Chapter 17
Payton
W hat the hell just happened? Are we living in some sort of upside-down world? Had I not been so confused, I may have just followed him up the stairs and demanded he talk to me.
I’ve known Rhyland just about my entire life, yet I’ve never seen him like that. Waves of rage emanated from him, yet I wasn’t scared. I know he won’t hurt me, and he would never hurt Gabby.
Something clearly happened. There was blood on his jacket, and I’m about ninety-nine percent sure that it wasn’t animal blood.
I’ve worked at Tilley’s long enough to know Rhy loves his chef’s whites clean and crisp.
Plus, I had glanced at his knuckles, which were split and bloody, when I crouched down in front of him.
I don’t know if he will actually share what is going on, but I know someone who will. My brothers both should have been at Tilley’s tonight, so they have to have an idea what’s going on.
A thought hits me that makes my stomach drop. What if he had hit one of them? No, he wouldn’t, would he?
I push that idea to the back of my mind as I find my phone on the floor in front of the spot on the couch, where I was sitting when Rhy had slammed the door. It scared the shit out of me, and I’m thankful I’d just dropped my phone and hadn’t thrown it.
The door slam was the first clue that something was wrong. Since Gabby and I moved in here, he’s always been calm, caring, and respectable, even being quiet as a mouse in his own place, not wanting to disturb Gabby.
I pull up Archer’s contact and press Send. Ollie may be Rhyland’s best friend, but right now, I need someone levelheaded to talk to. It only rings once when the doorbell rings. I hang up, hoping that maybe that’s Ollie or Archer coming to fill me the hell in.
No, I’m pretty sure Ollie has a key to this place, but both would know not to ring the doorbell this late.
Either would have texted to alert if they were coming over.
But maybe whoever is on the other side of the door will have some answers.
Oh my God, what if it’s the police on the other side of the door?
The doorbell rings again, and this time, I’m not curious who it is—I’m pissed. Who the fuck rings the doorbell at this hour?
As I grab the doorknob and twist, I know the first thing I’ll say is to give this motherfucker a piece of my mind.
But as I open the door, all concept of words and really anything slips from my brain.
The door swings open to reveal the last person I ever expected to see on the other side—Joel Taylor .
I blink at him, I’m sure looking like a damn deer in headlights. That’s exactly how I feel, though—the moment just before impact. I’m the defenseless deer, and he is the unsuspecting driver about to change my world. He will either nearly miss me or hit me straight-on.
“Well, hey, beautiful.” Just hearing his words and that phrase, which was the first thing he ever said to me, snaps me out of it.
“Joel? What the ever-loving fuck are you doing here?” I hiss.
“Is that any way to greet your hubby?” The nice-guy facade was clearly a thing of the past. He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms and ankles, looking the ever-smug bastard.
“Ex,” I shout back, “or did you forget about that part?”
I don’t want to make a scene on the front step, but I also refuse to invite him inside either.
Searching behind him, I spot his black sports car—something I once found so sexy but realized it was just his way of throwing around his money, or, well, his family’s money.
But what has me raging is that I can see the silhouette of her.
He’s not only here, but he brought her? What the actual fuck?
The sooner I can figure out why, the sooner I can get them out of here—especially because I don’t know how long Rhy will be upstairs. I don’t know what set him off, but the last thing we need to do is add fuel to the fire. How the hell did he even find out where I live?
“Joel, what the fuck are you doing here?”
“Can’t I want to come see my daughter?” A laugh that I don’t even recognize slips past my lips.
“Now you care? Now you want to give a damn? How about when I was in labor with her? No, you didn’t even bother rescheduling your beach vacation.”
I had called Joel when I began serious contractions, and he hadn’t answered.
By the time he had finally called me back after my fifth or sixth call to him, I learned he had taken Adrienne on a four-day “baby moon” to Cancun.
A fucking baby moon with his mistress ? His response to me was that the baby would still be here when they got back.
Something catches Joel’s attention behind me, and he stands up. His spine goes rigid as hell.
“Oh, hell no. What the fuck?”
Huh? I turn to look over what has him freaking out like this and find Rhyland coming down the stairs in gray joggers and a black T-shirt. His jaw is just as taut as when he arrived home, if not more, and his cheeks are as red as a tomato. What the hell is going on?
When I turn back around to Joel, he’s finally stepped into the light, and I catch sight of his face.
There is bruising on the right side of his face and a gash on his left cheek.
There’s a rim of dark red dried blood on his nostril and staining his dress shirt.
I finally put two and two together—the state of Joel’s face versus Rhyland’s fists. Did Rhy hit him? How? When?
There are so many questions I need to ask, but before I can ask a single one of them, Joel speaks or more so seethes.
“I don’t want him anywhere near you or my kid.” The way he says “ my kid ” makes it sound like Gabby is some sort of possession or property. I’m over even trying to figure out why the hell he’s here. I’m done. All I care about is getting him the hell out of here before someone calls the cops.
“Well, you lost that right already. Neither of us is your concern, and you only have yourself to blame. Tell Adrienne I said fuck off.” I slam the door in his face before dramatically clicking the lock.
As if that would help keep him out. For all I know, he might just stay standing there and ring the doorbell continuously.
Thankfully, I can hear his dramatic exit of peeling wheels out of the driveway.
With one hand still clutching to the lock and the other palm pressed firmly against the door, my heart beats wildly in my chest and is so loud I can hear the drumming in my ears.
What the hell just happened? I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it.
The floor creaks under Rhyland’s slow footsteps. I don’t turn around. I can’t yet, while I try to get myself under control. The footsteps stop when he is right behind me. I can feel the heat coming off his body.
“Payton,” he rasps, and I’m unsure if he’s saying my name to settle me or himself.
“You punched him?” I ask as my chest rises and falls—there’s no chance I can steady my breathing. Not as I try to process that this man behind me punched my ex-husband. Why, though? And what the hell was Joel doing at Tilley’s?
I repeat my question when he remains quiet. His silence will not work for me anymore. I will continue to pester him with the same question until he responds.
“I didn’t mean to. It was just—” He pauses.
“He showed up at Tilley’s. Ollie came into the kitchen heated over it, and when I learned he was there, I just lost it.
Had you been there, it would’ve devastated you.
I mean, who the fuck does he think he is?
There was no way in hell I was going to let him hurt you or Gabby again. ”
He continues going on a tangent as I turn around, but I only catch just about every other word because I’m still stuck on “ There was no way in hell I was going to let him hurt you or Gabby again. ”
“I’m sorry. How could he just abandon you and her? Whatever he wanted, he didn’t deserve you.”
I look up and see the emotion on his face. The rage has faded, and this time, it’s something more in his eyes—there’s still heat surrounding his eyes. It sets my blood ablaze.
“Rhy.” My voice is just above a whisper, and it causes him to stop.
Before I know what I’m doing, I launch myself into his arms and press my lips to his.
I’m sure if someone was watching, it would resemble that kiss between Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams at the MTV Movie Awards that I’m sure everyone wanted to experience once in their lifetime.
At first, he’s hesitant. Clearly, my reaction to this caught him off guard. The longer he doesn’t move, the more I fear I maybe read the room wrong. But then the most amazing thing happens, and he kisses me back.
Kissing Rhyland Cole is like coming home. I’ve dreamed about this moment my whole life, but nothing compares to the real thing.
His hand tangles in my hair at the back of my neck and holds my face to his possessively. His tongue sweeps across my bottom lip, seeking entrance against mine.
There is no longer any hesitation on either of our parts. No restraint, as if we had been kissing for years.
My legs tighten around Rhyland’s waist when I feel us move from the front door to the couch.
He sits down, and I move to straddle his lap, refusing to unseal our lips.
We continue to kiss, getting lost in each other.
I whimper, literally fucking whimper, when he pulls back.
He smirks before closing the distance again.
But this time, his lips don’t land on my lips. They first start at the corner of my mouth before moving down my jaw to my neck. When I feel his teeth nip my skin, I become putty in his hands. I try to steady myself with my hands on his shoulders and grind my pelvis against his.
He groans against my skin.
Is this real life?
“This is real, baby.”
Fuck, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.
My hands roam over the planes of his body.
I’m lost in the sensation of touch. The feeling of his hands on mine, our pelvises grinding against each other, my hands touching him.
My fingers dance along his abdomen as I make my way to the waistband of his sweats.
There are only small swatches of material that separate us fully from each other.
I need to feel him in my hands. What has come over me?
I’ve never been like this with anyone. Not that I have as much experience as others, but Rhyland makes me lose control.
Just before my hand slips under the material, he freezes and grabs my palm, stopping me.
“Wait, wait,” he pants as we both try to catch our breath.
I knew this moment was too good to be true.