Ridge Read online

  Ridge

  Copyright © 2014 by Adriane Leigh

  Photography by Scott Hoover

  Cover Model Adam Nicklas

  Cover Design by Cover It Designs

  Editing by Hercules Editing

  Proofreading by Karen Lawson

  Formatting by Erik Gevers

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Dedicated to my two beautiful, holy terrors.

  I hovered over her sweet body, the soft flesh beneath my fingers like fucking silk. Her hands laced through the rungs of the headboard above her head, propping her breasts high and full for me. Her head was thrown back in ecstasy, full lips formed in a perfect O as moans escaped her throat.

  She was fucking stunning. I moved in and out of her, slowing my pace, hitting her as deep as I could, rounding my hips with each slow thrust and drag. She was everything, had been my everything for a few months, the only one that had ever gotten me.

  All of me.

  The me that no one else had ever seen.

  Fuck of it was, she was my brother’s fiancée.

  I’d fucking taken her right from under him.

  I hadn’t meant to and I don’t think she’d meant to either; it’d just happened one night, and there’d been no going back.

  And now there we were, months later. I was still plowing into her—taking her, owning her, making her mine—every fucking night in my bed, hearing her call my name, her eyes hazy with lust and love when I had finished.

  Except tonight was different.

  Tonight was the last time.

  Tonight, I was ending it.

  My heart clutched in my chest as the words floated through my head. My eyes burned with the pain of it.

  I didn’t want to let her go, but more than anything, I was sick of running. And seeing my brother again had finally opened my eyes.

  This was it.

  This was it for us. For me and her. For the girl that had wrapped her fingers around my soul and held it so fucking tight it was as if my every fucking breath depended on her.

  The guilt. The pain. The regret. The shame. It was threatening to suffocate me.

  “I love you,” she whispered when I collapsed on her body. Her fingers wove into my hair, scratching at my scalp, soothing me. But I didn’t deserve it. Her reaction was the last thing I deserved.

  My heart thudded wildly in my chest as I squeezed my eyes shut and sucked in a fortifying breath. I licked my lips before rolling over, breaking all contact.

  “We need to talk, Mia.”

  “Okay,” she purred and rolled on her side, tracing her fingers along the ink etched across my collarbone. I pushed her hand away and pulled my boxer briefs up my legs. I needed to be at least partially clothed for this conversation. I knew it would break her. It was going to fucking break me.

  She arched one eyebrow as she watched me. “Is there a problem?”

  “This. We can’t do this anymore.” I thrust a hand through my hair and turned my back to her.

  “What?” Her voice rose an octave as she leaned up on her knees and hovered behind my body on the bed. “Ridge?” Her warm hands trailed along my biceps to encircle my torso.

  “Stop, Mia. We’re done. We’ve fucked around too long, been selfish assholes. What we did, I regret every fucking moment of it.”

  “This is because we saw him last week? He was happy, Ridge. What happened is in the past. Don’t do this now. There’s no going back. It’s said and done and we’ve all moved on.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “What do you mean?” I heard the pain breaking her voice. She was shattering. She was falling to pieces right here on my bed.

  “I haven’t moved on. I fucked up.” I stood and pulled my jeans up my legs. “This is over, Mia. I want you gone by the time I get back.” I tossed the words over my shoulder as I pulled a T-shirt over my head and walked out of the bedroom, leaving the only person who had ever made me feel.

  I didn’t go home for a week after kicking Mia out. I knew I’d been an ass, knew she deserved more, but I also knew the only way to get across to her we were done was to be harsh. Mia’s heart was so big, so giving, she’d give her entire self away, and she had. To me. I’d taken it. First, I’d stolen it from my brother, and then I’d taken everything she’d had to give. Which made me a selfish prick.

  I couldn’t bear to go home and smell her on the sheets, thinking of our last night together, on my bed, her soft moans as I pushed inside of her, more gentle than I’d ever been, because at some point, when Mia brought me back to life, she’d made me feel things I'd never felt before. This had scared me, then excited me, and finally made the shame and guilt of losing my brother, and fucking him over so thoroughly, nearly crush me.

  I didn’t know if he’d ever want me back in his life; I wasn’t even sure why I’d done it, but I had to make things right. I had to start righting the wrongs. Being accountable. Seeing Lane that day in Rock Island, even as happy as he may have looked with his new girlfriend, which admittedly, he did, and after all we’d both been through, I still couldn’t look in his face that looked so much like mine and continue on the path I’d been on. Every day since then, looking at Mia had been a reflection of the pain I’d caused Lane. Our lives had been tragic and we’d gone our separate ways. We’d never much been alike, but fucking his fiancée had been the final straw, the thing I couldn't come back from.

  But that didn’t mean I couldn’t try.

  And trying was what I was doing. Every day. I was trying to be better. My body was an inked map of my mistakes. Everything I’d gone through was right here, a constant reminder of the stumbles in my path, the places I didn’t want to return to, the lessons I’d learned.

  My thumb traced the numbers on my forearm as I thought back to the past I’d tried so hard to overcome. The darkness I’d seen, the memories that tried to keep me from walking in the light.

  I guzzled more water before setting the bottle down and pushing the button on the treadmill to increase the incline. I pushed myself harder, felt my heart pounding frantically, the sweat pouring off me. Working out was all I had left. It used to be drugs. And then it was fucking. And now I had exercise. I’d found the straight and narrow and some days my life felt so fucking benign for it, but I knew I never wanted to go back to the dark place I’d been, see the things I’d seen.

  I also knew that I wasn’t ready to fuck anyone else. I’d kicked Mia out just two weeks ago and could only now start sleeping in my own fucking bed again.

  I’d called Louise, my cleaning lady, on her off day to come and strip the bedding then wash it before I could sleep in it again.

  I fucking loved Mia, and kicking her out had shattered me, but I loved my brother more. I loved the memory of growing up with him. I missed his big toothy smile and the way his light blue eyes danced when he teased me when we were kids.

  The same eyes I’d had, until the lights had gone out. Until I’d started drinking too much, smoking pot, and then shoving needles in my arms. Stealing cars, getting arrested, and finally being locked up in juvenile detention, where the lights had dimmed even more. Those six months had nearly been the final nail.

  What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger is bullshit. What doesn’t kill you sometimes nearly does, because you can’t always come back. You can’t un-see.
And what I saw there was hell on earth.

  My feet pounded the treadmill as my eyes searched the window, snow falling softly, blanketing downtown Portland. The brick streets and historic buildings looked idyllic with a fine coating of powdery snow. Flakes danced in the yellow streetlights as people hustled down the sidewalks in pairs. I loved people watching. Loved reading their faces and their body language. Wondering what they’d seen. How their lives had been similar and different from mine.

  Truth was, I couldn't stay in Rock Island. I’d been too much of a fuck-up there. I was still in Maine, I couldn't bear to leave, but in Portland, I felt like I could breathe. I had a large apartment downtown in a new building, was working out in the gym on the ground floor right now, could swim in the pool, walk to the office every day; it was perfect. And so far from where I’d been.

  A brunette walked by, her arm looped with a man, looking just like Mia. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head before punching the button to stop the treadmill and stepping off. I ran a hand through my hair and chugged the rest of my water, wiping my face with the small towel at my waist. I tossed the empty bottle into the garbage as I walked out of the gym and headed for the elevators to my apartment.

  Something had to give. Something had to change. I was going fucking insane. Mia was still in my head, invading my thoughts, driving me fucking nuts with want and hate. I was so torn. The only consolation was she hadn’t called. I wouldn’t have answered, but it was some small consolation that maybe she got it. Maybe she understood why it was so fucking wrong for us to be together. The worst. Our relationship had only ever been toxic, because we’d started out so fucking wrong. So dishonest. No matter how much she made me feel alive—the only time I’d ever felt so without a chemical surging through my veins—we couldn’t keep going. How could we ever expect to have a future when our past was so fucked up?

  I stepped out of the elevator and let myself into my apartment. Grabbing another bottled water from the fridge, I headed for the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. I took a long drink as my eyes took in the landscape laid out before me. Red brick buildings and historical homes in the foreground, and in the distance, the harbor, lit with golden lights. The old lighthouse in the distance was a constant beacon, reminding passersby where they were headed, where they’d been, and where they didn’t need to return to. The lighthouse had acted as my own sort of beacon, flashing and spinning in the tall tower.

  I stepped over to the stereo, flipped on some Nine Inch Nails, a band I felt actually got me, and then stripped as I walked down the hallway and headed for the shower.

  I didn’t know where I was going or what I was doing. One more day down, another stretched before me, but I felt so fucking off-kilter, like I’d lost my axis. I needed to find something to get me back on track. The only thing I could think of was fucking.

  I could hardly stomach the thought of being with someone other than Mia, but being without her was becoming unbearable. It was time to open myself up to my other healthy outlet, because exercise was no longer fucking cutting it.

  My life since that night had been a string of one-night stands.

  First Teri with one “r,” Terri with two, Jill, Joan, Beth, Summer.

  Every night, a different girl. It had to be that way. I couldn’t handle looking at the same face twice as I plowed into them. My dick digging and thrusting, rutting for release as I tried to fight the demons, burn the excess energy, the ache created behind my eyelids in Mia’s absence.

  I finished in a grunt and pulled out of Alexis. A soft moan escaped her lips as I rolled off the bed and headed for the bathroom. I tugged the used condom off my softening dick and tied and tossed it in the garbage can. I flipped on the water in the shower, the hottest I could stand, and stepped under the streaming jets.

  I’d just ducked my head under the water and run my hand through my wet hair when a soft simper hit my ears. Lexi pulled back the glass door of the shower with what she thought was a seductive grin on her face. Her skin was the color of silky, melted chocolate. She was stunning. But not Mia.

  “Gimme five,” I grunted and shut the door on her. I wanted her gone. I was ready for her to leave; I didn’t want to see that face again.

  She’d been a good lay, but this was it. I'd assumed she knew that.

  I heard the soft click of the bathroom door, signaling that Lexi had left. I sucked in a deep breath and blew it out, sputters of water spraying the wall in front of me. My hands planted on the tile, water streaming down my hard body before I cranked the temperature hotter. I need to feel. I was so sick of feeling the wrong things, the hurtful things, the painful memories that were etched in my heart.

  The constant string of endless sex was my effort to divert the pain, distract myself from the constant ache in my chest: from Mia, my past, and the future I wasn’t sure I even had. But fuck, I wanted to feel again, needed to. Needed it for me. I had to find a way to move on, and as much as I thought endless sex could do it, it wasn’t working for me.

  It had fucking always worked for me before; sex and exercise were the only things I had to burn energy and help me forget once I'd gotten off the hard stuff.

  I ran soap over my body, scrubbed some shampoo through my hair, and rinsed before wrapping a towel around my hips and standing at the mirror.

  My eyes followed the sharp line of my jaw. I was in need of a shave.

  Down the roped veins in my neck. The word 'hold' tattooed in elegant script on my right side, following the line of the trapezius muscle, where neck met shoulder, and 'fast' on the left.

  Hold fast.

  Two words that reminded me to hang on no matter how bleak the world seemed. They were also a nod to my father, a sailor and fisherman, who was lost at sea.

  My eyes followed the long line of my collarbone, where the words 'would life have gotten better' stretched just below, shoulder to shoulder, in a font that resembled barbed wire.

  The phrase meant so much, on so many levels. After what I’d been through, always wondering if I'd chosen the right path, if I'd just hung on a little tighter, would things have gotten better?

  Better before it was too late. Better before my fate was set and my course determined.

  I always wondered if my mom, in her last moments, thought that. If before she'd slit her wrists and bled out on the floor of her hospital room, she'd had an instant of regret. A moment of, if I hadn't done this, would life have gotten better? That thought haunted me.

  My eyes lowered to my dedication to her on my body. The intricate azalea inked over my left pectoral. Vibrant green leaves curled around my ribs. It was the only color tattoo I had. She'd grown azaleas, nursed them like a third child. I remember so many days when I was young watching her in the garden, the heady scent of the sea air and flowers filling my nostrils. The smell of roses still turned my stomach. Reminded me of the beautiful moments I'd had with my mom before she was torn away from my brother and me.

  Pain bubbled in my stomach. I always felt like we were so alike, she and I. Lane was just like my dad, easy going, a little rough around the edges, but wore his heart on his sleeve. But my mom and I, we held it in. We felt things people didn’t even know we felt. The pain seemed to cut a little deeper, slicing us open, breaking us in half and leaving us beyond repair.

  The pain of losing my dad had her taking her own life just two years later. She couldn’t deal with the pain, and she’d escaped the only way she could imagine, much like I’d done with drugs. Always running from the pain, trying to forget.

  I sucked in a sharp breath before blinking back the memories, and sauntering out of the bathroom.

  “I’ll call you, Lex.” I tossed her minuscule dress on the bed. Her brow furrowed in anger before she slipped the fabric over her head and grabbed her heels and purse that had been discarded in our flurry of fucking.

  “Later, Ridge,” she said over her shoulder as she sauntered out of the bedroom. I nodded once before pulling a pair of sweatpants up my legs and
heading for the front of my apartment. I grabbed a water from the fridge, downed it in one guzzle, and tapped my fingers against the empty bottle in my hands.

  I was nervous, fidgety. I couldn’t stop thinking of Mia. I couldn’t stop thinking of my brother. I should call him. Maybe that’s what the problem was. I’d ended things with Mia, but I hadn’t called him, and hadn’t that been my reason all along?

  I grabbed my phone off the counter and scrolled through my list of contacts until I landed on his name.

  Lane.

  My big brother. Always there. Always protecting me. Until he couldn’t. Until we went our separate ways. He stayed in Rock Island, played the perfect small town boy, and I . . . fucked up. Took a different path. A path that had led me here, which I was thankful for, but I’d shoveled so much shit to get to this place.

  I fingered his contact info on my phone and thought about the expression I’d seen on his face when Mia and I’d gone home a month ago.

  Surprise had flickered to disinterest. The apathy that settled in his blue irises clutched at my soul, had tugged me under the crashing wave I’d just barely been keeping my head above.

  That look had done me in. Forced me to confront the error of my ways. The grave mistake Mia and I had made. It'd been so easy to sleep with her when she was hours away with me in Portland, far away from anything we’d known. But seeing the look on my big brother’s face, I knew I couldn’t run anymore. I sat on the decision for a week, as it slowly ate at me, tossed it around in my head, until I decided to do the right thing. And for once, I did the honorable thing.

  I ended it.

  I fucking kicked out the girl that had chased away the darkness. The only one I could bear to be with every night and every day. I’d pushed her out for my brother, to absolve myself of the pain and guilt.

  Just below Lane's name on my contact list was the girl of the hour. Mia. Her picture lit with a beautiful smile, her cheeks rosy after we’d just finished having sex. She was so stunning, so full of light, life, energy: everything I wasn’t.