Bailey’s stomach turned in anxious energy as she waited. She paced back and forth, unable to sit still. Here she was, worried about his hurt turning into anger, but the longer she waited, the angrier she became. Maybe she should go home and talk to him after some time had passed.
She plopped down in her mother’s desk chair and looked over at the piles of papers. Seething inside, she grabbed the stack, and, with all her strength, pushed everything off the desk with a roaring growl.
Paper flew in every direction. The lamp crashed to the floor, sending glass everywhere. She didn’t care. Fuck the mess, fuck her mother for lying, and fuck you, Ryan, for not talking to me. Fuck it all. She kicked the piles of paper with her bare feet and froze.
The letter stood out enough to catch her eye as it flew across the room. Bailey recognized her Uncle Pat’s stationery immediately. She rushed over and snatched it up from the floor, then stumbled through the mess as she ripped the pages out of the envelope.
“Ouch—shit!” She lifted her foot and saw dripping blood from where she stepped on the glass from the lamp. Her mother’s lectures about walking around barefoot rang in her head. Damn it! She walked over to the stairs, sat on the bottom step, and unfolded the letter. It was longer than the others.
Dear Helen,
I’m sorry to hear you haven’t been feeling well. I’m praying for you and Bailey in hopes there is still a chance of recovery. You’ve overcome a lot and have never let your diabetes keep you from living the fullest life possible. I have nothing but respect for the devotion you have to your passion for music and your family.
You’ve been blessed with a beautiful home, a loving husband, and a daughter. Blessed indeed we were to get Bailey and to have been able to keep her in our lives even after the circumstances under which she came to us.
Now, my dear friend, I implore you to keep our secret. Nothing good can come from your confession. The truth will only hurt Bailey. The truth will only do harm to our family. You’ll be gone soon, and we will be left picking up the pieces of the mess you made. Fear, I’m sure, is what took my brother to an early grave. I’ve lost my brother due to your decisions. Please do not let your guilty conscience force you into sharing a secret that could threaten all our lives. Please consider my family’s safety, as well as Bailey’s.
Expect me, dear Helen, to do what is necessary to protect myself and my own family. If you insist on clearing your conscience, I cannot guarantee Bailey’s safety.
Yours truly,
Patrick
* * *
Ryan used his key to let himself in. He knew Wade and Lucas would still be sleeping, but he needed a cup of coffee and some time to catch his breath. He snuck in and started the coffee, then opened the Sunday paper, hoping for a distraction. Bailey was taking over his every thought, and he needed to break free from it. If he had his guitar, he could play her away, but everything was at the house, and he had a feeling she was there, waiting for him.
His traitorous mind went precisely to the thoughts he was trying to avoid. Bailey, naked and in his arms. She’d been exquisite and perfect in every way. They fit together so well, it scared him. He’d never felt like that with a woman, never felt that connection. His heart ached in his chest, knowing he had to figure out a way to move on without her.
Was she right? As much as she worried about losing him, he also worried about losing her. They were one screwed up pair, needing each other like air and water, but not able to admit their true feelings to each other. His head told him to back off, to give her some time to consider how great they could be together, but his heart…his body…ached for her.
When the coffee finished brewing, he poured a cup and sat back down. The vision of Bailey, lying in the dark on the stern deck, looking at him with dangerous eyes, flashed in his head, and he had to take a deep breath.
“Fucking—God help me.”
“It’s Lucas, not God, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Ryan shifted in his chair to see Lucas standing behind him. “Hey, shit, man, I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”
“No. Well, yes. It was the smell of coffee.”
Ryan grimaced. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, as long as you saved me some.” He poured himself a cup and sat down across from Ryan. “So, what do you need saving from?”
“You don’t want to know.” Ryan rested his head in his hands and inhaled deeply. “I’m a complete fuck up.”
“What on earth could you have fucked up on the boat last night? It was just you and Bay…” Lucas’ eyes grew wide. “Oh, hell, Ryan. What did you do?”
Ryan met Lucas’ eyes and lifted one eyebrow, then slid down and placed his cheek on the cold tabletop.
“Why would you do that? You know she’s vulnerable.”
Ryan felt Lucas’s mug hit the table. It vibrated his brain. “It wasn’t just me. I tried to stop, but she wouldn’t let me.”
“Bullshit. Don’t give me that. What do you think vulnerable means, you asshole?”
“We were both completely wasted. I didn’t plan it.” Ryan felt like he could cry. Was Lucas right? Had he taken advantage of a friend when she had her guard down?
“And so you had sloppy, drunk sex on your boat with your best friend, you fucking slut.”
Ryan’s head came up off the table so fast, it made him dizzy. “Fuck you. There was nothing sloppy about Bailey and me. It wasn’t like that. She’s—I’m—it wasn’t like that with her.”
“So, are you trying to say
