Page 40 of Ruthless Desires: Vol. Two
“Shhh,” I whisper, thumbing the tears away. “We have to keep it down.”
“You shouldn’t have to feel this way. Shouldn’t think that of yourself! There’s no way you could’ve known, Rhett.” She’s clutching my arms, practically pleading with me.
It’s the same stuff I’ve heard over and over again from Elliot and Oliver, which is ironic. Hell, even Finn has tried to reason with me. Maybe they’re right, but how can I fully believe that? I’m her big brother. I was supposed to keep her safe.
“It’s funny, though, how different people place blame in the midst of a tragedy,” I say quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“My dad blamed me. Of course he did. But Elliot and Oliver, they both found ways to blame themselves instead of me. Elliot for not pressuring his parents more to pay for Sammy and Maria to go to better-funded schools, and Oliver… he’s the one who told her we were going to take her to the garden. He just wanted to make her happy, that’s all. But it backfired tremendously.”
“Do they still blame themselves?”
“Sometimes, I think. But it’s… a different kind of blame. Awhat if-type blame. When it comes down to it, Ludo is the one who pulled the trigger. Regardless of our mistakes, he’s the one who killed an innocent child, not us.”
Wren leans her forehead against mine as her hands travel back up my arms to rest on my shoulders. “I’m sorry, Rhett. I’m so sorry.”
I sigh. In hindsight, this was a horrible idea. The hopeless panic may be gone from Wren’s eyes, but an inconsolable sadness fills them now. “I shouldn’t’ve dumped all of this on you tonight,” I murmur. “Not when you were already emotional.”
“It’s okay,” she replies softly. “I needed to know at some point.”
“Yeah, but—”
She presses a finger to my lips, silencing me.“Thank you,Rhett. For opening up to me. I know it’s difficult.”
There’s nothing to say to that, so all I do is nod. Her arms slip around me in a reassuring embrace, and I tighten my hold on her as well.
I can barely remember the time in my life when I liked being hugged. Fucking craved it. Now I have to fight past the memories, past the gut-instinct repulsion. Maybe one day I’ll want it again.
I hope.
As Wren presses her face into my neck, she murmurs, “He’ll get what he deserves.”
I hum in agreement and close my eyes. I’m not sure how long we stay like that, trying to find solace in each other’s arms. At some point, I worry that I’ll have to wake her when I inevitably have to slide her off my lap.
There’s something about our interaction that makes me want to keep her here all night, though. The absence of maliciousness? Her insistence that Sammy’s death wasn’t my fault? No—no, that’s not it.
It’s that she didn’t touch me until I told her twice that she could. She’s such a stark contrast to my father that she creates this sense of safety wherever she goes. I think I’ll always admire that about her.
I rub her back as a thread of guilt slivers through me.
Why her? Why can I touch her more but not Elliot and Oliver?
For a split second, I’m worried. Terrified, even. I don’t want to love Wren more than the guys. I want to love them all with the same passion, the same care. But just as soon as the thought enters my mind, I realize I could never feel for one more than the other. Elliot and Oliver are essential parts of me. Wren may not be yet, but we’ll get there.
Before I can dwell on it more, Wren nestles into me, like she’s trying to get closer even though she’s as close as she can get. When a small moan escapes her lips, I pause my hand on her back.
“Are you awake?” I whisper.
“Mmhmm. Are you tired?”
“Not enough to sleep.”
She angles her head upward and kisses my neck. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“No. But thank you.”
She sits up and strokes a hand over my hair. “Of course. I… I’ll always help if I can.”
