Page 32 of Pulled Away

“Fuck,” Piper curses, and I see war brewing in her eyes. She’s not the type you want on her bad side. “Tell us everything.”

I relay to them what happened last night and this morning, and with every word, my stomach roils. My emotions are on a damn trampoline—up, down, up, down, uncertain on what it should settle on. Humiliation, anger, sadness, betrayal? It has me picking apart every interaction he’s had with Hadley, looking at it from a different angle. And if I felt like a fool before, it has nothing on how I’m feeling now. I should have seen it. The ease between them. The familiarity.

Ryan knew. He fucking knew, and he left me in ignorant bliss. He left me vulnerable. And just like that, anger wins the battle for supremacy.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Rose breathes, sympathy brimming in her eyes, but there’s also a spark of hurt. Ryan’s her brother, her big brother, and she’s always looked up to him. Knowing that he kept something like this from her is bound to hurt.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, grabbing her hand.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” she mutters, squeezing my hand. “If I find out Mom and Dad know…”

My phone rings, and Rose grabs it out of my hand, not bothering to ask permission before answering.

“What the fuck, Ryan? You married Hadley?”

“No. She doesn’t want to talk to you. And I don’t blame her. You fucking lied to her.”

“Does Mom and Dad know?”

“Yes, well, it’s a bit too late now to worry.”

“No. Don’t come here.” She looks at me, and I almost get whiplash from how hard I’m shaking my head. “She doesn’t want to see you right now.”

“And don’t call her again. She’ll call you when she’s ready. Not before,” she warns him before ending the call.

Her one-sided phone call over, she hands me my phone. “At least my parents don’t know either.” She gets up and walks to the kitchen muttering something about idiots.

“So, what are we planning to do?” Piper asks, and calculation has replaced the anger in her eyes.

My smile is faint, but thankful. Thankful because after the treatment I’ve received this weekend, it’s good to know that I at least have some people in my corner. Someone to help mop up the metaphorical blood after the nine rounds I’ve just been through.

“I don’t know.” I sigh, taking the glass of wine Rose shoves at me. And I truly don’t. Do I owe him a conversation? What can he possibly say that will make this acceptable? Do I even want to hear it? All I know is that having a conversation with him would mean going back, and I don’t want to do that. Not while she’s there.

“What the hell is going on?” Piper says, frowning. “First, Quinn. Now Ryan. And I never saw any of it coming.”

“At least I’m safe. I’m chronically single.” Rose grimaces, shooting me an apologetic look. “I still can’t believe Ryan. It’s not like him to keep things secret.”

“I didn’t think so either,” I mutter, swiping at a tear. Damn traitor. I want to be angry, not sad, but now that the adrenalin is fading, sorrow, the size of Texas, is performing a hostile takeover on my heart.

I don’t think I can come back from this.

“You know he loves you, right?” Rose says, grabbing my hand.

“It doesn’t excuse what he’s done,” Piper spits before I can say anything.

“I know. I’m not trying to defend him.” Rose shoots her an exasperated look. “But I don’t want Aspen thinking he did this because he doesn’t love her. I know my brother, and I’ve never seen him like this with any girl.”

Her words should soothe me; instead, they chip away at the sorrow, allowing anger a tiny gain in my heart. His love means nothing if he’s willing to lie and deceive for her.

Chapter twelve

Aspen

Ipause before opening the door, wondering what I’ll find. Ryan and his ex-wife cozying up on the couch? Ryan and his ex-wife seamlessly working together while cooking dinner? Ryan and his ex-wife fondly reminiscing about wedded bliss?

Fucking stop this, Aspen, I berate myself.

I eventually caved late last night, answering one of Ryan’s many messages, and informed him I’d be staying over at Piper’s. I’d had way too much wine by that point to even consider driving—the sweet, sweet escape of drowning your sorrows with alcohol—but even if I was stone-cold sober, I wouldn’t have. My anger was a living, breathing thing inside me, and I didn’t want to have any kind of conversation with him before calming down.

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