“That’s not what’s bothering me.” Nervous, I flit my gaze to Ryder.
He hesitates, clears his throat. “We have to tell her, bro,” Ryder whispers.
Brock whips his attention to Ryder, fury lighting the green in his eyes. “What the fuck do you mean, tell her? There’s nothing to tell her.”
Brock tosses my legs off his lap and rises, but I catch his wrist, preventing him from taking a step. Peering up at him, I silently beg him not to fight. He touches my cheek, a flash of remorse sweeping over his features, but it vanishes, a look of resolve setting in.
“Nothing happened.” He hooks a finger under my chin. “We’ve been over this a million times, Amber. Nothing. Fucking. Happened.”
I nod, wanting with everything we are to believe him, my conscience screaming that I’m nothing but a lovesick fool as he glances at his watch. He pulls me up from the couch into his solid, shirtless chest and wraps his arms around me, cocooning me in his hold. For a split second, I honestly believe him, my stubborn soul winning the battle with what I already know. Every excuse he’s used has been nothing but an attempt to distract me from the truth, each lie a steel blanket protecting me from the shadows of his reality.
Confused, I don’t know if I should kiss or castrate him.
“Now that I’m officially twenty-three,” he continues, grinning, “it’s time to celebrate until we can’t think straight. I just gotta get dressed, and we’ll head down to the tables. Cool?”
Another nod, this one filled with hesitation as he presses his lips to my forehead.
“Either you tell her what happened, or I will.” Ryder stands and walks toward us. “She deserves to know. I can’t—no, I won’t—lie to her anymore. It’s hurting her.” He gazes into my eyes, regret swallowing his expression. “I care too much for her. Her life’s been filled with assholes who’ve hurt and used her. I’m not about to become one of them.”
Brock twists his head toward Ryder, his glare lethal. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not kidding, man. Go sit back down, smoke some more vipe, and chill while I get ready.” Brock flips his attention back to me. “You know what? Fuck this.” He grabs my hand, tugging me toward the bathroom. “You’re showering with me. I ain’t taking any chances that this asshole will say some stupid shit to you.”
“Brock!” I wrench my hand back, my mouth dropped open. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Maybe I have, but I love you more than I love myself, so I don’t give a fuck. But you wanna know what’s really messed up? What’s hurting me? You questioning me trying to protect you from something you have no business knowing about. That’s more fucked up than anything I’m doing to save you from more pain you don’t need.”
Tears needle my eyes as I try to wrap my head around what’s happened to him, what’s happening to all of us.
“We shot and killed two men,” Ryder whispers, his voice cracking through the air like a whip. “Two men who, before threatening your beautiful life, peach, deserved to die.”
I nearly trip over my feet as my back hits the wall, my barbed-wire thoughts tangled over his confession.
“Goddamnit, Ryder!” Brock reaches for my arm to steady me, curling his free hand around my nape. “Look at me, Ber.” His soft plea is barely distinguishable over the blood roaring through my veins—all sound muted as I lift my watery eyes to his. “You gotta—”
“You . . . murdered two men?” I interrupt through a cry, unable to believe the question I’m asking. I can’t deny a sliver of me thought that’s what happened. Still, hearing myself say it, tasting the poison-riddled word—“murdered”—has me feeling like I’m stuck in a nightmare, screaming for someone to wake me up. “Did you, Brock? Did you kill them?”
“You gotta listen to me, baby girl. I didn’t mean for it to happen,” he chokes out, his eyes misting over as he moves his hands to my waist. “That wasn’t my intention. You have to believe me. But after everything went down—as it started falling the fuck apart—I had no other choice but to kill them. Christ, I knew it was a bad move getting nasty with Dom, talking shit to him after he’d tried to act tough, but before I knew it, he had his gun to my head. Ryder pulled his gun on Dom. Dom’s buddy pulled his piece on Ryder.” His face a bed of shame, he sucks in a slow, staggered breath, his fingers nervously clenching my waist. “Everything happened so goddamn fast, Amber, but I swear on my kid brother’s soul, I had no other choice.”
My breath falters at the realization that he acknowledged Brandon in the past tense. I blink, tears dripping down my face, his silent admission that he’s aware his brother’s gone forever killing off a piece of who I am. A piece of who he is.
“He didn’t,” Ryder offers from behind me. “Honest to God, he had no other choice.” He sweeps my hair off my shoulder, his touch warming me as he, too, rests his hands on my waist. “You might not have been there, peach, but you were with us. You were all we could think of while everything fell to shit. All that kept our hearts beating, kept us . . . hanging on. Hell, you’re still keeping us holding on. Without you, there’s no doubt we would’ve lost our shit by now.” He takes a deep breath, his grip on my waist tightening. “You’re the reason we’re alive. The reason we’re still breathing, why we’ve woken up every day since and pretended to be okay when we’re not.” He sighs, his head shaking against the back of mine as Brock’s finger absorbs a tear from my cheek. “We’re not bad men, Amber,” Ryder continues. “I know you know this. Can feel it. We just got caught up in some really fucked-up shit, and the only way out of it was to kill the source. But know that without you, Christ, peach, without you, we’re . . . nothing. Absolutely nothing. Try to see past what happened, what we had to do to keep ourselves—you included—safe.”