Chapter 69
Idon’t want to step foot in that place again for the rest of my life. However, if Ripley’s team has found anything pertaining to Chelsea, I want to be there for it firsthand, instead of risking the watered-down version Rip would probably give me.
Panic starts to take hold when Bleakcrest comes into view. The massive complex can be seen halfway across the island, and I wonder if that’s why Ripley’s house is on the opposite end.
My wet hair drips onto my neck, running down below the collar of my shirt, sending a chill skittering through me as the warm air whips around us.
Rip’s got the top off the Jeep, face glowing in the early afternoon light.
He doesn’t have a care in the world, not even when he’s late as hell and Bucky’s called four times.
His fingers crawl across the centre console, tickling the skin of my bare thigh.
I wish I was wearing pants and a baggy hoodie, but Rip assured me the threat of heat stroke is very real.
The excessively large ‘Geology Rocks’ shirt that hits mid-thigh will have to suffice, because even though I know I’m safe, I don’t want to be gawked at.
I spent far too much time exposed within those walls, and since being out of them, my strength is slowly crumbling.
I can be weak, cry, scream, break, but I don’t want to.
If I even let just a little bit of it in, the flood gates will open and everything will come crashing through, swallowing me whole.
Rip walks his fingers up my skin, worming them between my tangling digits, interlocking them with his. His silent support pushes my nerves back out to sea, the slow ebb and flow of the water washing them away.
“Are you sure you want to come? I can take you home.” He’s dressed down today, just a loose black tank top that shows off his muscle-packed arms, and camo cargo shorts.
The spider and web tattoo on his knee peeks out every time he brakes or accelerates, shifting the muscles beneath the Carnotaurus skeleton ink adorning his calf.
He abandoned the toe thong flip-flops when I mentioned how they reminded me of the way Maximus’s slapped against his feet when he walked.
Opting for a pair of black Converse high tops that match the slip-on ones I chose.
I offer a small smile, though my leg bounces with more nervous energy. “I’ll be fine.”
“If it’s too much, say your safeword and we’ll get the hell out of there.”
“I have a safeword?”
“Dinosaur?”
A laugh huffs out of me. “Oh, right. Maybe I should pick something sexier.”
“No, it’s perfect.”
Heat, having nothing to do with the beating sun, warms my cheeks. “All right,” I reply. “Hey, speaking of dinosaurs, what’s your favourite today?”
“Raptor.”
“Why?”
“Guess.”
I wrack my brain, thinking of the favourite movies he insists we marathon. “Feeling cunning? Smart? Lethal? Devious?”
Ripley’s eyes assault mine, bewilderment buried beneath the lust in them. “Yes…exactly that.”
He quickly loses himself within his own mind. The next few minutes of our drive are quiet. I can’t tell if it’s from me, or the reality of what we’re driving up on. However, I need him to have his head on straight if he’s going to confess this massive lie of omission to his team.
A T-rex footprint air freshener dangles from the rearview mirror of the Jurassic inspired vehicle, swaying lightly.
“So, did you buy it like this, or do it yourself?” I ask, treading lightly.
Ripley doesn’t so much as grunt a response.
Squeezing his hand that’s trapped between mine, I try to pull his focus back to the present.
“Hey! Are you in there?” I joke.
“Hmm?”
“Are you okay? You don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for either.”
“Yeah…” he mutters, “actually, no.”
Ripley turns off the main road, entering the long winding driveway to Bleakcrest. Before reaching the main gate, he pulls off to the side, parking beneath the shade.
“Talk to me,” I encourage.
Distress is scrawled across his face and I don’t know how to make it better. His eyes look to the sky, refusing to meet mine.
“I don’t know how.”
“Okay, so don’t.”
“What?”
“If you don’t want to tell me what’s bothering you, you don’t have to.”
“I want to tell you, but I don’t know how.”
The walls around my heart fissure and fracture. What has he been through that he can’t properly convey how he’s feeling? I’ll dig as much as he allows to uncover the truth, but not right now. “That’s okay. We can figure it out. Did I upset you?”
He nods. What the fuck?
“Was it something I said?”
He shrugs.
“Ripley, look at me.” Reluctantly, he does. “Do you want to be alone?”
“No,” he whispers.
“Did I make you sad?” Trying to detangle this mess of feelings inside him is going to be a Herculean feat.
“You make me feel too many things, and I don’t know how to deal with it…I don’t know what it means.”
“Okay…” My expression falls as I try to decipher the well of shit he just popped the top off of.
“Fuck,” he huffs. “I’m sorry, Rose.”
“For what?”
“Bringing you down.”
“What? You didn’t.”
“Tell that to your face.”
“This is my thinking face.”
“Oh, yeah, whatcha thinking about?” His face lifts when he directs the conversation away from himself, and I burn with the need to see him crack one of those full blown smiles.
“You, obviously.” Maybe if I lay some of my emotions on the line, it will help him figure out his own. “How safe you make me feel. How happy, horny, and alive I am when you’re near.”
“Horny, eh?”
“Of course that’s what you’d focus on.” He throws that lazy, cocky grin at me, and I do, in fact, melt into a puddle of arousal. “I want you to know that whatever this is between us, it’s enough. I don’t need anything. I’m happy. Are you?”
“Yes, most of the time.”
That last part is like an arrow to the gut, but I choose not to over analyze it.
We’ve both clearly been through some shit.
I’ll offer what I can, and hopefully he will slowly start to do the same, bit by bit.
“Let’s just get through this, then we can go for ice cream?
” I offer, and he nods, shifting the jeep back into drive and inching out onto the driveway.
“Peanut butter swirl is your favourite, right?”
That same look begins to shadow his features again, and pieces start to click into place.
It’s the fact that I know him that’s upsetting him.
Is it because no one’s cared enough to try?
Or does he deem these things about himself inconsequential?
No matter the reason, my chest burns with anger and hurt for him.
Ripley nods again, slowly. “What’s mine?
” I ask, trying to show him this is normal.
People who care about each other remember things, big monumental events all the way down to the tiniest of details.
Size doesn't matter when someone is your counterpart. In fact, it’s not even a burden to store away all the information, if only to use it one day to make them smile. “Bet you can’t remember,” I tease.
“Chocolate brownie crunch,” he replies.
I open my mouth to add on to the end of his sentence, but he cuts me off.
“In a bowl, not a cone. Because, and I quote, ‘No one likes a soggy cone’.”
“Good boy,” I murmur, unclasping my seatbelt and leaning over the centre console.
Ripley’s eyes dilate as he pulls into a parking stall between Kyle’s black and gold dirt bike and Bucky’s grape soda coloured El Camino. Apparently, it’s his pride and joy, sparkling in the raging sun.
“Watch that mouth, flower, or I’ll give you something to lick that isn’t ice cream.” He leans closer, lips lightly grazing over mine. “Though I’d pay to watch you swirl that filthy tongue around a cone in nothing but those boots I bought you.”
“Mmmm,” I hum appreciatively, “promise?”
“Absofuckinglutely,” he breathes, before eliminating the rest of the distance between us.
Ripley’s lips move confidently against mine, soft and hungry.
This is where he’s most comfortable. I noticed it before, when things started to get heavy conversation wise, he’d bail.
Shifting his focus from talking to my body, and burying himself inside it.
Aside from Kyle and Bucky, I don’t think Ripley’s had anyone to lean on or show him genuine affection.
And, fuck knows how crap men are at communication.
Even if they’re there for each other, how deep does their well of knowledge go?
Do they know his past, his fears, his traumas?
What about his strengths, his goals, and his love of the ocean?
Knock. Knock.
Bucky’s knuckles rap against the Jeep door, putting an end to our heated kiss.
“Hold me back before I kill him.”
I pull away. “That’s not very nice.”
“I don’t like being interrupted.”
“In general…or just with me?” I tease.
“You’re the only one who can interrupt without inciting my wrath.”
“Your wrath? What wrath? You claim to be so monstrous and scary, but I don’t believe it.”
“Haven’t you thoroughly witnessed how vengeful I can be, flower?”
“Well, yeah, but…” That wasn’t just revenge, that was protection.
“Just because it’s not directed at you, doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
“Fine. I’ll let you have that one,” I grumble as I open the door and step out.
“Give or take an hour my ass, Rip.”
He shrugs, looking to me over his shoulder as I round the ’92 Jeep Sahara. “We got held up.”
A blush creeps up my neck. We sure did, and it’s because I ate myself into a food coma.
It hurt to walk back to Ripley’s place, and I dragged my ass, whining every step just to get back at him for letting me order the Big island Breakfast in the first place.
Then the shower was so lovely, I took my sweet fucking time.
“My fault,” I offer, moving to stand next to Rip. Bucky wouldn’t complain where I’m concerned, not in front of Ripley, anyway. “He took me to Maple Jacks.”
Bucky gives me a puzzled look before swinging his gaze back to his boss. “I’ve found some troubling footage you need to see.”