Page 59 of Memories of Us

I wrapped my hand around his wrist. “No, I don't want to press charges. And you didn’t start it, B. You were defending me. Getting that drunk ass off me. You had no idea I’d step into the middle of it. Nothing that happened was your fault.”

“But still—”

The gravel shifted under my wedges as I moved close enough to grip his face between my hands. Grief and anger swirled behind his eyes as I stared into them. “I know you, B. I trust you. It was an accident. Come on, let's get out of here.” When he didn't move, I dropped my hands and shrugged. “Fine, go back in if that’ll make you feel better. But I'm not, and I'm too drunk to drive home, so you have to choose. Let me drive home like this alone while you go back inside, or you drive.”

There was no doubt which option he’d choose, but I still blew a relieved sigh past my lips when his steady footsteps sounded behind me halfway down the alley.

Not a word was spoken in the truck on the way back. The radio stayed turned off, only the full blast AC blowing and the pinging of gravel kicked up by the tires filling the silence.

We pulled along the circle drive to the main house instead of driving toward the back to Daddy's place.

“Okay, here's where I draw the line. I’m not walking back in these shoes,” I said with a smirk, knowing full well what his intentions were but hoping it would invoke a verbal response.

It didn't.

Instead, Brenton shut off the engine and climbed out of the cab.

Damn, wish he would snap out of his mood, because I was fucking happy. The tequila had made everything fuzzy and warm and fun.

My eyes slammed shut to prevent them from being blinded when the bright overhead light snapped on.

“You're staying with me,” he stated, leaving no room for negotiation.

Like I would.

“I love you bossy,” I responded with a smile.

Not even a smirk or a grunt at my comment before he scooped me from the seat.

I gave a high-pitched squeal. “Brenton, I can walk.” I laughed as he shut the door with a boot against it.

“No.”

Fine by me.

I snuggled into his arms and took a deep breath of his intoxicating masculine scent. “You smell nice,” I said. Focused at his neck, I leaned forward to drag my tongue along his soft skin. “You’re tasty too.”

“Damn you're drunk,” he grumbled, with no anger or frustration in his tone.

His grip tightened to stabilize me in his arms as he climbed the stairs to the main house. I closed my eyes, relishing in the strength, the way he made me feel lighter than I was and protected. Safe. Even after everything that happened tonight, I was safe with him.

That was what Ryder didn't understand. Hell, no one could. Passion. Heat. Jealousy. Possession. All of it described who we were together, what we felt.

Through the front door, he stomped past the living room, down a hall, and turned into his childhood bedroom. Craning my neck, I searched the walls to see what all had changed since the last time I’d been in that same room, but I couldn't see a damn thing in the dark.

Almost like I was his most precious possession, he gently laid me on top of the soft comforter.

“Brenton—”

“Stop it, would you? Just let me do this without a fight. Can't you see what tonight did to me?” he growled. “You're hurt because of me, and I don't give a damn if it was an accident. It happened.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he shoved away from the bed and stormed out before I could formulate a response. Okay, he was taking it hard. Not sure why since he wasn't the one who hit me, but I guess he felt responsible since he started it? Which was crazy. That jackass started it when he wouldn't leave me alone.

Once my vision adjusted to the dimly lit room, I took it all in. A large dresser stood on the opposite wall, and bland pictures like you'd buy at any home goods store accented the walls. Nothing personal, not a single thing that made it look lived in.

I curled my fingers, clenching the soft and probably expensive comfort. Everything looked the same. Boring. No feeling. Hollow.

My heart ached for Brenton’s empty life. Even with Daddy being a chauvinistic ass, I still had some happy moments. Most of those were due to Brenton, but I had friends too, good friends.

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