Chapter 2
Who’s Your Hero?
Charlie
I’ve got to pee?
Real sexy, Forrest Gump.
I should have known better than to open my stupid mouth.
You need someone to sub in on your radio show at the last minute because your host never showed?
No problem. Want someone to make an announcement to a stadium of screaming fans leading into a game?
I’m your girl. But get me within ten feet of Ryan Morgan, and I turn into a bumbling idiot.
I can’t help it. The guy is hot with a capital H.
All he has to do is glance at me and my ovaries start doing somersaults while We Will Rock You plays on repeat in my head.
And yes, I am fully aware of how weird that is, but I’m pushing a year of involuntary celibacy here. Hard up doesn’t even begin to describe my current state of horniness.
After what seems like an eternity of weaving through a mob of bouncing giants—I’m barely five feet and a hundred pounds, so everyone’s a giant to me—I make it up to the second floor, but the nearest bathroom has a line.
Crap. If I have to wait much longer, my bladder’s going to burst and my organs will be swimming in a pool of urine.
Eww… That’s one mental image I could have done without.
I’m sure there’s another bathroom down the hall, so I continue past the balcony that looks down on the common area into another long hallway lined with doors.
I basically try the handle of every door I pass.
They’re locked, which I can appreciate—I wouldn’t want strangers doing it in my bed either.
Finally, one of the handles turns. I tug the door open, flip on the light and—
“Shit.” It’s another bedroom.
There was a time, a few years back, when I got into an awful wreck.
Totaled my mom’s car. I remember it being so strange because, as it was happening, it felt like everything was going in slow motion.
Like I could see the car coming, knew it was about to hit me, but couldn’t do anything about it.
That’s the same sort of feeling I get when I glimpse movement out of the corner of my eye right before a hand shoves me in the back.
I stumble forward, catching myself on the twin bed, and whirl around to find a stocky guy with glassy eyes and an insidious smile.
Panic seizes my throat, my chest held immobile in its vice-like grip, and I can’t breathe, can’t scream. The blood is pounding so hard in my ears, it’s making my head ache.
He closes the door behind himself, the soft click of the lock reverberating like a shotgun blast in my head. “Now, we’re gonna have some fun.”
Something about those sinister words flips a switch in my mind.
I open my mouth and scream.
“Fuck,” the guy says. He plows into me, slapping a hand over my mouth, even as we land in a heap half-hanging off the bed.
I’m pinned to the mattress, his heavy body an unmovable leviathan crushing my chest. Hand still clamped over my mouth, he presses his cheek to mine.
Hot breath reeking of beer wafts across my ear as he whispers, “Ready for some fun?”
Fuck you, asshole.
The only part of my body I have the least bit of control over right now is my head.
I fight against the force of his hand pressing against my mouth until I’m able to grab onto a chunk of his palm, and I bite down—hard.
He wails as my teeth tear through flesh.
The coppery taste of blood coats my tongue.
I spit the nasty hunk of skin and scream.
Something crashes behind me and the weight lifts from my chest. I slide off the bed and scramble across the floor until I crash into the wall, turning just in time to see Ryan throw my would-be rapist against the wall.
“Wait man, please,” my attacker pleads, throwing up his hands in surrender.
Ryan doesn’t hesitate. He drives his fist into the guy’s face over and over. I hear the crunch of bone and watch as blood begins to pour out of the guy’s nose.
My attacker’s body goes limp, and I’m guessing Ryan’s fist pinning him against the wall is the only thing that’s keeping the guy standing.
He’s going to kill him.
“Ryan,” I scream. “Stop. Please.” I manage to push to my feet, but my legs are wobbly and weak and they immediately collapse beneath me. Strong arms catch me before I can hit the floor, and I’m pulled into a warm embrace.
“Are you alright?” Ryan asks, breathless.
My voice is as weak and shaken as the rest of me when I say, “I don’t know.”
He pulls back a little to examine me, his stormy-blue eyes creased with concern. “Can you walk?”
“I don’t know,” I answer again.
He nods, pulls his phone from his pocket, and, one-handed, types out a message. “Just lean on me, okay?” he says.
I grip onto his shirt while he walks me out of the room, his arm wrapped around my back and holding me upright.
I see a panicked Malcolm sprint down the hall followed by Stella and Emma, who, by the confused looks on their faces, have no idea what’s going on except that I’m upset.
Ryan goes to release me to my friends, but I refuse to go.
I shake my head and grip his shirt more tightly.
“Don’t go,” I say and press my cheek into his firm chest. Processing what happened is beyond my ability at the moment.
All I know is that Ryan is safe, and I’m safe with him.
I can’t let him go. He’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart right now.
“Okay,” Ryan says. “I won’t leave.” He’s petting my head, kind of like a dog, which would normally piss me off, but right now it’s exactly what I need.
I let out a breath and sink into him. He’s talking to the others, but I’m not really hearing what they’re saying.
I think I may be in shock. Can you go into shock from something like this?
Ryan ushers me back down the hall and opens a door.
“The bathroom,” he says when I give him a confused look.
Right. I needed to use the bathroom. Do I still need to use the bathroom?
“I’ll wait right out here, I promise,” he says.
I use the bathroom on autopilot and when I step back out, Ryan is waiting for me, as promised.
He smiles at me, and it’s so warm, I find myself smiling back. “Emma called the campus police. I hope that’s all right.”
Of course, she did. “That’s okay. I want to file a report.”
He blows out a breath and sags a little. “Good. I mean, I’m glad.” He scratches the back of his head. “You want to wait outside for them?”
“You’ll stay with me?” I ask. I’ve recovered enough that I’m aware of how needy I sound, but I’m still way too freaked out to care. Ryan, thank goodness, doesn’t seem to mind.
“Of course. Yeah. I should probably talk to them too, anyway.”
I’m fairly steady on my feet at this point, so as much as I want to keep hanging on to him, I hold myself back.
Maybe Ryan senses my trepidation or maybe he needs to touch me just as much as I need to touch him, right now.
I don’t know. Regardless, I’m grateful when he takes my hand in his and threads our fingers together.
His hands are rough and warm and powerful and when they squeeze mine, it’s like something I didn’t realize was gripping my chest, loosens.
He leads me down the stairs and out the front door. We sit on the top step leading into the yard, our hands still clasped.
“How did you know?” I ask.
He shrugs—eyes trained on some point in the distance—and says, “I saw him follow you inside, and I just got a bad feeling. You know?” When I don’t respond, he continues.
“When I lost you, I panicked.” He scratches the stubble under his chin.
“Then I heard you scream.” He shrugs again like it’s no big deal.
But I can tell he’s pretty freaked out, too.
I rest my head against his shoulder and wrap my free hand around our joined ones. “Thank you.” He nods and rests his head against mine. And even after all that’s happened, that simple gesture sends the little butterflies in my stomach into hysterics.
It’s another hour before the police leave with our reports and Ryan offers to drive me home. I shoot the girls a quick text to tell them I’m okay and follow Ryan to where a sick black and chrome Harley is parked on the lawn.
“We’re going on that?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I can borrow Malcolm’s—”
“No,” I interrupt. Unconsciously, I lay a palm on his chest to stop him from turning for the house.
His chest is warm and hard and a tremor runs through my hand at the contact.
I jerk my hand away as if burned. “I… um… I’ve always wanted to ride a motorcycle.
” Feeling oddly shy, I gaze up at him from under my lashes.
My heart leaps upon seeing the tiny smile on his face.
“You sure?” he asks.
I nod, and he hands me a helmet that’s got to be two sizes too big, but I put it on without complaint.
He climbs on, holds a hand out to help me up and when he pulls my hands around his midsection so my chest presses against his back, I’m certain my entire body will burst into flames at any moment.
“Hang on tight, okay?” he says, giving my hands a squeeze. He starts the engine, and we slowly pull out of the yard.
When we reach my house, Ryan heels the kickstand down and hangs our helmets on the handlebars.
“Watch out for the muffler,” he says, twisting around in his seat to help me extricate myself from the bike before getting off himself.
Like being a sexy bad boy and my hero wasn’t enough.
He has to go and be a gentleman. Is this guy for real?
He doesn’t let go of my hand once I’m down. Instead, he runs his thumb back and forth across my wrist, every stroke ratcheting up the heat building in my core. It’s got to be a reaction to him saving me, right? Because no way should my body be reacting like that to a simple touch.
“Uh, thank you again,” I say.
He releases my hand as if only now realizing he still held it and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah. Of course,” he says, taking a step back.
I want to move with him. I want to throw my arms around his neck and kiss the crap out of him.
“Charlie?” my mom calls from the front door, effectively throwing ice water on my libido. “Is everything alright?”
Ryan jerks his head in my mom’s direction. “You should go talk to your mom. I’ll see you around?”
“Sure,” I say because right now, with my mom scrutinizing our every move, probably isn’t the most appropriate time to profess my love. “Bye, Ryan.”
He smiles, and though his tattoos and long hair might lead some to believe the worst of him, there’s nothing but kindness in those eyes.
I turn for the house, my mom watching anxiously from the doorway. Knowing her, she’s already pegged Ryan as trouble. My parents are good people, but open-minded, they are not.
“Baby,” she says, brushing the hair out of my face. She runs a finger under my eye, and it’s only then I realize my mascara is probably running in black streaks down my face.
Of course, the most time I’ve ever spent with Ryan, I’d look like death.
Wow. That was an incredibly stupid thought.
“Have you been crying?” Mom continues. “What happened? And who is that boy?”
I lay a hand on my mom’s shoulder. “Let’s go inside and I’ll explain.”
But I don’t explain because the moment we step inside my father comes barreling into the living room, cutting me off before I’ve even begun.
“Charlotte Hayes, what in the Sam Hill are you doing coming home with that?” My father points toward the front yard.
His voice is dead calm, but his eyes seethe.
The man rarely yells. It allows him to keep the upper hand when the rest of us inevitably lose our tempers.
Somehow, even knowing this, I will inevitably end up yelling any time we argue. I can’t help it. He drives me crazy.
I take a deep breath, searching for some sort of calm amid all my conflicting emotions. “That was my friend, Ryan. He gave me a ride home.”
“On a motorcycle,” my mom chimes in, taking his side, like always.
I slap a hand over my mouth and gasp. “A motorcycle,” I say, my voice dripping sarcasm. “Oh. What shall I do?”
My father’s jaw is working so hard, I can practically hear his teeth grinding. “You are not to see that boy again. He’s trouble. Do you hear me, young lady?”
“Ryan is not trouble—”
“He’s a loser,” my father says, cutting me off.
“You don’t even know him,” I holler because now I’m pissed. “How dare you talk about him like that.”
“I don’t need to know him. All I have to do is look at him.”
“So long hair and a motorcycle automatically make someone a bad person? Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?”
“You’re a child. You don’t know anything—”
“I’m twenty years old,” I yell, throwing my arms in the air.
My mom lays a hand on my shoulder in a lame attempt to calm me down. “Charlie, please. The neighbors are going to hear.”
My father laughs, though there’s no humor in the sound. “She doesn’t care. If she cared about this family at all, she wouldn’t be rolling up to our house on the back of some long-hair’d punk’s motorcycle.”
“Stop talking about him like that.”
“I will say whatever I please. This is my house.” He swings out an arm and points toward the hallway, where I make out my 12-year-old sister’s tiny form hiding in the shadows. “Now, go to your room, and don’t come out until you’re ready to apologize.”
Yeah, right. When hell freezes over.
I’m too exhausted to deal with this anymore, so instead of arguing, I simply let out an angry huff and slog to my room.
I’m stepping through my bedroom door when I hear a soft voice behind me.
“You okay, Charlie?” Claudia asks and after all that’s happened, it’s that tiny bit of concern—the concern I’d expected from my parents—that brings tears to my eyes.
“Yeah, Kiddo. I’m okay,” I reply, eyes trained on my door, so she won’t see me crying. “Go to bed.”
Then, I step into my room and shut the door behind me. I don’t look back.