Page 82 of When Wrecked Meets Ruined
“Don’t leave, Ridge,” Kate pleaded. “Patrick didn’t mean—”
“I don’t know how you’ve put up with him for all these years,” Ridge said. “All I can say is that you must be a saint. But I don’t need to listen to this shit.”
“Ridge,” Brody called after us.
Ridge held up his hand as we strode away. “Save it, bro.”
* * *
We didn’t speak until we crossed the park and found a spot to watch the fireworks. We were sitting on a hill, surrounded by families and couples who had already settled to watch the show. They were sitting on folding chairs or blankets. Ridge and I were sitting on the grass. His shoulders were hunched, his legs bent, and his forearms resting on his knees. The muscle in his jaw was ticking, and I could feel the tension in his body even though we weren’t touching.
“I have a knack for ruining family dinners,” he said, laughing it off.
“I would have done the same thing.”
He squinted into the distance. “Last summer, I was working for Patrick at his construction company. Some money went missing, and he accused me of stealing it. Without even questioning anyone else, he automatically pointed the finger at me. I’d never steal from my own family. When he caught the guy who did it, he gave me a half-assed apology.”
I thought about his story. Even though Ridge had a big, loving family, he still felt like he was on the outside looking in. Like he didn’t really belong. And then his asshole uncle had accused him of stealing and treated Ridge like shit. As if he expected Ridge to fail.
“My biggest fear is that I’ll fuck everything up. Because I always do.”
Ridge hid his vulnerability and fears beneath his swagger and bravado. It was something I understood. That need to protect yourself. It was another reminder that we had a lot in common. We’d just chosen different defense mechanisms.
What amazed me about Ridge was that he’d been raised the way he had, yet it hadn’t made him bitter. He could have turned out so differently. He could have hated the whole world, but Ridge was good in all the ways that matter most.
“How much do you care about catching the fireworks?” It had gotten dark, and the fireworks were about to begin, but I’d rather be alone with him.
He turned his head to look at me. “I don’t really give a shit about the fireworks.”
We were so jaded. “Let’s get out of here.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
Evie
Ridge took allthe winding back roads and drove too fast with the windows down and the music blasting.
I cranked up the volume on Jay-Z and Beyoncé’s “’03 Bonnie & Clyde” and moved to the beat of the music. The warm breeze blew through our hair, and Ridge looked like a bad boy searching for trouble.
I think he’d found it. I was sitting right next to him.
I threw back my head and laughed when he gunned the engine, completely dismissing the sign on the fence warning trespassers to keep out. Gravel crunched under our tires, and a trail of dust kicked up behind us.
“Are we going to rob a bank, Clyde?”
“I’ll be your getaway driver, Bonnie.”
“If we don’t get shot first.” I laughed at another sign nailed to a tree:Prayer is one way to meet the good Lord, but trespassing will get ya there quicker.
We were on private property, but Ridge didn’t care if we got arrested or if some crazy landowner chased after us with a hunting rifle.
“Hang on tight,” he said, and I threw my arms in the air like I was on a roller coaster as the truck skidded around a corner and flew down a hill.
We crossed over a creek, and I hung my arm out the window and caught a few drops of muddy water on my fingertips.
When we got back on dry land, I unbuckled my seat belt, got onto my knees, and leaned across the gearbox. Then I did something that I’d sworn I would never do for Ridge. I unzipped his jeans and pushed down his boxer briefs. His dick sprang free, and god, it was so big. Beautiful, really.
“Are you always this hard?”
