Reveal (Wicked Ways #2)(14)

This is all because of Ryker.

Tears sting hotly with a mixture of anger and hurt as I shove my phone into my bag and stare at the flowers and chocolates in front of me.

Another attempt by Ryker to show me how sorry he is for putting everything I’ve worked for at risk. And for breaking my heart.

The rage I’ve been waiting to feel finally hits me. The emptiness sparks into a riot of temper as I snatch up the flowers and chocolates and push my way into the house.

I toss my purse on the floor and grab the closest box I can find. It’s a file box that’s filled with bills, and I dump them on the table without a thought to the disorganization it will cause and begin rushing around my house. Anything and everything that Ryker has ever sent me or Lucy I shove in the box. All the stuffed animals, the chocolates, the deflated balloons—even the flowers.

And only when I shove the lid on it and the wretched sound of the tape gun fills my house as I seal it shut do I allow myself to process everything. Allow myself the huge, heaving sobs I’ve resisted shedding. Allow myself to admit to the loneliness I feel without Ryker.

Seconds turn to minutes. Minutes turn into an hour. The salt of my tears dries on my cheeks. The hitching of my lungs begins to abate. The fogginess from the hurt begins to settle.

I’ve finally allowed myself to feel, to grieve, to be sorry for myself, and now I know I can move on. One weak blip on my radar does not define me. No. It makes me stronger.

I keep repeating those words through my shower and bedtime routine. I feel stronger. More resolved. Less wishy-washy. I know what I want, and it’s not someone who hurts me like he has. It’s not someone who would use me for his own personal gain.

It’s only when I close my eyes and attempt to succumb to the exhaustion of the day and the moment that I ask myself the one question I’m choosing to ignore.

If you’re done with Ryker, then why in the hell did you keep a few of the cards he’s sent you, like letters from a lover you’re longing for?





CHAPTER FIVE

Vaughn

“Whewee, girl, you look like hell in a handbasket.” Archer waves a hand in front of his face as he crinkles up his nose before waltzing past me and into my house.

At least I have my blinds open today. Sunlight is the first step toward believing everything is going to be all right.

“Gee. Thanks. You’re not looking too refreshed yourself,” I say as I study him. His hair is matted to his forehead, his clothes may be expensive but look like they’ve been slept in, and his eyes have a lovely shade of bloodshot to them.

“Maybe not refreshed, but I’m sure as hell revived. I’m going on thirty-six hours without sleep, love. Give a man a break.”

“Sounds like you already have.” I raise my eyebrows in jest. “He that good?”

“You have no idea,” he murmurs with a knowing smile as he walks around my place and judges me without judging. “I’d give you details, but, uh . . . I’m not one to kiss and tell.”

My laugh is automatic. “You’re such a liar. You’re more the take-out-a-front-page-ad type. But please, spare me the details.” I follow him as he picks up a picture of Lucy and then sets it down before moving on to the next item and doing the same. “Arch?”

“Hmm?” He doesn’t look my way.

“What are you doing here?”

“Just visiting.” He sets another tchotchke down.

“You never just visit.”

“The last time I saw you was too short, and not enough was shared,” he says, bringing my thoughts to the Hamptons, where Ryker and I ran into him at the lobster roll place. The pang is still as sharp as ever, thinking of him.

“Hmm.” I eye him, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning against the wall, wondering what in the hell he’s doing here. A house call from Archer Collins is a rarity these days. “You always seem to be busy nowadays.”

“Pft.” He waves a hand, always one to play down to me his ridiculously busy party-boy, playboy social life. “You’re one to talk. Business good?” He picks up a photo of Lucy.

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Lola’s interesting.”

“Lola?” I ask, and then I remember my most requested girl met him in a club not too long ago.

“Yeah.” He looks back toward me and lifts his eyebrows before looking around the room again. “Comes on a little strong, but I can see why men like her . . . if, say, I were into women.”

“Archer.”

“Yes, dear?”

“You are not one to drop in just to say hi without having a motive or endgame or whatever the hell you want to call it. What gives?”

“Am I interrupting big plans or something?” he asks and then emits a dramatic huff before plopping onto my couch and resting his head against its back.

“Very big plans indeed,” I lie, nowhere near in the mood to entertain him while he comes down from whatever his high was last night. Men. Alcohol. Ecstasy. Who knows?

His chuckle rumbles around the room. “Big plans? Like what? Watching paint dry? Paying your bills? Because we both know you’re not shaving your legs or pussy for a man.”

“How would you know if I’m shaving or not? And why would you even care?” I ask as Archer side-eyes me from the couch. “What?”