Chapter Three
Ridley
" W e need to talk," I growl at my cousin, Haven, stomping into the winery with my heart in my throat. My fucking head is pounding. I'm so pissed, I want to put my fist through a wall, but I don't even know who I'm pissed at right now.
Nah, that's a lie. I'm pissed at myself for making Paisley cry. That wasn't my intention. I don't know what the fuck I intended. I've been running on instinct since I saw her BMW parked outside two days ago. I tell myself to stay the fuck away from her, but I just can't seem to do it.
When she reminded me that who she fucks isn't my business, I saw red.
Before her, I was never a jealous man. Never wanted anything badly enough to feel it.
But the thought of her sleeping with someone who isn't me?
Yeah, that shit is eating me up, the same goddamn way it has for the last three years.
Did Haven really tell her that I left for Italy that morning?
I can't even wrap my head around that shit. Leaving was the last fucking thing on my mind with her in my bed. I wanted my ring on her finger. I wanted my last name to replace hers. I wanted my kid in her belly. Fuck Italy. I was moving heaven and earth to make sure I didn't have to leave her.
"Hey." Haven looks up at me from the front desk, seeming frazzled. "We can talk, but you're going to have to do it fast. We have a tour group scheduled to arrive in five minutes, and the stupid printer isn't working."
I grunt, sliding around the desk to look at the printer for her. The damn thing never works right. It jams up every time she tries to print out a new batch of materials for tour groups.
I pop open the tray to find the paper jam, trying to organize my thoughts.
"You remember the morning after Oliver's wedding?" I finally ask.
"Vaguely. Why? It says it's jammed somewhere between that tray and the other one." Haven points out the general area.
I spot the stuck paper and start working it out. "Do you remember Paisley coming to see you that morning?"
"Yeah," Haven says, her voice full of irritation. "I'm still mad at you for that, by the way."
"Mad at me? What'd I do?"
"Do you have any idea how awkward it was to tell her that you left the freaking country, Ridley?" my cousin growls, kicking me in the back of the knee from her chair. "I felt like such a jerk!"
"What the fuck?" I rip the rest of the paper out before spinning to face her. "Why the fuck did you tell her that I left the country?"
"Because you did!" she cries, scowling up at me like I'm the one in the wrong here.
"No, I didn't."
"Uh, yeah, you did. You've been in Italy for three years. Hello?" She narrows her eyes at me. "Are you drunk or something?"
"I didn't leave the fucking country that morning, Haven," I growl.
"Bastian took you to the airport. You didn't come home for six months," she says slowly, like she's talking to a toddler.
Jesus Christ.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, striving for calm. It doesn't really come. "He took me to the airport to change my tickets to his name ."
"What?" Her brows furrow.
"He was going to go to Italy in my place to get shit rolling. The airline wouldn't let us do the ticket transfer over the phone. We had to go to the airport to do it. I ended up flying out the next day instead, after Paisley left me."
"Oh." Her eyes widen. "Oh." She slaps a hand over her mouth. "Oh my god, Ridley. I told Paisley that you were flying out!"
I turn back to the printer, trying to give myself a minute to think. Part of me wants to ask what the fuck Haven was thinking, but this shit isn't her fault. She didn't know.
Christ, I fucked everything up, didn't I?
"Jesus," I rasp, grasping the sides of the printer as the last three years reorder themselves into a grim reality I didn't expect. One where I may have destroyed everything.
Paisley didn't walk away. She fled, thinking I did. She ran into the arms of some other motherfucker because she thought I took her virginity and then walked out without so much as a goodbye. No note, no explanation, just…gone while she slept.
No wonder she hates me.
"She was devastated, Ridley," Haven whispers behind me, guilt heavy in her voice. "Jax said she was crying when she ran out of here. And I was so mad at you for not telling her that you were leaving. I thought you were a big jerk for that."
"I bought her a ring that morning," I mumble.
"Oh, Ridley," she gasps sadly. "Does she…?"
"Know? No." I shake my head, laughing abruptly. "She thinks I fled the country without a fucking word."
"I'm so sorry!" Haven cries. "It's all my fault."
It'd be easy to blame her. She's the one who told Paisley I left…but it isn't her fault. I fucked up all on my own the minute I left her sleeping in my bed without explaining. And I had a chance to fix it, but I was too goddamn busy feeling sorry for myself to take it.
Christ, I should have hopped out of the truck on campus that day and ripped her out of that fucker's arms. I should have demanded answers right then and there, sorted all of this out then. Instead, I fucking cracked. I ran.
Maybe Paisley was right this morning. I did run. Maybe not when she thought or for the reasons she thought. But I fucking ran. I saw her in the arms of someone else, and I couldn't fucking handle it.
I damned us both because I thought she'd made her choice, and I was too goddamn afraid of what I'd do if I stayed.
"It's not your fault," I murmur to my cousin, closing the tray on the printer. "I fucked this one up all on my own."
"What are you going to do?" Haven asks as I stride for the door.
It's a damn good question…and I'm not sure I have an answer. I know what I want to do. I want to go back and fix it. I'd beg her to wait for me, make damn sure she knew I was coming back for her before I left the house. But I can't do that shit. There is no rewinding time.
Can I fix it? After three years, I don't know.
I step out into the parking lot, squinting against the sun.
"You asshole!" Oliver growls, shoving me up against the wall out of nowhere. His forearm goes across my throat, pinning me against the bricks. He's a bristling wall of fury, his eyes narrowed on my face as he snarls at me. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"So…you talked to Paisley," I say, resigned. I don't even try to fight back. If he wants to hit me, it's not like I don't deserve it.
He shoves me away from him with a low curse. "How the fuck are we even related?"
"I ask myself the same shit every day."
He thinks I'm being funny, but I'm not. It's a compliment. Oliver is a hell of a man, just like Dad. I understand business, but people? Well, not so much. Oliver has that shit all figured out, though. He's always been a far better man than I have.
"You asked her who she was fucking," he snaps at me.
"That's…not exactly what happened," I mutter, shoving my hair out of my eyes.
"Oh, really? So she showed up crying for no reason?"
Guilt churns through me, burning like acid. I fucking hate that I made her cry. I hate that I'm an asshole. I hate that she hated touching me this morning. I'm in hell, and it's entirely my fault.
"I fucked up," I admit.
"Yeah, no shit." He scowls at me. "You're a fucking asshole, you know that? She's spent the last three years working her ass off to finish law school. She's been through shit you can't even imagine. And then you act like a dick for no reason."
"I know." I sigh heavily. "I fucked up."
"Yeah, you did."
"What do you mean, she's been through shit I can't even imagine?"
"Nu-uh. I'm not telling you jack shit, motherfucker."
"Tell me," I growl.
"If you want to know, ask her." He narrows his eyes on me and then he smirks. "Just don't be surprised if you end up bleeding to death from a head wound if you do."
"What does that mean?"
"It means if you make her cry again, we're beating you to death with a shovel and then feeding you to the sharks, you prick." He jabs me in the chest. "And Lyra told Ma that you made Paisley cry."
"Fuck," I groan, clutching strands of my hair. "You told Ma?"
"No. I let my daughter tell Ma."
"You're an asshole." I glower at my little brother. I don't know why the fuck people think I'm the diabolical one. It's very clearly him. Ma will fight a goddamn bear for her granddaughters. There's no way she isn't kicking my ass if Lyra told her that I made her aunt cry.
"Yeah, well, so are you." He jabs me again. "Fix it before you lose her forever, you idiot."
"I'm fucking trying!"
"Not hard enough."
"Did you know she thought I left for Italy that morning?"
"Yeah. I've been trying to tell your stupid ass for three years that she thinks you walked out on her."
"You never fucking said she thought I left the goddamn country while she was asleep in my bed!"
He eyes me for a long moment and then sighs. "You want the truth?"
I jerk my chin in a nod.
"Maybe I thought she was right," he says, shrugging.
"What the fuck?"
"What was I supposed to think? You wouldn't tell me what the fuck happened between the two of you. Anytime I asked, you just told me to ask her if I wanted to know. That's the only goddamn thing you'd tell me. So why wouldn't I believe her version of events?"
"Jesus," I mutter, raking a hand through my hair. I'm not really surprised that's what he thinks. I'd be lying if I said it didn't sting, though. My own damn brother thinks I'm capable of that shit.
"Did you?" he asks.
"No," I growl through gritted teeth. "You know I didn't leave until the next day."
"You sure? Because no one around here knows where the fuck you went after our wedding."
I glower at him before shoving my hand into my pocket. I hold out the platinum ring in the palm of my hand. I've fiddled with it so much over the years, the platinum is dull. So is the diamond. "This is where I went that morning. If you don't believe me, ask Bastian. He was with me."
Oliver's eyes widen as he stares at the ring nestled in my palm. "Jesus."