9. Alison #5
“I DIDN’T!” Silence. Ryan drags both hands through his hair. “I didn’t.” His voice is rough now. “I could’ve done something else. I could’ve picked something else. I could’ve stopped before Switzerland. I fucking didn’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I saw Bennett watching and I panicked!” That shuts me up. Ryan laughs once. Ugly. “You want the fucking truth? There it is. I panicked.”
“You don’t panic.”
“Apparently I fucking do now!” He points toward the main house.
“There’s a picture in my pocket of a baby I can’t tell anyone is mine.
Your father has a date on a fucking calendar to take you away from me.
Tremblay keeps putting his hands on you.
Roman already hit you. We don’t have enough evidence.
We don’t have Tobias. We don’t have enough fucking time.
” His voice cracks. “And every morning I wake up wondering which thing I missed is going to be the one that costs me you.”
My anger doesn’t disappear.
Ryan steps closer. “I am trying to control too many variables because I can’t control the one thing I actually give a shit about.”
“What?”
“You.” My throat closes. He shakes his head immediately. “No. Fuck. That’s wrong.”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t mean control you. I can’t control what happens to you.” There. His voice drops. “And it is making me fucking insane.”
“You don’t get to love me so hard that you turn into another person making decisions for me. You don’t get to decide I’m too fragile to know the plan. Or what risks I’m allowed to take.”
His jaw tightens. “That one we’re going to fight about.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
“If your brilliant fucking plan is to throw yourself under the bus so Tobias gets out, we’re fighting.”
“You don’t get a vote.”
“The fuck I don’t.”
“He is my brother.”
“And you are my—“ He stops.
“My what?”
His eyes burn into mine. “The person I fucking love.”
My heart pounds. “Not your property.”
“Never said you were.”
“Then stop acting like losing me is somehow worse than losing Tobias.”
“I’m not choosing between you!”
“You might have to!”
“NO.” His voice shakes the room. “No. Fuck that. I am not accepting that as an option.”
“You can’t plan your way out of everything!”
“WATCH ME.”
I stare at him. He stares back. Both of us breathing hard. Both furious. Both scared. And, because my body is apparently a traitorous fucking bitch, I’m suddenly painfully aware of how close he is. Ryan sees it. Of course he does. His eyes drop to my mouth. Mine drop to his.
“This doesn’t mean I’m not mad at you.”
“I fucking hope not.”
I blink. “What?”
“Be mad.” He steps closer. “Yell at me.” Another. “Tell me I fucked up.” Another. “I did.” He’s right in front of me now. “But don’t stand there and tell me I’m supposed to be calm about losing you.”
“I didn’t say calm.”
“You want me rational?”
“I want you to stop trying to run my fucking life.”
“I want you to stop volunteering to die for everyone else.”
“I am not volunteering to die!”
“Then stop talking like what happens to you doesn’t fucking matter!”
“IT MATTERS TO ME!”
“Then act like it!”
I shove him. Hard. Ryan barely moves. His eyes flare. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Do that unless you mean it.”
“Mean what?” His gaze drops to my mouth again. Oh. Oh, fuck him. I shove him a second time. “I fucking hate you right now.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Cocky asshole.”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
I grab the front of his shirt. “You hurt me.”
His hands stay at his sides.
“I’m still mad.”
“I know.”
I yank him down and kiss him. Hard. There is nothing sweet about it. His hands finally hit my waist. I bite his lip. He makes a sound against my mouth. Good. I want him pissed too. I want all of it out. Fear. Anger. Love. Everything we’ve been swallowing because somebody is always watching.
Ryan breaks the kiss. His forehead hits mine. “Tell me to stop.”
“Fuck you.”
“Ally.”
“I don’t want you to stop.”
That’s all he needs. Ryan kisses me like the fight never ended — just changed languages.
It’s hard. Open. Nothing careful about it.
One hand fists in my hair at the back of my skull and tips my head back so he can take my mouth the way he wanted to in the dining hall and couldn’t.
I bite his lip again. He makes a sound that isn’t sorry.
Then the wall hits my back. Not enough to hurt.
Enough that I feel it. His body cages mine, forearm braced beside my head, the other hand still tangled in my hair.
I grab his shirt in both fists and yank him closer, because if he’s going to pin me here he doesn’t get to do it from a polite distance.
“Still mad,” I say against his mouth.
“Good.” He kisses me again, deeper. “Stay mad.” His thigh slots between mine. I can feel how hard he already is, and it pisses me off how much that helps. How much he helps. After lunch. After Switzerland. After he used the two things he knew would cut.
I pull his hair. He groans into the kiss and presses me harder into the wall, careful of my stomach even now — there’s a sliver of space he won’t close, a line he won’t smash through — but everything else is him. Heat. Breath. The faint shake in the hand that’s in my hair.
“You don’t get to fix this with your mouth,” I warn.
“Not trying to fix it.” Another kiss, messy, almost angry. “Trying to feel you. That’s it.”
“That’s not nothing.”
“No.” His forehead knocks mine. “It’s the only thing I’ve wanted all fucking day that I was allowed to have.”
I kiss him so I don’t have to answer that.
His hand slides from my hair down the side of my neck, my shoulder — skips the bruises without looking like he’s skipping them — and lands at my waist. He holds me there against the wall like he’s making sure I won’t disappear if he blinks.
We’re both breathing like we ran here. Neither of us moves to take clothes off yet.
We’re just here. Kissing. Fighting. Wanting.
Pinned to the guest house wall with Tobias’s voice still faintly carrying from the main house, and for one dangerous second I don’t care about any of it except the boy who just admitted he panicked.
“You used Switzerland,” I say against his mouth.
“I did.”
“You used my writing.”
“I did.” He pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes hot. “And you keep walking into the blades for everyone else like your body is the only acceptable cost.”
I freeze for half a second. Then I kiss him harder so I don’t have to hear it.
He lets me. Then he fists my hair and tips my head back.
“No. You wanted me to talk. I’m talking.
” His mouth finds my throat. Not gentle.
Not hurting. Claiming. “You will throw yourself in front of Roman. In front of Tremblay. In front of a fucking plane. You will let him hit you if it keeps Tobias looking the other way.”
“He’s six—“
“And you’re carrying our baby.” He says it against my skin, furious and scared and in love. “You don’t get to spend yourself like you’re extra. I won’t let you.”
I yank at his belt. “You’re not my father.”
“No.” He helps me, shoving his jeans down just enough, then mine, both of us clumsy and impatient. “I’m the person who has to live with it if you disappear.”
I climb into his lap, my knees hitting the mattress on either side of his hips. His hands come up — one at my waist, one in my hair — and I yank his shirt up.
“I hated today,” I say against his mouth.
“I know.”
“I hated you.”
He kisses me harder, dragging my shirt up. “I hated me too.”
My shirt hits the floor. His follows. Skin. Heat. The ultrasound still sitting in his pocket like a secret with a heartbeat. I scrape my nails down his chest and he groans into my mouth, hands careful at my back, never crowding my stomach even when the rest of him is anything but careful.
“Fuck.” I kiss him again, messy, angry. “I love you though. I hate that I love you.”
“Don’t.” His voice is rough. “Don’t hate that part.” Clothes end up on the floor in a wreck. I sink down against him, still in his lap, still kissing him like I’m winning an argument. His hands grip my hips — tight, shaking.
“I hated watching you sit there,” he says into my mouth. “I hated every laugh. I hated that it worked. I hated that Bennett believed it. I hated that you believed I could mean it even for a second.”
“I didn’t.”
“Yes you did.” His forehead hits mine. “For three seconds you hated me. You said so.”
“I did.” My voice breaks. “And I still wanted you to come back.”
“I’m here.” He kisses me, hard, almost desperate. “I’m right here. Be mad. Stay mad. Just don’t you ever decide you’re the piece we can afford to lose.”
I rock against him, both of us breathing like the fight is still happening in our bodies. I reach between us and line him up. No teasing. No asking. I sink down in one fast, messy slide and the sound that leaves me is half a curse. Ryan’s hands lock on my hips. He doesn’t thrust up. He lets me.
“Fuck—“ My forehead drops to his. “I hated today. I hated the car. I hated Caldwell. I hated Bennett looking at me like I was already gone.” I lift and drop again, taking him deep, setting a pace that’s too fast to be sweet.
“I hated you in that dining hall.” Another roll of my hips.
“I hated my notebook on the floor. I hated Switzerland coming out of your mouth. I hated that it worked.”
“Take it,” he rasps. “Take what you want. I’m right here.”
“I hated how good you are at being that boy.” I kiss him, teeth and breath. “I hated that I still looked for you after.”
His grip tightens. Still not steering. Holding on.
“That’s it.” Rough. Low. Almost a growl. “That’s my girl. Use me. Ride me like you’re still pissed. You look so fucking pretty taking what you want.”
I slam down harder and he groans like it hurts in the good way.
“God, I love you.” It comes out wrecked. “I love you and I love this and I hate that I needed it after you made a whole room laugh at me.”
“I know.” His mouth finds my throat. “Hate me. Love me. Keep moving. You’re doing so good. Taking me so deep. So tight. Mine. Even when you’re furious. Especially then.”