“Well, hello,” I say, my arm instantly going around her waist.

She settles in. “Much more comfortable than a bench.” She reaches down and grabs one of the takeout boxes. “You up for eating this way?”

“You think I’d ever turn down a chance to have you in my arms?” I shake my head and help her out by holding the box steady. “Think again, Berry.”

The hot dogs are messy; bacon-wrapped and loaded with toppings—Brenna’s has corn, cotija, and spicy aioli, while mine is drowning under fries and cheese. But Brenna doesn’t hesitate to pick hers up. It’s cute as hell the way she holds the unwieldy dog, her nose wrinkling a little as she tries to take a huge bite without spilling. I chuckle as she almost gets there, and then I wipe the little bit of sauce that lands on her chin.

“Good?” I ask.

“So good.”

Because it’s not polite to stare, I dig into my own dog. We’re silent for a bit, eating in the sunshine. Brenna sets the remnants of her hot dog back in the takeout box and grabs some napkins from her lap to clean her hands. I hand her a frosty bottle of her beloved Diet Cherry Coke. After she’s had a drink, she sighs with contentment.

“There,” I say with the satisfaction of a man who has seen his woman well-fed. “Tell me a taco is better than this.”

She dabs at the corner of my mouth with a napkin. “I hate to break your little dream here, buttercup, but this is basically the love child of a hot dog and a taco.”

Damn. She’s right.

I rally. “But it is still called a hot dog. Thus better than a taco.”

“A technicality.”

“Which is another way of saying I’m right.”

“Or that you’re not.”

Chuckling, I lift what’s left of my hot dog to her. “You haven’t tried this one.”

With a dubious hum that I know she does to tease me, Brenna opens her mouth and dutifully waits for me to feed her. Fuck. I stare, trying not to get turned on.

Her smile is pure evil. “Come on, Rye. Give me a taste of your wiener.”

I burst out laughing, even as I get hard as a pike. “Oh, you’ll get more than a taste.”

She takes a large, snapping bite, and I laugh again as she chews. By the times she’s swallowing, she’s laughing too, resting her forehead on my shoulder. “All right, you got me,” she says straightening, cheeks flushed and eyes alight. “These are excellent hot dogs.”

“Better than a taco?”

Hell, why am I pushing this? I shouldn’t. It’s stupid. Petty as fuck. I’m thinking Brenna might agree because she goes silent. Her expression is thoughtful as she packs up the mess, shoving it all in the boxes lying on our laps. Heart thudding, I hold up the takeout bag for her to put the trash in. Only when I’ve set it on the ground does she speak.

“Is this really about tacos?”

She knows it’s not. My chin lifts, stubbornness rising with it. But then I sigh. “No.”

She hums again, her gaze searching mine. I brace for more questions. But, instead, she reaches out and softly runs her fingers through my hair, brushing it back. “Right now, right here, whatever the meal, I’d prefer to have it with you.”

My heart knocks hard against my chest. “Bren…You asked Scottie to check up on me.” I hadn’t meant to say that. But I don’t back away from it.

She searches my face in wariness. “You needed your friends.”

I need you too.

I cup her cheek. “Thank you.”

She touches the edge of my jaw, delicately, like I’m something she needs to handle with care. Physically, I’m the stronger one, but she’s breaking through what’s left of my armor with ease.

“Rye, you don’t ever have to thank me for having your back, because I always will.”

Just like that, I’m done for.

I don’t know who moves first but we’re kissing. And it fills all the empty aching places I didn’t know I had. I take it slow, savor her mouth, her flavor, breathe in her soft sighs. My hand wraps around the silky rope of her ponytail as I hold her where I want her, lick the gentle curve of her upper lip, suckle the sweet, plump give of her bottom lip.

I lose time kissing Brenna. But, beneath all the pleasure, I know mine is running out. This arrangement is measured in stolen moments. It isn’t real. I need real with Brenna.

Risk.

One that would mean a potential loss, of my pride, of her.

Brenna

 

With a gasp, I tear out of sleep and lurch upright. The room sways like a drunken dancer then settles. But my heart doesn’t stop thundering within my chest. Cold empty terror and helplessness shake me so hard, I pant, gripping my knees to hold in a sob. No control. No way to keep them safe. To keep myself safe.

A warm, broad hand settles on my back. “Hey,” Rye whispers, at my side. “You’re all right. It’s okay.”

The sound of his voice and the heat of his touch grounds me, and I’m finally able to take a deep breath.

“Sorry if I woke you.” It comes out weak and thready.

Rye sits up further and rubs a hand over his face as if to wake himself. “It’s okay.” His eyes glint in the semi-darkness as he looks me over. “You dreaming about Jax?”

I jolt. “How did you know?”

He rests an arm on his bent knee. “It’s four thirty-two in the morning. That’s when we all found out.”

For a moment, I can’t speak. A lump swells within my throat. I swallow hard. “Yeah. I didn’t realize that you…”

“Remember it so clearly?” he offers wryly.

“No.” I squeeze the back of my stiff neck, and instantly his hand slides up to take over, massaging me with calm competency. “No, that you also made note of the time. Does it haunt you too?”

“Not in the same way. But there are days when I’m up for whatever reason, see the time and…” He rolls a massive shoulder like it’s too stiff. “It messes me up so badly, I want to cry.”

The confession has me leaning into him, and he wraps me up in his arms, holding me close. We’re silent for a moment, Rye stroking my hair and me running my hand up and down his chest just to know he’s there, solid and alive.

We’d spent the day together, and it was fun, perfect. A moment of peace. And the whole time I struggled to find a way to tell him...But I couldn’t. Not when he was so happy. So I swallowed it down, held in the truth as we crawled into bed and cuddled together. I fell asleep listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

But now it’s a new day. And all the tension, all the horrible twisting fear of being too close to someone, of feeling too much, is back. My throat feels too tight, and my words come out a rough rasp. “Before that night, I thought we were all invincible. Nothing could hurt us.”

“I thought so too,” Rye whispers. He heaves a ragged sigh. “I felt like such a self-centered ass for not noticing that John was hurting. Or that we were all just…I don’t know, careening into disaster in our own ways.”

Because we were all out of control back then. “None of us noticed, Ryland. Not even John. That was the problem.”