Kona Hale had tackled the best quarterbacks in the league. He was a massive mound of muscle and intimidation. But put a weepy Keira in front of him and throw in his anxious toddler and you’ve got the makings of the one thing that could topple him: an unhappy family.
I was my father’s son and though it took me stuffing down my pride and that promise I’d made to myself to forget about Aly as though she didn’t matter at all to me, an hour later, I found myself standing outside of Leann’s studio, trying to ignore the voice screaming in my head.
She doesn’t matter. Don’t you dare apologize. Don’t be weak.
That voice was full of disgust because I could not hate myself for wanting Aly, for wanting to feel anything other than guilt. That voice was loud, so livid that I didn’t bother trying to block it out. I knew that every insult, every complaint she leveled, I deserved. I was everything she’d accused me of being. Emily’s father had reminded me with those roses, as though I could ever forget what I had done. And walking away from Aly, disregarding the attempt she made at healing me only proved that I was what Emily’s father thought I was. If I was that low, disgusting cretin, then I may as well live the part.
But for my family, I’d do anything. Even try to smooth over the shit I hadn’t created. Not directly. The voice continued, niggling hard, like some sort of wicked conscience that I’d grown used to hearing. There was so much doubt, so much hatred in that tone that I knew I’d created it myself. Emily would have never spoken that way to me. She’d have never fed my doubt.
The open door beyond the lobby flooded the entire building with music. Leann wasn’t here, I’d made sure of that and had caught the sing-song tease in her voice when I asked where I could find Aly on her own.
“Studio. She’s working on her routine.” I hadn’t trusted that tone or the way my cousin laughed, but as I approached the opened door, I understood what had her so amused.
Motherfucker.
Aly was dressed—if that’s what you want to call it—in a crop-top shirt pulled in a knot at her back and a pair of tight dance shorts that barely curved around her round ass. This wasn’t surprising or anything I hadn’t seen before. Most of the instructors wore very little when they rehearsed, keeping their limbs free from anything that would distracted the hard work of their routines. But the muscle in Aly’s legs flexed and her calves were rounded tight as she moved around the room in high heels, as though she’d been at it for a long while.
This would be easier if I wasn’t so attracted to her. Or if, you know, whoever that fucker was dancing with her didn’t have his hands all over her ass.
“Saida!” he said, laughing as they moved, working Aly across the floor with barely a breath’s space between them. “Good, beautiful.”
He was way better at the Kizomba than I was, moved with a swagger I’d never have. I’d give him props for that. Then he lifted her up, ignored Aly when she gasped. “Damn, I don’t remember your ass being this round.”
Right. Fuck that guy. He doesn’t deserve my props.
“Tommy, grow up,” she said, pulling his hand off her ass. “Keep to the rhythm.”
“You are no fun.”
Tommy. That asshole I’d heard her Skyping with. I still didn’t know who he was to her and right then, didn’t much care.
Aly stopped dancing and I counted it as some small victory that she wasn’t laughing with him, that she hadn’t cracked a smile once since I’d been watching them dance. “We have less than a month. We have to get this right and you are still not close enough.”
My fists ached from how tightly I curled them when this Tommy prick grabbed Aly’s waist and pushed himself flush against her. “Well, let’s go up to your apartment, see how close we can get.”
“Would you stop…” whatever Aly was going to say died on her tongue when she looked around Tommy’s shoulder and right at me. There was surprise on her features, her eyebrows arched, her lids wide, and sweat dotted over her top lip and on her forehead.
Tommy followed her gaze, looked over his shoulder at me and that jackass’s smile only got wider. “For fuck’s sake,” he said, stepping back from Aly.
“Ransom.” She nodded once, a small grin moving her lips, then, as though she remembered how I’d treated her, what an asshole I’d been to her that night at Summerland’s, that grin vanished quick. “What are you doing here?”
“Good question,” Tommy said, resting a hand on Aly’s hip. “We’re kind of in the middle of something.”
I wanted to break each of his fingers as they rubbed against her.
What the hell is wrong with me? I thought, coming to myself as I stepped further into the studio. “We need to have a conversation.”
“Well, you can’t right now.” Tommy’s voice went right over my head and I took another step in, pushing my hands into my pockets as I looked her.
She was still angry, I could see that by that hard frown and how tightly she held herself. I couldn’t blame her and if I wasn’t still pissed at her, maybe I would have smiled, tried to get her to do the same. But I was still pissed, still more than a little bothered with how strongly I’d reacted to the truth and how much I’d missed her.
You’re weak, the voice said when I thought, just for a second, that I should apologize first. You don’t need her. Look at how he’s touching her. They’re fucking. It’s obvious.
“It’ll be a long while,” Tommy continued, blocking Aly from my view as he stood in front of me.
The breath I released came out on a slow exhale, I had to rein in my anger, that irritation at this asshole that bubbled when he crossed his arms over his chest and gave me a look that was both challenging and amused. Slipping my eyes to the right, I squinted at him, regarding those cut arms that were smaller than mine and the stupid smug grin on his face.
“You wanna back up, brah?”
I thought he might start in with the smack talk, maybe come closer just to piss me off, but then the asshole glanced back at Aly and clapped his hands together like my question had been the funniest thing he’d heard all week. “Is he for real, Aly?” Another glance at me, at my stance and how it hadn’t shifted an inch and he laughed. “Oh shit, he is. Wow.”
Two slow steps had me inching closer and finally that asshole stopped smiling. “Yeah. He is for real,” I said. Another step. “Really real.”
“Look, man, Aly…”
“Can speak for herself.” She stepped in front of him, keeping her gaze from me.
Her eyes snapped as she spoke. “We’re done for the night, Tommy. We can pick it back up next week.”
“Aly, there is no way I’m leaving you with this asshole.”
She nodded toward the door. “Night, Tommy.”
His tone shifted smoothly to “easily bored” and didn’t bother to argue, picking up his backpack and leaving the studio, shaking his head as he left. But I didn’t care. He could laugh all he wanted. The voice kept firing off suggestions, more absolutes I didn’t bother to acknowledge. But I shook that off, too. Instead I watched Aly as she moved around the studio, turning off the stereo, and picking up her bag.
She wouldn’t look at me and I didn’t understand why that unsettled me so damn much. Shouldn’t I be the one ignoring her? Wasn’t I the one that was wronged?
“Say what you have to say and leave, Ransom. I’m tired.”
She had a lot of nerve, I’d give her that much, but the return of that cold, distant attitude pushed back any thoughts I had of missing her. I glared at her when she stopped flitting around the room like a bee looking for an open window. She stared ahead, messing with her phone in her hands, likely forgetting that I could see her in the mirror, that I knew she wasn’t looking down at the screen.