Ryan (Mallick Brothers #2)(7)

"Christmas," I supplied, smile a little sad.

"Yeah," he agreed, picking up on the melancholy because his smile went almost sympathetic. I watched then, almost in slow motion, as his hand started to raise, come toward me.

Only to fall when there was a loud rapping on the driver's side window that made us both jump.

"Fuck," he murmured, looking annoyed to be interrupted as he turned to find our super, Andrew, standing there. Ryan rolled down the window and let out an impatient, "What?"

"All is clear. You two can go back to your places now," he said, that little declaration shattering my small little fantasy world where I could sit in a car with a man and share stories and be normal for a while.

But I wasn't normal.

And I would likely never get the chance to have the little fantasy again.

As if sensing the same thing, Ryan's head turned to me, his mouth in a severe line, his eyes guarded. "Thanks, Andrew," he said, not sounding thankful at all. Then he rolled up the window and reached for the key, knowing as much as me that the moment was over and it was time to go back to our real lives.

Where he was a super sexy businessman with some kind of dark side and a wild, loving family.

And I was a neurotic, homebound freak with an uncle who loved her and a cat that scratched her and, well, nothing else going on for her.

I practically flew out of the car on that thought, going into the back to grab Rocky's carrier.

What was I even thinking entertaining a conversation with him, getting to know someone who I wanted to know more of, wanted to know all of, when I knew that wasn't something I could have?

Always setting myself up for disappointment.

The walk back up the stairs and down the hall was deafeningly silent.



       
         
       
        

"Thanks," I offered, giving him a small smile standing in my doorway that was still open because neither of us had bothered to close it.

"Anytime, honey," he said as he turned away.

I knew a platitude when I heard it.

I was expertly versed in them.

He didn't mean anytime and I wasn't going to let myself hope for anything more than just that one time.

Just that one time that someone pulled me out of my comfort zone and I hadn't felt like I was dying.

So on that, I went into my apartment, let Rocky out, and climbed into my tub, then proceeded to drive myself just a little crazier as I played, rewound, replayed, fast-forwarded, rewound, and played the night over and over again in my mind.

Amy would have had a lot to say about it too.

You know, if I told her.

Somehow that night, the first night of progress in years, I had also managed to give up on getting better.

That next morning was the first morning in years that I didn't get up and dressed and stand at my door, trying to convince myself to go out.

Because I had gone out.

And it didn't make anything better.

In fact, I actually felt a hell of a lot worse.





FIVE





Ryan





"Where is she?" my mother asked, craning her head past me as I stood in the doorway.

No Merry Christmas.

"Where is who?" I asked, struggling to hold onto the four bags and two giant boxes I was juggling.

"Where is who?" she scoffed, taking one of the boxes that was starting to topple and moving inward so I could pass. "I heard all about this neighbor woman."

Jesus Christ.

The grapevine in my family put high school rumor mills to shame.

"Sorry you lost your twenty bucks, Ma," I said, shaking my head at her as I walked into the empty of people but full of presents living room and putting my stuff under the tree. Or, rather, in the middle of the room since the pile spread out from under the tree to almost the center of the room.

"Fifty actually," she said, giving me a smirk as she helped me arrange things. "You should know better than to bet on your sons settling down by now."

"Honey, Shane is in a serious relationship. There is hope for the rest of you yet." She stood, taking the bags I had brought the gifts in with and moving toward the kitchen. I knew from a lifetime of knowing her that I was meant to follow. And being met with a platter of fresh Christmas cookies wasn't a bad way to deal with the inevitable interrogation that would follow. "So, what happened?"

"What happened with what? She's my neighbor, Ma. That's it." 

"Oh, please," she said, waving a mismatched woven oven mitt that I knew Fee had helped Becca make her for her last birthday at me. "I hear she's gorgeous."

"She is," I agreed. It was a simple fact. She was maybe the prettiest woman I had ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. But that didn't mean anything.

"And I heard that you threw her over your shoulder all fireman-style and saved her and her cat's life."

God.

"Yep," I agreed, reaching for another cookie, wishing suddenly that she laced those with rum like she did her coffee cakes we would indulge in later.

"And you still couldn't close?" she asked, giving me what I could only call a disappointed smirk.

"Close?" I repeated, brow raising.

"Close. Seal the deal. Fuck he..."

"Alright then," I cut her off on an uncomfortable laugh. Didn't matter that I was a grown ass man and she was a grown ass woman. It would never be comfortable to hear your mother talk about you 'sealing the deal' with someone. Not even in my crazy as fuck family. "She's just my neighbor, Mom. She was fucking frozen in fear and I dragged her out of there and patched up her hand and..."

"Patched up her hand, huh?" she asked, lips twitching and knowing her as well as I did, I just knew there was going to be something about 'playing doctor' coming out of her lips next.

"And that's it," I added with finality. "She's agoraphobic, Mom. It's not like me saving her from carbon monoxide poisoning somehow cured her of that."

In fact, there was no cure for it.

I knew that because, stupid fuck I was, I had went online and searched it.

I found out a lot. I understood it better though I was pretty sure there was no way to truly get it unless you went through it, like any mental illness.

But because I searched it, I knew that the recovery was full of steps forward and back and frustration and disappointment.

And seeing as I hadn't seen her outside her apartment since that night in my car, I figured she wasn't making any kind of progress.

"Besides," I went on, going past her toward where a few decanters of liquor were sitting on the counter and pouring myself a drink, "she's a nice girl."

"So?" she asked, brows drawn together.

"So, the last time I brought a nice girl home, you scared her off by telling her that I was a fucking enforcer after, I might add, demanding I bring a date in the first place."

She rolled her eyes at that. "That doesn't mean that I don't like nice girls. It meant that one was boring and couldn't handle the truth."

"Dusty used to be a kindergarten teacher. Not a biker like Lea or a phone sex operator like Fee."

"Kindergarten teacher, huh? She must want kids. Your dad will love hearing that."

"Jesus Christ, don't start planning our wedding," I snorted, shaking my head.

"Look, she's agoraphobic and, from what I hear, involved with some unsavory guys. That's interesting enough for me."

"Well, for the record, it warms my fucking heart that you approve of a woman I am not currently and will not be dating."

"Who aren't you dating?" Lea's voice asked suddenly, making me jerk and look toward the doorway where I found her standing in skinny black jeans and a white sweater, her long dark hair pulled away from her striking face.

My brother had done well for himself. Better than he probably deserved. Luckily, the fuck knew that and treated her accordingly.

"The pretty shy neighbor girl," my mother supplied, winking at her.

"Oh her. I lost fifty on that. Thanks for not closing," Lea said, giving me a wicked smile.



       
         
       
        

"First, she's not shy. She's agoraphobic. Second, stop fucking betting on my romantic life and you won't lose money."

"Fee is still in," Shane said, walking up behind Lea and wrapping his arms around her middle, leaning down so his chin rested on her head. "Apparently, as she lectured me for about an hour when I told her about the bet, we were all idiots for betting so close. Guess 'cause of her old issues, she understands this Dusty girls' deal better than us."

My brother Hunter's (the only one of us who didn't still enforce) wife, Fiona, had a truly fucked up childhood that left her unable to be in her apartment alone at night when Hunt first met her. As such, she either went out and drank the pain away or stayed in and etched it into her skin. She slowly recovered and had Hunt tattoo over all her old self-harm scars, wanting to erase them, move on from them. But I could definitely see how she could understand Dusty better than the rest of us.

"Yet she still bet on it," I said, annoyed for no good reason. We bet on fucking everything.

"Maybe she thought two shut-ins like you and her would work out fucking perfectly," Shane laughed.