She looks up at me, the devastation coloring her whiskey orbs telling me all I need to know . . . She’s just as deep in over her head as I am, both our hearts struggling with this hazardous situation. “No, Ryder, I’m the one who’s sorry,” she admits.
“All right. So you’re both sorry.” Brock steps from the bedroom, scratching a tired hand over his face. “Glad to see the two of you’ve made up. Ber, tuck the baby here into bed, and I’ll warm up the bottle before we turn in, cool?”
“Stop being a dick, Brock,” Amber huffs, seizing my hand in hers. She shakes her head and drags me past him, our glares glued to each other as Amber flings open a closet, yanking a spare pillow and blanket down from a shelf. “Seriously. Contrary to what you think, it’s not one of your finer attributes.”
“Chill, baby girl.” He chuckles, making his way over to the couch as Amber sets up my temporary sleeping quarters. “Ashcroft knew this arrangement would come with its share of emotional shit. Now he just has to figure out how to maneuver his way through the mental maze. Isn’t that right, bud?”
Keeping Amber’s sanity in mind, I grit my teeth, somehow managing to conjure up an unaffected smile. “Yeah, I guess we all do, isn’t that right, bud?”
His glare intensifies, his eyes narrowed on mine before he turns, heading back into the bedroom. “I’m giving you ten minutes with him, Ber,” he calls over his shoulder, clearly aggravated. “After that, I expect you to come to bed.”
He slams the door, the power behind it knocking an oil painting clear off the wall. I glance at Amber, the confusion dripping from her face causing my stomach to roil with anger.
“He’s just . . .” Amber starts, her words trailing as she stares at me. “I don’t know. He’s just . . . a mess right now, Ryder. He took a big step allowing us to do this.”
I touch her jaw, knowing if she were mine there’d never be any confusion on my part. No questions asked: I’d never share her with another man, the thought sickening me down to my bones. Still, I keep my thoughts to myself, placing a soft kiss on her forehead before slipping onto the couch. She goes to sit next to me, but I gently grab her wrist, preventing her from doing so, my chin jutted toward the bedroom.
“Go inside, peach,” I whisper, fighting the animalistic urge to kick open the door, and beat the man I’ve called a friend for so many years into a coma for putting Amber through this. “He needs you. I’m cool. I promise.”
She can tell I’m lying, trying to keep her emotions guarded. I see it in her eyes, the shadow of uncertainty in them. She nods hesitantly, then turns and disappears into the bedroom, the door softly clicking shut behind her as I cross my arms behind my head, wondering if any of us will ever be the same after tonight.
More important, as the minutes creep by, ticking into silent hours, I can’t help but feel like we’re all standing in the path of a dangerous storm. A storm I’m positive is gonna take one of us out—if not all of us—leaving the bloodied remnants of our hearts spread over a field of nothing but pain, hurt, and regret.
CHAPTER 20
Brock
“BREATHE, MOTHERFUCKER,” I murmur to myself, my teeth gritted as I attempt to keep my cool. “You did this, asshole. Not them.” Sitting in my Hummer, watching Amber and Ryder say their good-byes, I inhale a calculated breath, trying to keep myself bolted to my seat as the girl I love—the girl I’d die for—places a soft, lingering kiss on my best friend’s lips.
Fuck. What’ve I done?
The mind can change what the heart thought it wanted—both unrelenting in their battle of wills—and right now, my mind’s winning the war as visions of making Ryder disappear swallow my thoughts.
Witnessing Amber show anything resembling feelings for another man is killing me, my soul shredding to pieces, as Ryder pulls her into his arms, his mouth devouring hers the same way mine does when I want her, when I crave her the most. I know letting them be together was my doing—my need to give and receive pleasure to and from Amber clogging whatever rational sense I had before last night—but I’m starting to think it was nothing short of the second-worst decision I’ve ever made, not making it home in time to get Brandon off the bus holding the number one spot on my list of regrets.
Sure, I played it cool while watching them together last night, but hell if I didn’t want to stop the whole thing from happening the moment Amber said she needed us.
Bipolar? Maybe.
Psychotic? Killer possibility.
But after having had almost a month to really think about sharing her with Ryder before she finally gave in to my request, I’d decided I wouldn’t be able to watch any dude—best friend or not—touch my girl. I just never got around to telling Amber I’d changed my mind. Besides my having to lie low after outing Dom, Amber seemed so goddamn steadfast on not letting Ryder and I take her together, I figured the subject was dead. Still, the second Ryder opened his fucking mouth about what went down at the warehouse, and Amber’s gut-wrenching reaction to it, I felt I had no other choice but to allow that shit to happen. To sum up my birthday weekend: I unwillingly, yet willingly, let my buddy fuck the girl I’d give my last breath for, the girl I’ve already killed for and would kill a million times for over again.
Happy fucking birthday to me . . .
Either way, this shit’s gonna haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life, every ounce of me loathing my on-the-fly decision. Like a delusional, self-centered asshole, my thoughts were skewed when I convinced myself that I wanted to share Amber. More so, screwed when I thought she’d be able to separate the physical act of being with Ryder from the emotional.