Chapter 15
ELLA
I lift my eyes from the TV show I’m watching on my laptop to watch Ry walk away from the firepit and patio. He heads over to the tent. I stare until his body blurs with the edges of darkness and that delicious ass disappears. It’s Harlan’s poker night so I knew Ry would be at the homestead.
My excuse tonight was that I figured he needed to use my hotspot for homework. The truth is, I wanted to see him, wanted to be near him after my run-in with Catie.
He didn’t say anything to mock me when I showed up unannounced. Just smiled and nodded.
And to my credit, he has been doing homework on his laptop.
And to my detriment, I am now apparently the kind of girl who shamelessly chases after a guy.
I always thought I’d want the guy to chase after me. I guess not. When did I become so pathetic? If Carrie were here, she’d know what to do. Or, maybe she’d be high, and she’d have no clue how to help me navigate these uncharted waters.
Next, I hear him rummaging around in one of the storage containers and then I hear him fiddling with something in his truck. I have no idea why he is flittering all over the place, acting like a lost hummingbird. Taking a deep breath, I try my best to focus on the show in front of me. I’m sitting on the wicker loveseat, and I pulled a side table in front of me so I could watch the show on my laptop.
My focus is interrupted a second later when Ry appears, hovering over me. “Scoot over,” he orders.
I quickly make room for him, staring at the objects in his hands. He sits down and I immediately get butterflies in my stomach just from his proximity. He’s wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt tonight with jeans that are a little bit tighter around his thighs than some of the other pairs he has.
He also hasn’t shaved. The two-day scruff is a major turn-on, making him look older, more dangerous. More feral.
He reaches over, covering me with a thick quilt. And then he wraps one of his thin white garage towels around an ice-filled plastic bag. Grabbing my battered left hand, he tenderly touches my scrapes and bruises, studying my face for pain. Gently laying my hand in his lap—very near his crotch—he covers it with the ice pack. “Doesn’t look like anything is broken.”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“You plan on telling me what happened?”
“No.”
“Well, I suggest you quickly modify your plans, then.”
Sighing, I debate on telling a lie.
He cocks his head and squints his eyes. “And so help me, if you lie to me, Lulu, I’ll flip my shit.”
I snort. “Well, that’s kind of what happened to me.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“I flipped my crap,” I admit.
I tell him about what happened with Catie just a few hours ago. He’s not happy, that’s for sure. He doesn’t interrupt, but his jaw tenses and the muscle in it constantly twitches. It’s actually pretty cute. A few times the tension has him squeezing my hand a little too hard. When he sees me wince, he eases up, realizing what he’s unintentionally doing. Each time, he rubs his thumb in small circles against the back of my wrist, trying to soothe the bite of his grip.
When I’m finished, he swallows, bobbing his Adam’s apple. He doesn’t say anything.
“Aren’t you gonna say something? Say I told you so.”
“I may be an asshole, Lulu, but I try not to be petty. So, no, I’m not gonna tell you I told you so. I actually wish you would’ve proven me wrong. It’s your sister we’re talking about. Your missing sister. You want her home. And I want her home with you. I also wish her friends would prove my theory wrong. I wish her friends would stand up for her and do what’s right. But they’re addicts. And that’s one thing I know about. I’ve lived with it my whole life. Their most fierce and loyal love is the addiction.”
I try to discreetly shift closer to him. He smells like soap and firewood smoke. Chuckling under his breath, he wraps his free arm around me and pulls me against his side. He’s not discreet. He’s purpose driven.
Eventually my stiff shoulders and back begin to ache, and I sink down against him, resting my head in that perfect divot where his shoulder meets his chest. I pull my legs up beside me on the seat, making myself more comfortable.
He leans close to my ear, sending a rippling shiver down the base of my spine. “Why crime and murder shows?”
“Hmm?”
“We’ve watched TV together twice. Last night at the garage and tonight. Both times, it was crime documentaries. Why?”
I shrug. “Intrigue. Fascination. Research.”
“Research?”
“Well, you didn’t just become a great mechanic overnight, did you? You studied different makes and models. Learned the fine details of the process. It’s pretty obvious that whatever happened to Carrie involves a crime. I need to study it. Learn about it. Grow from it. If I ever plan on finding her, I need to become proficient in the art.”
He wants to chastise me. Order me to stop. Demand I stop looking for answers. But he doesn’t. “Tell me about her. What was she like growing up? Tell me about what happened.”
I reach around to the back of my neck, rubbing my scar while I think. How do you start? How do you begin to tell a story that’s still being told? One whose epilogue is yet to be written?
“She’s an amazing big sister. And I’m not just saying that, Ry. She really is. I know your parents are terrible parents. Mine are too, just in a different way. So, it was always me and Carrie. She’s a big sister, best friend, and mother wrapped into one. Everything I learned, I learned from her. Well, her and our nanny, Janine. Janine was hired when I was five and Carrie was eight. She lived with us. She moved to Arizona to be with family when Carrie turned sixteen and could drive.
“Anyway, she’s always been beautiful. Those big blue eyes, that blonde hair, that flawless skin. When we would play princess, I always wanted her to be the princess and me be the maid. That part just fit her. My Princess Carrie.”
I pull my hand down, snuggling against him and relishing the feel of his hard body supporting mine. He removes the ice pack, setting it on the ground beside him, and he pulls the blanket closer around my body. I can’t believe I’m letting all of my guards down around him. I never snuggle with anyone. Ever.
Except Carrie.
“We had a little system. Janine wouldn’t teach us both something at the same time. She’d teach Carrie and then Carrie would have to teach me. She wanted us to always rely on one another. Lord knows, we can’t rely on our parents for anything. Except money.
“Carrie taught me how to read, how to ride a bike, how to do a cartwheel. She showed me how to vacuum and do laundry and iron. She helped me with my homework and taught me how to cook. How to plants flowers and mow the grass.”
I glance up at him and I’m surprised when I catch him staring at me, so intently. I shift my body, sitting up, and swinging my legs around to his lap so I can look at his face while I talk. Look into his pale green eyes. I can tell that he likes it when I look into his eyes. He repositions the blanket over us and holds my legs against his body, rubbing my shins as I talk. The touch of his skin burns through the fabric of my black leggings.
“Push mowing,” I explain. “Not doing the riding lawn mower. My first time, I ran over a piece of metal. It flung out and hit her in the arm. She had to have ten stitches. I’m lucky it didn’t poke her eye out or stab her in the head.” I smile. “Janine took us out for pizza and ice cream after that.”
I sigh. There are too many important memories to pluck from the air and pinpoint. Each and every one is special in its own place and time.
“She made friends so easily when we were growing up. She’s so outgoing. Like almost annoyingly outgoing. And she always had a boyfriend. She’d refused to date anyone who wouldn’t let me tag along. She knew I didn’t really have friends. Why did I need friends when I had her?
“She met Caleb during her freshman year of college, and he became part of my and Carrie’s everyday family. They are just meant for each other, you know? But he found out about the drug use and just couldn’t handle it. He tried to stop her. He broke up with her when he found out she was pushing. She wouldn’t talk to me about the breakup. She’s never done that before. She talks to me about everything. I should’ve pressed more. I should’ve gotten to the bottom of it.”
“You can’t play the ‘should’ve game’, Lulu. It’s a roulette wheel.”
“I know. I wasn’t even here when she went missing. I was on a cruise with my Uncle Ray, Aunt Teresa, and cousin, Holt. I wasn’t supposed to go. Uncle Ray had bought it as a surprise Christmas present, but my older cousin, Raylee, was awarded a really prestigious summer internship at a company in Washington, DC. She’s a year older than Carrie and is a senior at Florida State University. She couldn’t pass up that opportunity. So, they had one extra ticket. I’m closer in age to Holt, so they thought he and I would have more fun together. He’s a junior in high school this year.”
I suck my bottom lip through my teeth. “She went missing Fourth of July weekend. She just turned twenty at the end of June. I was in the middle of the Caribbean when my sister disappeared. We didn’t make it home until two days after the police report was filed. My sister was most likely fighting for her life and I was snorkeling on a coral reef. How do I live with that, Ry?”
He plants both hands on the side of my face. How can one’s heart stop beating and race at the exact same time? I don’t know, but that’s what Ry does to mine. His hands lower from my face and run down my shoulders and arms until his fingers fold around my wrists. Lifting my hands, he wraps my arms around the back of his neck.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
I pull him into my arms and snake my fingers through his hair, rubbing against the fuzzy new growth that’s grown on his neck since his last haircut.
His gaze drifts to my mouth. The heat from his stare has me opening my lips and running my tongue across them, simply trying to cool down. It’s a job that he obviously wants to do. His tongue flickers out and dances across my upper lip. Teasing me, he slides his tongue into my parted mouth, but retreats the second my own rises to meet his.
My panted breath creates an audible rhythm between our bodies. I’m growing impatient, and I force his neck down, begging for his face to come closer to mine. He pulls back, tsking me with a click of his tongue. Instead of kissing me, he just watches me. Mere centimeters from my face, he watches me. His pupils dilate with desire, driving me absolutely mad.
Just when I think I’m about to explode, he leans forward and sucks my bottom lip between his teeth. The second I moan into the night air, he consumes me.
I can’t imagine there is another human on the face of this planet who kisses like Ryland Joseph Crutchfield. He kisses me like his whole purpose for living is to make me happy. To make me feel wanted. To make me feel desirable.
He kisses slow. He kisses fast. He kisses sloppy. He kisses neatly. His kisses aren’t just an event occurring at this one precise moment. They’re a multi-faceted, multi-dimensional, quantum leap across time and space. A full-fledged saga.
His kisses are a saga.
His tongue tangles with mine, pooling heat and fire in every fiber of my being. Each time I’m about to suffocate with my own need to pull him closer, he shifts his face, covering my jaw, neck, and earlobe with the same lavished attention. But he always comes back.
Always comes back to my mouth. To my lips. To my tongue.
I pray he always comes back.
To me.