Ian emerged from the house and tried to forage into the fray.
“Stay out of this, Ian, this is a chick thing. You don’t have a vagina so you don’t understand,” Gwen snapped at him.
Gwen had been glaring at her brother so the full weight of my pissed off stare didn’t penetrate with her. She was mad. I understood that. I expected that. But that didn’t mean she needed to go all “Jersey Shore” on me. I decided if she was going to get physical then so was I. I pushed her back, hard.
“Don’t push me!”
I didn’t know what I expected her to do, but tackling me to the ground shouldn’t have been a surprise. I tried to struggle, but for a tiny person she was scrappy as fuck.
“It’s my brother, Amy. Do you not think I would’ve been happy for you two, you stupid idiot?” she screeched breathlessly as I struggled in vain to get the upper hand. I pinched her.
Her eyes flared. “Ouch! You bitch!” She looked like she was about to go for my hair when suddenly she was pulled off me. Cade had her in his arms, restraining her. I hadn’t noticed him pull up, deep in catfight mode. Ian helped me up before I flinched away from his touch.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” a small, hurt voice asked. I turned my thoughts away from Ian to my more important hurt best friend. I sighed.
“Shit, I don’t know, Gwen. First it was because I didn’t want to even admit how I felt, let alone admit it to you. Then things got complicated, you got hurt and there was never a right time,” I replied. It was a huge oversimplification of it all but I really didn’t want to pour my heart out to our current audience. They had already witnessed me lose a catfight. That was enough for today.
My gaze wandered past Cade and my breath caught in my throat as it landed on Brock. He had his shades on so I couldn’t see his eyes, but by the set of his jaw I could tell he was pissed. He was leaning against his bike, seemingly casual, but I could tell by the way he held his body he had figured Ian was the guy I was talking about yesterday. What a clusterfuck.
Ian must have caught the stare off and made a connection of his own because he moved from behind me to stand in front of me, shielding me from the field of vision, and for all intents and purposes laying his masculine claim.
I narrowed my eyes. Gwen got in before I could unleash my feelings for that gesture.
“This is not the time to discuss any of this, okay? Go back inside and put some clothes on, Amy, the neighbor’s boys will be snapping photos of you with their phones.”
I looked down, remembering my lack of attire. Luckily I hadn’t slipped a nip.
“Ace, we’ll talk inside, okay? Just calm yourself first—we don’t want any more brawls in the living room.” Ian stepped in, his voice level and calm like always.
He directed me into the house with his hand on the small of my back. I reluctantly let him, hating the intimacy of the gesture at this point in time. Hating that I couldn’t go to my friend and pour everything out to her. And also hating the look Brock had directed at me.
“Why didn’t you just pee in a circle around me, Ian? Then everyone in the neighborhood would know to stay away,” I bit at him sarcastically as the door closed behind us.
Ian turned to me with a hard expression. “That was him, wasn’t it? Brock.” He spat out his name like it tasted bad. He didn’t give me time to answer. “Do you love him?”
“That’s none of your business. He is none of your business,” I said, crossing my arms.
“It is my fucking business. You’re my fuckin’ business because I love you!” he yelled.
I stood silently, taken aback at the sudden slip in his usual iron clad temper. He ran his hand through his short hair; it was a gesture I saw a lot when he was frustrated or stressed. He stepped towards me to lightly put his hands on my hips. His green eyes met mine. “I love you, Amy. You’re all I think about when I’m over there. I tried to let you go. To forget you. So you could move on. I can’t. I want you. You want me too,” he said gently.
“I used to,” I admitted quietly. “You can’t expect me to jump into your arms after saying something like that. You left. You left me.”
The person saying that wasn’t the independent, strong Amy Abrams. This was the vulnerable little girl who had been neglected and left behind too many times.
Ian’s face hardened. “It’s because of him, the biker.”
I shook my head. “It’s because you broke my heart and now you’re acting like I should be ready to jump back into things with you. I can’t.” I pulled out of his grasp.
“Amy,” he said.
“I need to think. I need time,” I declared.
His face softened. “Take all the time you need. I’ll wait for you. Forever if I have to.” It hardened into a grim look of determination. “And I’ll fight for you. I’m not going to do the polite thing and stand down. I’ll fight tooth and fuckin’ nail to make you mine. For good.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I did need time. I needed space. I needed to breathe, away from all of the stifling emotions that cropped up from being in the same room as Ian…and from being in the same zip code as Brock. I swear I could feel the heat of his fury. So I took a drive. I drove down the coast and tried to clear my head. It didn’t work. My thoughts bounced around the interior of my car.
The way it felt with Ian when we were together was easy, right. Then there was the way I felt when he left me. How excruciating the pain of a broken heart was. How debilitating the sting of his rejection was. Then it was back to Brock. He was the fire to Ian’s ice. Ian was cool, calm, never lost his temper. Brock ran wild and hot and his emotions simmered on the surface.