Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
DANI
At midnight, I sit on my balcony, drinking jasmine tea and trying to stay awake. Darkness swirls around me, my blood half anxiety. I’ve tried to read but can’t concentrate. I keep checking the time. Even The Ramones are a pulsating sound that rearranges my atoms and squashes all thoughts.
God, if Joey fails me, I’m in serious shit.
My mind tries to pick apart the reasons why Rhys hasn’t shown up. Visitor hours ended at eight, and his last text landed at four when he asked if he could swing by. I said yes. I need to see him. I need him to cradle me in his arms and protect me from this exploding shitty day.
To tell me it will be alright, even if it isn’t.
Because I’ve been a woman in meaningless motion. I tried to eat but picked listlessly at a poke bowl Uber left on my doormat. I vacuumed, Windex-ed, and laundered. Nothing could occupy my restless mind, or make me forget my clit was now, in Osoyoos, arguably as famous as Rhys.
The only comfort I will feel is when we are here, no more than two feet apart.
At twelve-fifteen, the waiting game finally ends. Rhys buzzes from the intercom, my nerve endings tingling the entire time it takes him to ride up the elevator. As soon as he steps out into the hallway, the energy shifts. An ominous kind of stillness floats around him.
“Hey,” he says. “Sorry I’m so late.”
I step aside, holding the door open. “It’s fine. Come in.”
He kicks off his flip-flops, eyes sweeping the living room in a way that bubbles up the same self-consciousness as when Brett first came over and detailed what I needed to upgrade.
“I’d invite you in,” I joke through my insecurity, “but you’re in. It’s no palazzo.”
He quirks a brow. “This is cute. It suits you.”
I shut the door, and a silence falls, me trying to figure out where to start. Rhys is tired-eyed, far from immaculate, and still takes my breath away.
He’s also impossible to read.
“Can I get a glass of water?” he asks.
“Sure. Are you hungry? I’ve got?—”
“I’m good with water. Thanks.”
I gesture at my sofa that, admittedly, has seen better days. “Have a seat.”
Through the opening that divides the kitchen from the living area, I watch him sink onto the cushions, attention fixed on the blackness outside. I was low-key hoping his mood might have picked up because he was right. The algorithms shut down the worst of the images. Being a sucker for torture, I tracked the comments on his feed. Lots of support, surprisingly, with Myla universally trashed for being a vindictive bitch. A small drop of mercy in an ocean of bad luck.
“Here you go.” I hand off the water to him, and he downs it in three thirsty gulps.
“Thanks,” he says. “I didn’t realize how parched I was.”
He sets the glass on the coffee table, and we stare silently at it. There is so much hanging in the air, unsaid.
“Did Evelyn reach out with any updates?” he finally asks, eyes half-closed in a giant cringe.
I curl up on the opposite side of the sofa. “Gail is having a field day,” I admit. “And Tomas is talking to anyone who will listen, but Evelyn is all over the damage control.”
“My ass isn’t fired?” He shakes his head, incredulous. “That lady is a mensch, considering I fucked up her brand for the near future.”
“I mean, it’s not great,” I hedge, because it’s not. No point in having our heads in the sand. “The crazy thing is, I had a ton of media requests. Long-term, this could play out in our favor,” I add, spinning a hopeful angle.
Rhys nods, less than visibly cheered. “The long-term residue is what worries me.”
He meets my eyes, and a spark of worry erupts inside me. It’s like peering into a deep well and seeing nothing but darkness.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?—”
He stands abruptly. Solid but trembling. Hands coiled into fists. “I just … I need some air.”
“The balcony,” I say, my outstretched hand indicating where it is.
Rhys takes two tentative, stumbling steps and stops, weaving slightly like a marionette doll pulled by invisible strings. The air is strange, heavier somehow. Thick as velvet. His eyes squeeze shut, and a low, strangled noise hums in his throat.
Then it's as if his bones, his very core, dissolve.
He collapses, landing on his knees with a thud that my bitchy neighbor below will surely complain about tomorrow. Rolling onto his back, he becomes one with the floor, limbs spreadeagled, every muscle and tendon visible wound to the breaking point. His chin starts to quiver, and he shoves the heels of his hands into both eyes.
“Fuck,” he says, his voice rising in pitch.
Something twists in my chest. I move slowly, kneeling beside his shattered state. “Rhys,” I say as gently as I can. “Talk to me.”
I watch his throat move up and down, the corners of his mouth tightening. Rhys’s shoulders rise and fall with his labored breathing before the words tumble out with a shuddering sigh. “I sat with Dad all day. The nurse told me even patients in a coma can hear. Their subconscious retains words. So, I blabbed about how sorry I was. That I disappointed him. That we never bonded.”
He inhales a stuttered breath, eyes glittering as he swipes away fallen tears. “And when the nurse came around and said it was time to leave,I was about to get up, and Dad reached for my hand. His grip freaked the hell out of me. He wouldn’t let go.” In the shadowed light of my living room, I can see the vein in his neck pulse dangerously. “And I’m like, now? When it’s too fucking late?”
His mouth screws tight, holding it all in. I blink fast, trying to absorb one crisis after another.
“Maybe—” I start.
“And Sawyer,” he interrupts, anger leaking in, “he’s picking me up so we can have dinner with Mom and JC, and he starts reading me the riot act the moment I’m in the car. Bettina already texted me that a bunch of bookings got canceled, so I told him to fuck off. But he wouldn't stop.” His shoulders sag as if lying motionless on my Pottery Barn rug is too much effort. “I had a full meltdown. We were hurling horrible, toxic shit at each other. He said I didn’t deserve you, and…”After a few seconds of flat-lipped silence, he adds hoarsely, “And he’sright. You’re the first real connection I’ve had in forever, and I messed that up.”
Emotions crash inside me, hot and fast. But I can’t lose it here. I have to be the strong one.
“There’s so much going on right now,” I remind him. “You need to focus. Make your family the priority.” I swallow past the squeeze of my throat. “And I don’t blame you. This wasn’t your fault.”
His red-rimmed eyes burn into mine. “Everything’s my fault.”
I try to tune out the sound of his voice cracking, but then all I can hear are his aching waves of grief. My own tears rise up in sympathy and shock. Broken doesn't begin to classify it. This is a complete breakdown.
“I feel like I’m drowning, Dani,” he says, his voice knifed with desperation.
Tears stream down my cheeks, dripping off my chin in a slow, wet tempo onto his arm. He looks at me, gutted, and reaches for my hand, our fingers trembling before they settle. The room feels like it has its own center of gravity, pulling us into its depths.
“Don’t cry,” he whispers. “Tell me we can figure this out.”
I breathe into the dark. Thoughts of him alone and unhappy break off another piece of my heart. I touch his lips and trace the path of the hard lines etched on either side. His kind smile, the blazing warmth of it. Will this crumpled soul find the will to smile again?
With my touch, his fingers tighten around mine. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you. No way I can recover now that I’ve fallen for you.”
He searches my face, his still shaken. Healing from the drag along rock bottom will take Rhys days, perhaps weeks or months, but all the uncertainty within me crystalizes into a singular truth: my whole body knows he’s the one for me.
I tuck a loose strand of silken hair behind his ear, and a forlorn mmm spills out of Rhys. “I fell for you a long time ago, Mr. Trenton.”
I let the words hang, not as a dare, but as a recognition. That I lied, and if we plan to get beyond this, he needs to forgive me.
“C’mere,” he says, sweetly tugging on my shirt.
He draws me into a deep, lusty, and desperate kiss. I can taste the salt of his tears and feel the heat of his skin. In me, emotions too powerful to name churn, a dangerous uptick of urgency in my blood. Our soul-stirring kiss turns urgent and torrid, saying everything words can’t. It puts both our engines in gear. He pulls me onto the hot sauna of his body, and I feel him swell against the parts of me in need of release.
“Make love to me,” he murmurs. “I need to feel us together.”
I catch my breath, mumbling, “Here?”
He cups my ass, drawing me closer until our breaths mingle.“Yes. I don’t want you to go far.”
“Because there are so many places to hide in eight hundred square feet.”
His laugh. Unbridled in a way that felt impossible minutes ago. It’s the release of tension we both need. I push up and sit back on the hard platform of his thighs. I unbutton my shirt, caressing my curves as I uncover them bit by bit. He eyes my best bra—black, satin, barely affordable—and the goods spilling out when I unclasp and shrug it off.
“I love your body.” He rises up to kiss my delicate flesh, my C-cups warm and heavy. He fingers my nipples into taut buds, playing, teasing, making me moan as a delicious shiver shoots up my spine.
The idea of coming apart in my house. With Rhys. And his zero-to-sixty-to-holy-shit brand of pleasure.
Yes, and yes.
“Stand up for just a second?” he asks.
I wish I could say I made some effort to help things along, but in a single fluid move, he peels his t-shirt off, tossing it into the ether.Then he wriggles free of his shorts and sends them flying across the room with a flick of one perfect foot.
He’s rock hard, and upon release, the swollen flesh smacks lightly onto his torso. Leaning back onto the rug, he cradles his dick in his hand and gives me a wide-open look.
This is me , is what it says. Not Instagram Rhys. The Rhys who just lost it, broken and crying on your living room floor. Nothing more, nothing less. Are we cool?
Yes, yes, and yes.
He is my kryptonite.
I ease out of my jeans, taking the silky fabric of my thong with them. He sucks in the view like a starving man. Before yesterday, I had no clue how my pearls affected him. No idea how talented of an artist he was.
He did draw me perfectly; I’ll give him that.
Me and my scandalous pearls straddle him, my fingers curling around his hard, satin skin. Fuck the foreplay is what my scrambled brain shouts. I’ll never survive slow and caring. We need to tear into each other and ride wave after wave of pleasure.
I angle him to my warmth and push onto his tip. A fluttery sigh escapes his lips, and Rhys pulls back slightly, the question of safety in his eyes.
“I’m in the clear,” I say. “You?”
He nods, and I ease myself down, eyes closed to savor every inch of sensation.
“Yes,” Rhys moans. “Yes, to everything you do.”
As we’re locked together, his fingertips draw slow tickling circles on my ass cheeks. He pauses there, watching me.
“Lean forward a little,” he whispers. “But keep me inside you.”
Hands planted on either side of his chest to bear my weight, and careful to keep him snugged tight, I lower to brush my lips hungrily against his. “What do you have in mind?”
He trails one finger over the curve of my butt, moving lower and lower until I feel the smallest hairs tingling. Destination: rosebud. His finger pad, rough and warm, circles in a maddeningly slow tempo. I quiver and clench, and we both go still for a breathless pause.
“Is that okay?” he asks in a hushed voice.
Aware of nothing except the force field we make touching, and unable to form a coherent reply, I nod consent.
He wets his finger, teases me for a moment, then slowly pushes his finger inside. No buildup. A sudden rush of warmth and pleasure rolls into my head.
“I’ve never done this,” I say, my voice trembling on the edge of discovery.
He licks his lips. “Me either.”
He pumps a little deeper, his moves slow, calculated, tender. A small tight spot in my throat begins to dissolve, melting down into my breasts and stomach. Untamed noises spill out of me, my flesh so profoundly alive from his touch. How deep my hunger dwells is the lesson here, taught for the first time. It’s exhilarating and terrifying and so intimate all at the same time.
I rock tight against his dick while my ass clenches around his finger, pulling it in deeper.He makes a feverish noise from the back of his throat, bitten-off sounds of need. His gaze brims with the same amazement I feel vibrating in my blood.
Eye to eye, the message is clear: we both need to get this day out of our systems.
“Dani,” he murmurs. “You look so beautiful.”
I thrust my hips forward, grinding my pearls hard on his erection for maximum damage. He swells inside me, and oh, what a wicked feeling. My heart unlocks, my soul opening wide, beckoning him to join me wherever this darkly inquisitive journey takes us. I ride the delicious shock of his finger, my body burning with the forbidden pleasure of two blinding sensations.
He drives into me with steady, deep strokes, harder the louder I moan. Is this what it feels like to give yourself in full trust? He’s making me feel sexy and wild in a way I never have before. No choice but to give in to that feeling, letting it carry me over the edge into bliss.
Within minutes, that familiar warm tingling curls up inside me, reverberating through my body from the inside out. I’m rocking forward and back, reaching for the high.
Rhys never lets up, building in tempo, pushing into me again and again, the sounds of our choppy frantic breathing becoming dim as I fall into a deep oblivion.
“Fuck, Dani,” he rasps and gives up control. With a clipped groan, he thrusts his hips in one final, marauding command, his warmth spilling into the tightened space of my spasming flesh. Shudders slam through me, leaving nothing but a dazzling trail of stars in my brain.