Dipping my head, I press my lips to the crown of her head and breathe her in. “I’m ashamed of that night,” I confess heedlessly. “It was my fault.”

Her voice is muffled against my chest. “Why would you think that?”

“I gave her the wrong idea. We were talking about nothing in particular, then I said something about how cool it was that she showed up at my birthday party, that I was honored, you know?”

Brenna stays silent, and I swallow audibly. “She laughed it off and said it was nice to be around people who appreciated her, that her husband didn’t have time for her.”

A sharp sound escapes Brenna, and she stiffens. I’m guessing she didn’t know that about her aunt and uncle’s relationship. I stroke her back, an automatic gesture because I don’t like upsetting her. But my words keep flowing out of me. I can’t seem to hold them back. “I was all sloppy drunk, but I remember leaning into her space and saying that she was the most beautiful woman in the world and any man who didn’t have time for her was an idiot.”

Brenna huffs out a shaky laugh. “You always were a smooth talker.”

I don’t smile. The past sits too heavily on my shoulders. “I wanted to make her feel better. And I’m not going to lie, Bren. I honestly couldn’t understand how your uncle could ignore this beautiful, intelligent woman who loved him.”

“There’s nothing wrong with any of that, Rye.”

“Yeah, well, it was a mistake, because she got a look in her eye, and it hit me that I was inches away from Killian’s mom. Your aunt. And…shit. My hand had ended up on her thigh. I didn’t even remember doing it. But I’d said those words, touched her…I wasn’t thinking. And then suddenly, she was kissing me.”

With that, Brenna pulls away. I let her go because I’m not about to hold her against her will. A frown mars the oval of her face.

“It took me too long to react,” I blurt out. “My mind went blank. And then I was so fucking horrified. I pushed away, mumbled some excuse, and got the hell out of there.” My hand shakes as I run it through my hair and clutch the back of my tight neck. “I threw up all night. I couldn’t look Killian in the eye for months.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Brenna says, quiet now, pensive.

“I should have told him. But I just…couldn’t.”

The wrinkle between her brows grows, and she turns her head to stare off into the distance. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

“Are they? Because that particular act drove a wedge between you and me for nearly a decade.”

Her lashes sweep down over her eyes for a brief moment before she faces me, all hard determination. “That’s different.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“It is, because I saw it happen. Killian doesn’t know and doesn’t need to know. It will only hurt him now.”

Tightness pulls at my shoulders, and I roll them. “I buried that night deep within me, because I couldn’t stand it—”

“Rye—”

“You don’t understand. My dad is a cheater.”

At the sound of her indrawn breath, I give her a wry, tired look. “Always was. It hurts my mom and pisses me off. It ruined our family.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, and I know it’s out of sympathy. Surprisingly, the sentiment warms me.

“I am too.” I shrug. “Mainly, I’m sorry my mom can’t get out of the cycle of forgiving him.”

“I wouldn’t,” she blurts out then pinks. “Forgive someone for cheating on me, I mean.”

“No,” I agree with a weak smile. “I suspect they’d search for the body and never find it.”

Brenna huffs in amusement, but her lips pinch. “You haven’t forgiven him either.”

Not a question.

“I’m trying. He’s a good dad—aside from that. He’s always been supportive of me. I think that bothers me most of all, how he can be so good in one aspect of his life and so crap in another.”

“I guess we’re all flawed in some way or other.”

“I don’t want to be like him,” I spit out.

Brenna considers me for a long moment. “I don’t want to be like my parents either.”

“I can’t be…” Damn my tight shoulders and stiff-ass neck. “I like sex, women, having fun…” This is coming out well. Fuck. I clear my throat. “But I’d never be a cheater. Never.”

I want her to understand I wouldn’t do that to her. Maybe she’s been afraid to trust me in that way. After all, she witnessed my worst moment and came to the worst conclusion.

Pride shaken, I fist my hands and turn away.

“I believe you,” she says, softer now. “I should have believed it from the start. But I didn’t know you like I do now. You have a sense of honor and loyalty that shines bright, Ryland. I admire it. So much.”

Shocked, I wrench around, my mouth falling open.

But she isn’t looking my way. With a sigh, she shakes her head ruefully. “I’m guessing we’ll simply make our own types of mistakes.”

“I don’t want us to be a mistake, Bren.”

It’s her turn to be shocked. She blinks, her pretty mouth falling open. But it’s only for a second, then she visibly collects herself, and I’m faced with the woman who smoothly runs our public relations. “We won’t. We’ll be careful.”

Careful. Like I’m a campaign to be managed. Disappointment is a kick to the gut. But she’s only playing by the rules we both set down. That’s the way Brenna is. She makes a plan and sticks to it. If I want more, I have to spell it out, make demands. Right now, I’m too drained to do anything other than take her hand and give her a reassuring smile, because I know she’s drained as well. We’ve exposed too much of ourselves too quickly.

“Come on. There’s a fashion exhibit on high couture that has your name all over it.”

“I don’t know if I like how much you get me.”

Get used to it, sweetheart. I intend to get a lot more.

Chapter Twenty

Brenna

 

Work is the last place I want to be. It occurs to me that I’ve begun to resent going to work more and more lately. I thought being with Rye would end this restlessness within me. I thought this hole inside of me was about needing a good sexual release. But it’s not.

At least not entirely. Yes, I am sexually satisfied. And, yes, that’s great. But it isn’t the quick fix I’d been hoping for.

All morning I am bombarded with texts from the guys, texts from Jules and Sophie. Questions about the band. Questions from their record label. Questions from my staff about fan clubs, concert passes, upcoming events. It’s all about the band. All the time. But nothing from Rye.

I have to fight the compulsion to pull out my phone and check. I haven’t spoken to him since we went to the museum two days ago. It’s as though we both needed to pull back and regroup. But he’s been on my mind ever since.

God, how could I have gotten things so wrong? On the surface, the whole incident between Rye and my aunt appeared clean-cut. I’m horrified to know how it really happened. But I can’t find it in myself to judge my aunt. The whole thing makes me tired now. And unsettled.