Among the Echoes (Wrecked and Ruined #2.5)(45)

I still haven’t showed Slate my scars, but he doesn’t push me. We have this amazing balance of him letting me squeak by with no questions answered and me asking him everything about his life. I’ve never broached the topic of his mom though. I’m not that brave yet. I also don’t want him to pour his heart out about his past and have to look directly into his eyes and lie about my own.

Since the first night, one thing remains consistent—Slate sleeps with me every night. Whether we are at his place or mine, he’s always there when I close my eyes. And I always sleep, a magical feat of its own. Before I met Slate, sleep was a bit of an issue for me. I was an insomniac to say the least. Stress has a funny way of screwing with you. I’ve never been a huge sleeper, but the five to six hours I get a night in his arms is more than I ever would have thought possible. Noises in the night still terrify me, but now it's because I’m worried someone will take him from me. I lost myself, but I don’t think I could survive losing Slate. However, every day that we are together, I put his life at risk.

"Riley, you going to explain the movies?" Dave says, snatching a piece of bacon off the plate.

"Stop eating the bacon or you’re going to end up with just an LT sandwich for dinner!" I shout, and Slate slides me down his body, placing my feet back on the ground. I look up at his golden eyes and smile, squeezing him one last time before heading back to the frying pan. "So Dave and I rate our days based on ‘80s movies. The worse the day, the worse the movie."

"Wait. Shouldn’t it be the worse the day, the better the movie?" Slate asks, stealing his own piece of bacon.

I give him an evil glare that does nothing to intimidate him as he pops it in his mouth. "Um, no. I don’t want to watch a good movie and let my attitude ruin it. I want to watch a piece of shit that I can scream and cuss at for being…well, a pile of shit. I want to complain about the actors and make fun of the director and basically just flip them all off," I finish and look up at Slate, who is standing beside me with a disgusted look on his face.

"Riley, are you telling me you think Vision Quest is a terrible movie? The night I met you, that was your movie of choice, and I have to say, even from my point of view, that was a really f*cking shitty night for you."

"Um, I mean…" I stutter teasingly.

"I want you to consider this very carefully, because I’m not sure we can continue this relationship any longer if that is really the way you think." He looks at me in all seriousness, but I know he’s joking.

"It’s growing on me?" I question with a shrug.

"Oh hell no." He leans down and tosses me over his shoulder. He pushes the pan of bacon off the burner and strides to my room.

"Slate, stop!" I laugh.

"Say goodnight to Dave," he says, slapping my ass.

"No! We haven’t eaten yet! Fine. Vision Quest is pure cinematic genius. Matthew Modine is a God."

"Oh, thank the Lord. I’m f*cking starving." He puts me down just outside my bedroom door.

"You are such an ass," I say with the same perma-grin I’ve been wearing for weeks.

"I can deal with that." He wraps a thick arm around my waist and tips me back for a heated kiss that leaves me wishing I hadn’t caved. I’d be more than happy with abandoning dinner and heading to bed at this point. "Actually, can we talk for a second anyway?" He tilts his head to my room.

"Yeah, sure." I move to my bed and plop down on my side, but Slate stands at the foot.

"I have to go back to LA in the morning," he announces.

My hands immediately knot. "Oh, um… Yeah. Of course."

"Don’t get all shy on me, Riley. I’m retiring."

"What? No, you are f*cking not!" I jump to my feet and shout entirely too loud.

"Riley?" I hear Dave yell from the den.

"I’m fine!" I snap then level my eyes back at Slate. "You are not retiring!"

"Oh really? I’m not?" he asks with a smirk. Yep, a f*cking cocky-ass, sexy-as-hell, panty-drenching smirk.

"You are not giving up your career for me! No f*cking way. I know what it feels like to give up your life, and trust me, you will resent me. It’s not happening. We can figure it out long distance, but you are absolutely never, not one question about it, giving up your career for me."

"You ready?" he questions oddly.

"What?" I ask, but it’s too late.

Slate rushes me, lifting me off my feet once again and pushing me down to the bed. His huge body is careful to land beside me instead of on top of me, but with a hand in my hair, he gently tips my head back to look into his eyes.

"Who said I was giving it up for you?" He pops a questioning eyebrow before roughly taking my mouth.

"Well, this is embarrassing," I say against his lips while dragging my nails up his back.

"I’m done, Riley. And the only part of that that has anything to do with you is how you have made me feel over the last few weeks. I was still on the fence when I came back this time, but after spending numerous quiet nights with you…I have zero desire to go back to that life. I love the sport, but I hate pretty much everything else that comes along with it. That life? It’s not me, beautiful"—he tucks my hair behind my ears—"any more than this life is you," he finishes, surprising me.