She blinks before yanking her hand off my leg. “Sure. No problem,” she rushes out, then Riley’s moving out of my way and getting behind me again.
I pull in a deep breath and release it slowly, searching for calm, then I pick up the gun.
My next eighty-nine shots are aimed a little higher on the target, right where that motherfucker’s heart would be.
I never miss.
I never touch Riley again either, not for the rest of the afternoon at the range or during the drive home. And she never reaches out for me. We're both stiff and quiet and this isn't how it ever is with her. Awkward glances and uncomfortable silence. It sucks. And it continues after we get back to the house.
Dinner is eaten with my eyes on the TV and Riley's attention on the textbook in her lap. When she stands, having finished with her meal, she picks up my empty plate off the trunk and then asks if it's okay for her to do that, to fucking clean up after me.
That's when I realize how much of an asshole I'm being.
I'm getting shitty with her when I'm the one getting fucking sponge baths every night. I send her texts about the cold side of my bed. I play with her and tease her and insinuate with Riley every chance I get. What the fuck right do I have getting on her case because I can't handle her dishing it back, if that's even what she's doing, and I'm honestly not sure if it is. This could just be Riley being comfortable with me. Friendly. Playful, the way I always am with her. She wants us to be friends. Feeling her heartbeat . . . sure. What the fuck? Friends do that.
Yeah . . .
Asshole. World’s biggest, right here.
Huffing out a breath, I get to my feet and leave my crutches on the floor, choosing to walk on my boot instead since the therapist said I can start doing that now. My leg hurts a little but nothing compared to earlier, so I keep going. I round the couch, hobbling down the hallway in the direction Riley went after she cleaned up dinner.
The dinner she made, that I ate, enjoyed, and didn't say shit to her about.
Dick.
“Darlin', where you at?” I call out, reaching the bathroom and peering inside it. The light is still on and one of the cabinet doors is open. She was in here. But she’s not anymore. I keep moving down the hallway, thumping my boot on the floor, and when I’m almost at the bedroom she’s staying in, I hear Riley's lowered voice and it stops me.
“I’m glad you’re sorry. You should be sorry. But that doesn’t change what you did, Richard, and it doesn’t make me forgive you either. I can’t. I just . . . I can’t forgive you.”
Richard. My teeth clench.
Motherfucker.
I lean my shoulder against the wall just outside her room, crossing my arms over my chest and continuing to listen. That son of a bitch must’ve called her from jail, and now he’s getting Riley upset. I can hear it in her voice.
“You didn’t tell me things were getting so bad you were turning to drugs. You did cocaine. You should’ve talked to me. God, I was practically begging you to talk to me . . . no. No! Are you serious? That’s no excuse!”
When Riley’s voice cracks with a sob, I move, filling the doorway just as she’s standing from the bed. She keeps her back to me, and I stare at my name, half hidden by her hair.
Jesus. I’m an asshole to her and she still puts on that fucking hoodie.
It's hers now. She's claimed it. And seeing Riley in something that used to be mine does weird shit to me. Having my name on her . . . I like it.
I like it way too fucking much.
“Don’t call me again,” she hisses into the phone. “If you do, I won’t accept it. I promise you, I won’t.” Riley ends the call, lowers her hands to her sides and drops her head. Her breathing is loud and labored.
I want to break every bone in that motherfucker’s body.
“Riley.” I take a step into the room but halt when she turns around.
She looks surprised that I’m in here and that I’m speaking to her after the bullshit I put her through today, but she covers it quickly, closing her eyes and then wiping the tears from her face with her sleeve. When she looks at me again, there’s nothing there. No shock. No hurt. Nothing. And knowing she's hiding how she feels from me is worse than actually seeing it. It makes my fucking chest ache.
“Babe, look I’m—”
“I’m really tired. I’m going to go to bed now,” Riley interrupts, tucking her phone into her front pocket, pushing her hair behind her ears and then nervously pulling the sleeves over her hands to hide them. She lets her eyes fall to a spot on the floor between us.
She’s waiting for me to leave.
I grip the back of my neck, squeezing hard.
I don’t buy Riley being tired. That prick upset her after I made shit uncomfortable, and now she’s wanting space.
Space from me.
I’ll leave. Fuck. I’ll do whatever she wants, but I’m not going anywhere until I know Riley’s not going to be in here crying alone.
“You all right?” I ask her, dropping my hand.
She lifts her eyes to me. “I’m just tired,” she says again, shoulder jerking and mouth trying to smile.
I still don’t believe her. And that smile isn’t hers. I know Riley’s smile.
I pull in a deep breath, looking at her, watching her eyes cut away again.
Yeah. She's definitely wanting space. And I’ll give it to her, whatever she wants, but I’m getting this out first.
“If you need to talk or if you just want someone to listen, you know where I am,” I say, gaining her eyes again and watching them widen the slightest bit. “If you feel like crying, I don’t want you staying in here alone, darlin’. I want you with me. Either come to my room or I’ll come to you. I don’t care what time it is. Okay?”
This isn't negotiable, and I think she hears that in my voice.
Riley hesitates for a breath, staring at me while she tugs on her sleeves. “Okay,” she says, voice quiet.
“Good.” I drop my head with a nod. “And, babe?”
“Yes?”
“I fucked up today. Tomorrow won’t be like that.”
I watch Riley stop fidgeting, blink, and part her lips before I’m turning away from her and heading out of the room.
My legs feel heavy. I don’t want to leave her.
“CJ?”
I stop just outside my bedroom door and look back over my shoulder. Riley is standing out in the hallway now too.
“Yeah?” I ask.
She gives me a soft smile, and the sweetest fucking “Goodnight,” she’s ever given me.
My chest gets tight. I stand there, watching her. Wanting her. Jesus, I want her. But she wants space. If she needs you, she’ll say it, I remind myself. And she doesn’t. Riley doesn’t ask me to stay with her. So I don’t linger when I want to. I give her what she needs.
“Goodnight, darlin’.”
Getting that from me, Riley keeps her smile, steps back into her bedroom, and closes the door.
I RUSH HOME after clinical and park in the spot I’ve claimed as my own, beside CJ's old, white pick-up truck in the driveway.