Ridge Read online

  “Remember when that seagull dive-bombed the boat and swiped Dad’s keys right out of his hands and dropped ’em in the water?”

  “Jesus Christ.” We both fell into gut-busting laughter at the memory. It was late, after eleven the following night and we were halfheartedly playing a game of cards and drinking. Lane had beer and I was nipping into the bourbon. He’d gone to bed early last night, after we’d caught a few perch and fried them up for dinner. We’d spent the morning and evening fishing today, caught a few more, but spent more time talking than not.

  It felt so fucking good just to be with him. It filled up a part of my heart, somehow, that I hadn’t realized was missing.

  “Thank God it was shallow water.” I laughed and swiped tears from my eyes at the image of my dad, bent over the edge of the boat, fishing around in the mud for his truck keys.

  “Shit like that only ever happened to him. Of all fucking people, him.” Lane shook his head and swiped at the tears pooling in his eyes from laughing so hard. Something we shared. We laughed until we cried. Much like the blue eyes and wavy dark hair. We were brothers through and through.

  “Thanks for coming up here with me. I just needed out of the city.”

  “Anytime.” My brother tipped his head and pulled on his beer. “You been okay?”

  “Same old.” I took a sip and avoided his eyes.

  “What happened with Amy?”

  “Shit went south.” I shrugged. “It happens.”

  He only nodded, leaving the quiet to stretch between us.

  “She okay after the miscarriage?”

  My eyes shot up. “How’d you know?”

  “Word gets around.” He licked his lips.

  I ground my teeth together, then poured myself another glass of whiskey.

  “Drinkin’ a lot there, little bro.” He nodded toward my glass.

  “It’s been tough,” I muttered and slammed the liquid down my throat before pouring another glass.

  Lane watched me with intense eyes. Eyes that had me pinned, as if he was trying to see into my soul. I shrank away. I knew that he could. He’d always had that ability to see inside me.

  I swallowed and spun the card in front of me. Ace of spades. A lucky card, until it wasn't. Ace or one. One or ace. Which was it going to be tonight? My night on? Or off?

  “Shit going well with the restaurant?”

  “Better than ever. TJ’s on his game. I’ve been able to hand a lot of shit off to my manager.”

  “'Cause you’re drinkin' too much?”

  “No,” I grunted and averted my eyes out the window. Bright moonlight washed across the ancient evergreens that dotted the yard.

  “Doesn’t look that way to me. Look, man, if you need help, just fucking get it. No shame. Get your shit together.”

  “Nothing's workin' out for me.”

  “Why the fuck not? Seems good from this standpoint.”

  “Seems.” I ran a palm over my face and scratched at the scruff along my jawline.

  “You tellin' me you’re not straight?” He hit me with searing blue eyes.

  “Nah, I’m straight. I’m just fucked up in every other way you could imagine.”

  “Things with Amy—”

  “Not about Amy.”

  There it was. That silence again, stretching expanding, stifling.

  “Mia?” Lane said the word so quietly that I could tell it gutted him to say it.

  I couldn’t respond. I looked up at his eyes—eyes that so clearly reflected mine, and there it was.

  Him and me.

  Yin and yang.

  Complete opposites.

  “If it’s Mia . . . you need to work it out.”

  “What?”

  “I mean, do what you need to do; don’t let this fuck you up. You’ve been good for a while. If shit between you two . . .” He ran a hand through his dark hair and tugged. “If shit was that good, then work it out, and if it wasn’t, then let it go, but you have to move on, get past this. You can’t keep letting bumps in the road derail you, brother.”

  I ran my fingertip along the rim of my whiskey glass as I worked his words over in my head. “Mia and I, we can’t . . . what you and I have . . .”

  “Look, whatever, man. Whatever Mia and me were, isn’t anymore. But you and her, that shit isn’t over. And you and I, we’re good. I’m always going to want you at arm’s length from Kat—” He cocked a grin and shoved at my shoulder. “But I don’t want to see you go off the rails again. You’re my fucking brother. I want you healthy. And sometimes that takes getting rid of someone. And sometimes it takes running to someone.” He shrugged.

  “But what happened . . . shouldn't have happened . . .”

  “Agreed. But Mia and I . . . things weren't ever great between us.”

  News to me. “Mia never said anything . . . did you fight a lot?”

  “Nah, that's the thing. We never fought. It was this weird, silent cold war thing. Listen, I asked her to marry me and I would have, doubts and all, but let's just say there's a reason it didn't work out.”

  I nodded as his words sunk in.

  “I’m going to bed. Got to call Kat.”

  “Night,” I mumbled and swirled the liquid in my glass. My head felt foggy as I thought about what he’d said. Had he given Mia and me permission to be together? Did I want that? Was he right? That I was off the rails? On the fast track to self-destruction?

  I swallowed as I watched the liquid swirl and then hurled the glass across the kitchen. It landed on the counter and shattered, liquid splashing across the cabinets and countertop. I threaded my hands in my hair and laid my head on the wood table in front of me. It was old, wobbly, reeked of beer and smoke, but the cool felt good against my forehead. I fucked with my phone on the table beside me. Scrolled through my contacts like an obsessive bastard.

  Amy. Mia. I should call Amy; see if she’s okay with the miscarriage.

  Maybe she’d moved on. Maybe she needed me. Maybe she didn’t. Maybe I’d fucked up her life. Maybe she’d fucked up mine.

  And Mia.

  Mia. Mia. Mia. That one word consumed me. My. The girl that I dreamt of when I closed my eyes at night. The soft eyes I tried to drink out of my line of vision.

  Her soft brown hair between my fingers, her olive skin brushing up against mine. Her sweet laugh. The memories poured down over me as I looked at her name on my contacts list.

  My.

  My.

  My.

  My.

  I swallowed and then threw my phone across the small cabin too.

  “You’re paying for any damage, asshole.” My brother's gruff voice boomed down from the loft. I cracked a smile and some dark corner of my heart lit with light. He brought me back. If I had him, I would be okay. I didn’t know if the fucker was right. He could be talking out of his ass, but until now, I’d surrounded myself with the wrong people, or no one at all, and it was time I listened to him. Time I listened to the last person that walked this Earth that knew me since the day I’d come screaming into this rough world.

  I went back to Portland, back to life. I tried to get clean, tried to get sober. Sober-ish, anyway, and it lasted exactly one day. Daylight hours, I stayed sober and fidgeted all day at work. I thought about a drink. I thought about my brother. His words echoed in my head.

  Sober. Clean. Make it right. Move on. Don’t let bumps derail you.

  Finally, at four in the afternoon on Monday, I bailed and headed straight for the liquor store.

  My hands shook as I handed over cash for the bottle. I bought another pack of smokes and then lit one and speed-walked to my apartment, bottle in hand.

  I poured a glass.

  Poured another.

  Downed it and poured another as I watched the sun sink in the sky.

  The gulls squawked in the harbor and I drank myself into oblivion.

  Night rolled around and I sat on the balcony, lit by the moon and the ember of my cigarette. The clink of ice cubes in my glass dis
tracted me. I figured I should make an attempt at watering it down.

  My brain was fucked. My mind was hazy.

  My eyes landed on the bottle that sat on the table next to the lounger. I bent and swiped it. Gave it a shake and peered down the neck.

  Empty as a motherfucker.

  I’d drunk an entire pint in just a handful of hours. I glanced at the watch on my wrist. I’d left work at . . . three. Four . . . I had no fucking idea.

  My brain couldn’t grasp the concept. It was now after eleven. Or one? So that was how many hours? Too many, not enough. Everything melted together as I flicked my cigarette over the balcony and had the sudden urge to call someone.

  I shoved my hand in my pocket to fish for my phone before remembering that I’d shattered it at the cabin in Gun Lake.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck, I was supposed to go to the cell store after work.

  The booze had gotten in the way of that, hadn’t it?

  But I wanted her. Needed her. So fucking much.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat as I raised my hand to the door. My eyes blurred as the numbers on her door screamed at me. Doubled. Tripled. 3245. 4325. 5324. Was this the right apartment?

  Fuck, fuck, fuck I couldn’t think straight.

  I knocked anyway.

  I leaned against the doorframe and closed my eyes as I waited.

  I knocked again. Nothing.

  Christ, maybe she wasn’t home. If I had had my phone, I would have called.

  Or not. Who knew what I would have done, because I was fucking drunk, and it was either stumbling across town to see her at midnight, or stumbling to a dealer and scoring.

  I would knock one more time and if there was still no answer, I was leaving in favor of option number two. I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed something coursing through my veins. Anything to escape.

  I raised my fist again to knock just as the door opened.

  “Can I help you?” A tall guy with dark brown eyes stared back at me. “Wait . . . you’re that asshole . . .”

  Realization dawned.

  “Fuck.” I ran a hand through my hair and pushed off the doorjamb.

  “Who is it?” a voice called from inside the apartment.

  Her voice.

  Her.

  My.

  “Mia,” I roared and pushed past him. The fucker grabbed me by the arm and whirled me around until I slammed against the doorframe. My shoulder shattered and I grabbed at it as I sank to the floor. I hunched over in pain, chin to chest before I heard her again.

  “Ridge. What’s going on?” Her soft voice bent to my level. As I sat hunched on the floor like a child, the angel of my dreams, the white light that had always lit my darkness graced me.

  She was with me. Saving me. She had to save me. I didn’t have anyone else. Nothing else.

  “Time for you to go, buddy.”

  “Stop, Brett. He needs help.” Her soft hand held my shoulder as she murmured up at him.

  “Brett,” I huffed. “Total douchebag name.”

  “The fuck he does. Fucker is drunk, just like he was that night at your house this summer. He’s looking for trouble.”

  “He’s not.”

  “Kick him out.”

  “Fuck off.” I heard the anger in her voice and a smile crossed my lips. I tilted my head up just in time to see a fist coming my way and everything went dim again.

  “Ridge,” my angel murmured as a freezing cold bag hit my cheek. I groaned and grabbed at my shoulder, still throbbing with pain. “Brett left. Are you okay?”

  My eyes opened and I saw Mia’s sweet face peering down at me. She’d somehow dragged me over to the couch, my head propped on a pillow. The same couch we’d fucked on countless times. Fucked her against. Over. Me and her. Us. Together.

  I swallowed the ache in my throat as I thought about how much I missed her.

  “My . . .” I groaned and tossed my forearm over my eyes. “Christ, I’m sorry,” I mumbled as she pulled the bag of frozen vegetables away from my eye.

  “It’s okay. You think your shoulder's okay?” She kneaded at it with her fingertips. I groaned again, but somehow feeling the pain brought me back to myself, the present.

  “Yeah.” I caught her empathetic eyes staring at me as she rubbed small circles on my shoulder. I turned away and groaned again into the cushion. What a fucking prick I was. She’d so moved on, and I was here, showing up like a drunken fucker, ruining things for her.

  “You and he . . .?”

  “Yeah,” she murmured. “Do you want water? I'll get you some Advil.” She darted away and my heart shrank at the loss of her presence.

  “Mia,” I muttered.

  “Yeah?” she said as she walked back to the couch, a glass and two small pills in hand.

  “Don’t leave again,” I murmured before I downed the pills and the entire glass of water.

  “I won’t. Just go to sleep, Ridge.”

  She ran her fingers through my hair and my eyes closed as I drifted off to the soothing feeling of her fingertips on my scalp.

  My eyes opened the next morning, sunlight blazing through the small living room. I blinked and blinked again, trying to make sense of where I was.

  “What the fuck?” I groaned and winced before grabbing my shoulder.

  “Still hurt?”

  She came into my line of vision and stood there with a beautiful frown on her face.

  “Fucking shit.” I sat up on the couch hunched over, elbows at my knees, head in my hands.

  “Another Advil?” she offered, two small pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

  “Thanks,” I muttered and swallowed them. I stood and, still a little tipsy, made my way to the sink and refilled my water glass and downed it again.

  “I guess we need to talk.”

  My eyes flashed to hers. Fuck, we needed to, but I didn’t want to. I could tell she'd registered the panicked look in my eyes, the way my vision darted around her apartment, looking at everything but her, and then I remembered. Brett. Did he live here? Was he here now?

  I didn’t think so; he would have kicked me out if he’d come back last night.

  I would have kicked me out.

  “Does he live here?” I growled as I pulled my smokes and lighter out of my pocket.

  “No. He lives in Rock Island. Don’t smoke in here.” She nodded toward the balcony.

  “Right.” I took slow steps toward the sliding doors and lit my smoke as soon as I hit the cement of her small patio on the third floor. I looked out across the city. She didn’t have a view of the water from here, but she had a great view of the red brick streets that made up downtown Portland.

  We’d fucked here too. At night, overlooking the lights of the city.

  It’d been intense. Like magic had seeped into our skin and we’d shared it, passed it between each other.

  It was the first night that I thought I might really love her.

  I knew now that I did. It hadn’t taken me long—within weeks of meeting her, I think I sensed it. My soul sensed it, recognized something in hers.

  I wasn’t normally a sappy fuck, but something in Mia met with something in me, came together, and fused. We were inextricably woven, and no matter who we hurt, no matter what happened, there was no denying the connection that branded us.

  “Why’d you come here last night?” she asked as she sat on the deck chair next to me. I flicked at my cigarette, watching the orange glow. I cracked my neck, swiveled and moved it back and forth as the sunlight caused my eyes to pound.

  “I don’t know.” I frowned as I puffed again.

  “You should really lay off those.”

  “Lecturing me?” I turned and a small grin lifted my lips. The banter. I wanted our playful, sexy banter back.

  Her eyes trailed down to my mouth and she held her breath as she watched me.

  Finally, she arched one eyebrow. “You smell like a fucking chimney sweep.” Her nose scrunched up in the most adorable way. I lau
ghed, full and hearty. Genuine. Fuck, it felt good.

  “What happens when you smoke two packs a day, I guess.” I turned and took another puff.

  “You’re off the rails, Ridge.”

  Fuck, why did people keep using that term? As if being on the rails was a good thing. A speeding train to anywhere was bad news. I was done with the fast-living lifestyle; slow and steady, just how I liked it. Enjoy the ride, take in the view.

  “Yeah,” I murmured without even thinking.

  “You need to get better.”

  “I . . . can't.” I’d struggled for the words, for the right thing to say, the macho thing, the denial, but all the excuses fell dead on my lips. Because I just couldn’t. It was out of my hands now.

  “You did it before.” She hit me with her straight talk again.

  “But I don’t have you.”

  Her eyes scrunched up at me. “What does that mean?”

  “It means . . . I don’t think . . . fuck.” I don't think I can do it without you. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Do what? You’re fucking things up pretty epically, Ridge.”

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?” Her eyes flared.

  “Last time I saw you . . . you were cutting, Mia.”

  She pressed her thumb to her lips and chewed on her nail as she averted her eyes.

  “I've been trying not to,” she finally said as she ran her thumbs over the scars on her arms. They were faded, nearly invisible, but if the morning sun caught them just right, it was so obvious.

  “When's the last time?”

  I watched her swallow the lump in her throat as she pursed her lips and finally looked at me. “A few weeks ago. I'm doing better. Better at controlling the urge.”

  “I hate that you do that,” I whispered.

  “I hate that you drown yourself in booze and cigarettes.” Her eyes softened and an understanding passed between us. We were so fucked up. Life had dealt us a bad hand, and we hadn't played our cards well, but somehow, together, everything felt a little more right in the world.

  “If you get help, Ridge, I will too. I'll go to a therapist if you get sober. Go to AA, whatever you need to do.” She leaned over and grasped my forearm, her thumb inadvertently caressing the Roman numerals on my skin. “I'll help you.”