Rebel (Renegades #2)

Rebel (Renegades #2) Page 56

She turned back to the window and tightened her arms on a whispered “Fuck.”

“I know it’s not what you had planned,” he said, his voice irritated. “But you could at least think about it a minute before you dismiss the idea.”

She turned her head to look at him, and the anger in his expression scraped exposed nerves. “Wait—you’re angry? With me? What the fuck did I do?”

“You’re standing there pretending you don’t love me.” He rested his head in his hand. That trapdoor beneath her feet creaked. She could almost feel the tentative happiness they’d found dropping out from under her. “Where is this coming from?”

“Might have been the ‘fuck’ when I asked you to move in with me.”

“Wes, we’re barely settled into what’s happening now. Moving in together is… I just…” Panic balled in her stomach and turned her spine to ice. “Why do you keep springing these things on me?”

“Because my feelings for you are so strong, they overflow. I love you. I want to be with you every minute we have. And dammit, Rubi, you’re going to be homeless in a week with a seventy-pound dog.”

The strap tightened until she felt like she was going to pop out of her skin. She wasn’t handling this right, but that was one of her problems—she didn’t know how to handle this type of thing.

She inhaled slowly. Exhaled slowly.

She could figure this out. She could.

“I’ve never lived with anyone before—not even a roommate. I…don’t know how to live with someone.” All the problems that could arise glared in her mind. “And to make that decision after we’ve only been together for a week—”

“You know we’ve been leading up to this for months. Don’t use the short time we’ve been having sex as the beginning of our—”

Wes’s phone rang. He jerked it from his pocket with a concerned frown marring his forehead. After he looked at the display, he closed his eyes and rubbed them as he answered, “Hey.”

The female voice on the other end of the line was high-pitched and frantic. Rubi’s chest tightened, sure it was Tori reporting a problem with Wyatt.

“Is that all he said?” Wes asked. “Yes, I know he’s—”

The woman cut him off with more hysterics.

“Did you call the police?” he asked and paused for her answer. “Are your doors locked? Did he say where he was?”

Fuck, it wasn’t Tori. It was Melissa, calling about her drama with the ex.

“I know, Mis. Okay, okay. I’m coming. Just keep the doors locked, and don’t answer until I get there.”

As soon as Rubi had heard the words “I’m coming,” all the rationality she’d been clawing to hold on to evaporated. As soon as Wes disconnected, she said, “You’re doing what?”

“Dillon threatened her. She’s terrified he’s going to come over. I’m just going to calm her down. I need to tell her about Wyatt anyway, and it will get her mind off Dillon.”

He pushed to his feet.

A familiar sensation of being dismissed overcame her. “Hello. We’re discussing something important here. Why can’t she have the police calm her down?”

“She called them.” He took that annoyed, cocky stance, leaning into one hip, head tilted. “They can’t do anything about an alleged phone call. And you and I aren’t talking as much as arguing.”

“That might be because you keep bombing with emotional bombshells. What we’re talking about is kind of a big deal and, goddammit, you should be more interested in straightening this out with me than in calming your ex-girlfriend down over something that hasn’t even happened—and doesn’t even involve you.”

“It does involve me, Rubi. We’re friends.” He gave her an irritated, condescending look. “And this is what friends do for each other.”

That hit deep. And low. As if she didn’t know what friends did for each other. Because she didn’t have many.

They were both tired. Both stressed. She knew. But that didn’t give him the right to abandon her in the middle of something important.

“And I’m the woman you love,” she said, drawing the line between a friend and a lover clearly. “Don’t walk out on me.”

“For Christ’s sake, Rubi, I’m not walking out on you.” He gripped her upper arms and kissed her forehead, then turned for the door. “I’ll be back in less than an hour.”

Rubi’s heart hardened over. She followed him out into the hall and gripped the banister as he skipped down the stairs. “Wes, don’t—”

Whitney stepped into the foyer, and Rubi bit back her words. His sister’s gaze darted up to Rubi, then landed on Wes as he reached for the door. “What’s wrong? Where are you going?”

“Melissa’s having trouble with Dillon. I won’t be long.”

He tugged the door open. Whitney grabbed it before it closed. “Wes—”

The roar of the motorcycle cut off Whitney’s words, then faded into the distance.

Whitney stepped inside, closing the front door and meeting Rubi’s eyes as she stared blankly down at the door. “I’m sorry.”

Rubi was transported back in time, to the countless times her father had left her standing at the door, watching his taillights disappear into the distance, a nanny standing nearby with soothing words. They felt as useless now as they had then.

Disappointment and pain and failure coiled into the hollow space of Rubi’s heart. “Me too.”

Twenty-Nine

Wes pulled onto the gravel drive feeling as confused and hurt as he had when he’d left—three hours ago, not one as he’d promised. And he was pretty sure that would make a resolution with Rubi even more difficult, because she hadn’t responded to any of his texts and hadn’t answered when he’d called to tell her it was taking longer than he’d expected.

He parked the bike and pulled off his helmet. The house was quiet, making Wes wonder if everyone had already gone back to the hospital. He hoped they had. It would give him and Rubi time and room to talk—hopefully less on edge than this morning. He climbed the stairs knowing he’d jumped that bridge toward living together too fast. And right after he’d hit her with the whole I-love-you thing. He had to find a way to slow down, he just… She had a way of making him feel frantic, like he had to grab hold of her hard and fast or risk losing her.

Pausing on the landing, he scraped a hand through his damp hair. Lexi’s words had been swamping his brain from the moment he’d left the house.

“It’s not something someone who’s had a normal upbringing would understand.”

“Jax is doing a damned good impression of a saint.”

Wes pushed the front door open, unsettled with a new light shed on an insecurity he’d never had before. But he was far more a saint than Chamberlin ever was. And if Jax could handle Lexi’s issues, Wes could sure as hell handle Rubi’s.

The house was silent. Wes closed the door and peeled off his jacket, hanging it on the hall tree.

“Hey.”

Whitney’s voice turned him toward the formal living room where she sat on the pillows in a bay window, a mug in her hand.

“Hey. Where is everyone?”

“Mom took Tori and the girls on a shopping diversion. Dad’s in the barn playing with his new program.”

“Is Rubi upstairs?”

“No.” Whitney drew out the word. “She’s not.” She patted the seat next to her. “Come sit down.”

Alarm brought him farther into the room, but he didn’t sit. “Where is she?”

Whitney looked down at her mug and scraped her lip between her teeth, then returned her gaze to Wes’s. “She went home, Wes.”

“Ho-me?” His voice cracked, but the surge of emotion in his chest overwhelmed his embarrassment. “What do you…? She left?” he said in disbelief and dread. “She went back to LA?”

Whitney remained solemn. And nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Shock, anger, hurt, they all burst like fireworks at the center of his chest, twining to ignite his temper. He raked both hands through his hair and paced to the opposite side of the room. “Motherfucking sonofabitch.”

His mind pinged, never staying on one thought more than a second. He turned on his sister, planted his hands at his waist. “When?”

“I have to give her credit,” Whitney said, her voice sad. “I thought she was going to walk out that door as soon as the sound of your bike faded, but she waited. She waited for an hour and a half, Wes.”

His anger flashed into guilt, and it filled him until it swam in his vision like a green tide. “But I texted her. I told her I’d be longer than I thought. I tried to call, but she didn’t answer. I convinced the police Dillon was a bigger problem than they thought and—”

“You’re missing the point.”

Anger and pain made his temper flash. “What point?”

She didn’t answer. He didn’t blame her after that snap.

He made another restless trip around the living room. Go after her? Again? Let her go? “How did she get to the airport?”

“She took Wyatt’s truck. Said she’d leave it in long-term parking. Keys will be on the inside of the front tire.”

His stomach balled into a knot. “When does her flight leave?”

“I don’t know.” She paused. “Wes.”

He turned toward Whitney, his anger and frustration melting into hurt. Soul-deep hurt—she’d left him. And fear. Hot, liquid fear—he’d lost her. “What?”

“You really can’t try to fix this until you understand why it happened. Or it will just keep happening.”

“What did she say?”

Whitney shook her head. “She didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Fuck me.” The unfamiliar sensation of helplessness clenched his hands. The equally unfamiliar pressure of tears pressed the backs of his eyes. “We were arguing. Melissa called and was in full meltdown mode. I just thought it would be good for Rubi and me to chill out. I was just trying to help.”

“Reasonable,” Whitney said, “from your perspective.”

The way Whitney said it told Wes it probably wasn’t reasonable from Rubi’s perspective.

“Don’t walk out on me.”

Wes sat down hard on the window seat and dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t know, Whit. Maybe she’s right. Maybe we really don’t work together. I feel like she fits me better than anyone ever has. Like she really gets me. Like I can be who I should have been for years when I’m with her. But maybe I’m not right for her.” He sat back with lead in his stomach. “We were all raised to do exactly what I did for Melissa today—help out friends and family.”

“We were,” she agreed softly.

“My job requires me to travel. My schedule changes all the time. My hours are long.”