Dirty Princes (Hot Candy 3)

I open my mouth to yell at Ryan to open the door, when the lock clicks and it swings open.

“I’m okay,” Ryan says, his voice a bit hoarse, his face pale.

“What the fuck…You’re okay?” Riddick’s face is going red. “You scared the shit out of me, and that’s all you got to say?”

“Rid.” I put a hand on his arm, stepping in front of him, and Fluff sees this as a chance to jump on him. “No, Fluff.”

But it’s too late. Riddick curses as her sharp claws dig into his arm, and she climbs up his shoulder. “Jesus Fuck.”

Reluctantly I look away. “Ryan, what happened?”

“Nothing happened.” But there’s a haunted look in his eyes as he turns around and starts walking back toward the bedroom, his shoulders stiff.

“Wait.” I help Riddick pry the cat off him and make a beeline for the room, too. “Wait!”

Riddick follows me, bare feet slapping on polished wood, and we enter the room together to find Ryan getting dressed in a faded T-shirt and sweats.

“What’s with the silence?” Riddick demands, the flush spreading down his chest. “Did I hurt you? Why won’t you say?”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Ryan says, his voice cool and quiet. He grabs a hoodie from a chair and pulls it on, zips it up. “I’m fine.”

“The hell you are. What is your deal?” He jabs a finger at Ryan, his eyes glittering. “Something happened. Fess up.”

“Ryan, why won’t you tell us?” I plead, shocked to find myself close to tears.

His closed-off expression is like a knife stab to my chest. I felt we’d torn down our walls yesterday and this morning, and in the space of a minute, he built his right back up, leaving us outside.

It hurts.

He heads back out. “Breakfast,” he says.

Riddick grunts, grabbing his clothes and starting to get dressed. “Who the hell cares about breakfast?”

Fluff jumps out of my arms and trots after Ryan.

Well, one of us apparently does.

***

Ryan looks slightly more relaxed when I enter the kitchen a few minutes later. I’ve put on more clothes and feel stronger.

Though, stronger might not be the right word. Less defenseless, I guess. More protected.

As if clothes can keep me safe from what I feel.

“Hey.” He’s pouring coffee into tall mugs. “Want some?”

I nod. Fluff is drinking milk from a bowl in the corner, and it brings a smile to my lips, the fact that he thought of her.

Maybe this isn’t as bad as I feared.

Pale sunlight shines outside the big windows, sparkling on the lake. “It’s a beautiful morning.”

He opens the fridge and takes out the carton of milk. “It’s always beautiful after the storm,” he says.

Maybe so. But as I look at him, I realize that sometimes the storm is more beautiful still. “Ryan…”

“Toast? Eggs? Bacon?”