Page 146

Dylan: How is Dot doing?
Row: Better. Turned out to be a fracture. Me and Seraf are giving her some TLC.
Dylan: Good. Tell her I’m sorry she had to deal with Tucker. I am so embarrassed I brought him into our lives.
Row: Shh. We got Gravity out of it. Now let’s focus on making sure he is forever out of our lives.
Dylan: I guess it’s time to tell you that you were right about…well, let’s see, EVERYTHING.
Row: I wasn’t.
Dylan: No?
Row: I was wrong about Rhyland. He stepped up.
Dylan: Row?
Row: Yes, little sis?
Dylan: I love you.
I spent the entire night staring at my daughter asleep, monitoring her breathing, following the rise and fall of her chest.
I couldn’t rip myself from her side. There were going to have to be talks with lawyers, restraining orders, he-said-she-said depositions, and maybe even a trial, but I couldn’t think about any of those things. In fact, I couldn’t get past the fact that before Tucker threw my entire life for a morbid, four-hour spin, it was Rhyland who had all the power over me.
Rhyland and his decisions.
Rhyland and his ruthless, punishing beauty.
Rhyland and that flirty photo with Claire Larsen.
I knew who he was. He’d never hidden nor denied it. He was a hedonistic, fun-loving slut who enjoyed a variety of women. I was the flavor of the week, and oh, how he loved the taste of me. But that didn’t mean he could offer more.
And maybe this was all real. Maybe I was his one in a million. But putting my heart on the line had turned out to be a price too hefty to pay. Because the way he saved Gravity, the way I saw him in action, the unbearable grip he had on my heart, frightened me. He could do with it as he pleased. And Rhyland was notoriously reckless with things. Case in point: he’d lost his pants before Bruce Marshall swooped in to save the day.
I’d spent this evening, prior to Tucker, sinking into a miserable oblivion because I thought he’d stood me up. Because he flirted with a starlet. If it weren’t for Cal, Gravity would have seen the damage he did to me. And then Tucker showed up and reminded me that men couldn’t be trusted.
No matter how many times they gave you orgasms.
No matter how many times they called you beautiful.
No matter how many times they made sweet, charming promises.
At five in the morning, I uncurled myself from around my daughter’s tiny figure and rose up from her toddler bed, my bare feet gliding over the engineered wooden floor toward the living room.
Rhyland was asleep on my couch. He insisted on staying over so we’d feel safe. Mittens and Fluffy were nestled at his feet, snoring the night away. My heart cracked like an egg. He was such a sucker for those dogs. He was never going to get rid of them.
I took a seat in the hollow gap between his flat abs and the couch. He hadn’t changed his clothes or taken a shower since his initial journey in the morning, and he smelled accordingly. Coppery, sweaty, and sour, like dried blood and a long, punishing day. I placed a hand on his cheek. Instinct made his hand lock around my wrist, but then his eyes fluttered open, and he released me, his scowl melting into an indulgent smirk that always made my heart beat faster.
“Hi,” I croaked.
“Cosmos,” he rasped. “My favorite sight.”
In that moment, I didn’t feel like the universe at all. Maybe like a black hole that sucked the life out of everything.
Rhyland read my face like an open book—leafing through the pages, racing through the paragraphs. My feelings were in plain sight. He understood immediately. He sat up straight. The dogs yelped in protest at his shifting position and skated down to the floor to resume their nap.
“Look, there was a surprise tornado.” He stuck his fingers into luscious locks of hair that were no longer there, immediately running his palm through his new cut. “It came out of left fucking field. I woke up to the storm. All the flights out of Dallas got canceled. I got here as fast as I could. DestroyedBruce’s Ram. I gave Tate twenty-five percent of my shares in my company to borrow his plane. I—”