem to believe me.
And neither do I.
He pats my shoulders as he walks past. “Good night, Riley. Thank you for everything.”
I wait until he’s gone before opening the fridge and grabbing a beer.
Just one, I tell myself.
I need it to dull the ache.
Dylan returns a few hours later, his entire frame freezing when he sees me sitting in the middle of the bed staring at the unopened bottle of beer. I couldn’t do it—not after everything we’d been through to get me here.
I can feel him approach, but I don’t take my eyes off my temptation. He leans over the bed, grabs the beer and takes it away. “I went for a drive,” he says, walking out of the bedroom. I hear the fridge door open and close and his footsteps returning. He sits on the bed, right in front of me, legs crossed just like mine, but I’m too afraid to look at him. “It wasn’t the same without you, Ry.” He takes one of my hands in his, the other going to my chin, forcing me to face him. The anger in his eyes is no longer there. Now replaced with sympathy and regret. I wish I could believe him. “I missed you riding in my truck, sitting in the middle of the seat like you always do.” The corners of his mouth lift as he wipes my tears, adding, “I had nowhere to put my hand.”
I ignore how his touch makes me feel, how his words seem to remove the effects of his actions. “Dylan, you can’t just do what you did, then come back and act like it never happened,” I say, the shakiness of my voice defying the strength I needed to fake.
He just stares at me, all emotion wiped from his features.
“Babe,” I beg. “You have to give me something here. I don’t know what happened.” I reach out to cup his face, but before I can even touch him, he pulls back.
For a split second, the fury flames in his eyes again but it disappears as soon as he must see the hurt in mine. He studies me, for seconds that feel like minutes, he just looks at me. “I’d never hurt you, Riley,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. He releases a single tear, letting it fall, bringing my defenses with it. “You know that, right?”
“I know, baby.” I spring forward, my arms going around his neck, his going to my waist.
We hold each other tight, finally succumbing to the exhaustion of our emotions.
