Dirty Princes (Hot Candy 3)

Might as well watch my favorite documentaries about fishing and cooking, and eat my favorite Thai take-out.

So when the doorbell starts ringing that evening, it jerks me like a puppet. On cue, my heart trips and loses rhythm, and I curse as I get up and go grab my meds.

What the hell?

As I return to the living room, I realize the doorbell has fallen silent, but there’s knocking on the door.

“Ryan!” a voice calls. “Open this door.”

Riddick.

Fuck. Pain shoots through my chest, and I sit down heavily on the sofa. What the hell is he doing here?

“Ryan, come on!” another voice calls.

Brylee?

No, dammit. They aren’t supposed to do this.

“We know you’re inside,” Riddick calls. “There’s light at your window. We just want to talk.”

I close my eyes.

Go away.

I often wondered if I like girls more than boys, or vice versa. Wondered who I’d end up with—a wife or a husband.

That was before the doctor told me I should run some checks on my heart.

And to be honest, even before that. When Mom died, some bright, hopeful part of me died with her. But after the “tentative diagnosis”… I shut off. Shut the world out. Stopped wondering. And hoping.

What’s the point, anyway?

Never thought I’d want both a boy and a girl. That I’d come to care for them.

That I’d do anything for their happiness, including pushing them away.

“Why are you doing this?” Brylee asks. “You’re a good guy. You’re not mean. Let us be friends if nothing more. Please.”

“Open the door, Ryan!” Riddick slams his fist on the solid wood again.

At least he’s up and about. I’ve been worried about him. I want to know what happened, if he talked to his brother.

I want to know if Brylee is happy with Riddick. If she enjoyed sex for the first time with me. If she tried again with him.

Goddamn… It hurts me, too. Parting from them. Telling them to take care of each other. Do they think I really don’t care?

Hell. It’s like dying. A preview of the real thing. How fucking great.

But it’s better if I don’t reply. If they leave angry.

In my experience, anger is much easier to bear than sorrow.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Velvet Cave Pavlova

Brylee