“Okay,” I whisper, while a foreign fragility strips me of my confidence.
God. I’m pathetic. One hit and I’m shaken to my core.
CHRISTOPHER
Dash looks like she’s about break at any moment. Beating the shit out of Josh didn’t help ease my anger one fucking bit.
The last thing I expected when I walked into the suite was for a guy to hit my best friend so damn hard, it sent her flying. I’m still stunned.
The image of Dash skidding over the floor flashes through my mind, and it makes me want to wrap her against my chest where no fucking guy can ever get to her again.
Rage burns in my chest, and unable to leave Dash to shower, I reach for her facial wipes. Pulling two from the pack, I begin to remove her blotchy make-up. With every wipe, it reveals her way too pale skin. Except for the fucking red mark on her cheek.
I should’ve killed the fucker instead of only beating him unconscious.
Fucking bastard.
I knew there was something off about him. I’ve warned Dash, but she always tries to see the good in people.
I’m angry at myself for letting Dash date the piece of shit. I should’ve listened to my gut and protected my friend.
Fuck.
She got hurt because I didn’t do anything.
When her face is clean, I pull her to the closet, and taking hold of a pair of sweatpants, I crouch before her. I get her to step out of the heels and then slide the pants up her legs and under the dress she’s wearing.
It has life returning to Dash, and I stand back and glance away as she unzips the dress. I hear the fabric drop and keep my eyes on the wall.
“I’m decent,” she whispers a moment later, her voice sounding small and fragile.
Taking hold of her hand, I pull her out of her room and go to mine. I head straight for the bed and tossing the covers back, I say, “Get in.”
Once Dash is lying down, I pull the covers over her. I walk to my closet and quickly strip out of the jeans and sweater before pulling on a pair of sweatpants.
Climbing into bed, I pull Dash closer until her cheek is resting on my chest. I press a kiss to her hair, then ask, “Better?”
“Yeah,” she whispers, but then she brings her hand up to cover her mouth as a sob shudders through her. “Sorry.” Her voice sounds strained, and it fucking breaks my heart.
Turning my body toward her, I hold her tighter while pressing another kiss to the top of her head. “I’m sorry. I should’ve protected you,” I grind the words out before I promise, “It will never happen again.”
The door to my bedroom opens, and Tristan comes in. “He’s taken care of.”
“Thanks,” I grumble.
He comes to sit behind Dash, and placing a hand on her side, he says, “You deserve better than that piece of shit.”
Dash nods against my chest, then mumble, “Thanks, Tristan.”
My brother’s light blue gaze locks with mine. The same anger swirling inside of me simmers in his eyes. We both got our tempers from our father. It’s just harder for Tristan to control his.
Ryker comes to stand in the doorway. “Dash, can I get you something to drink?”
She pulls away from me and sits up. “Water, please.”
Tristan’s eyes drop to my left hand, then he says, “Bring an ice pack for Christopher.”
“Sure.” Ryker disappears down the hallway.
I glance down at my knuckles. They look a little raw, but I’ll be fine. I rinsed off the fucker’s blood before I went to Dash’s room, not wanting her to see it.
Dash takes hold of my hand and lightly brushes a finger near the bruised skin. When Ryker comes back, she takes the ice pack from him and gently presses it to my knuckles.
I place my right hand over hers, then say, “Have some water. I’m fine.”
Dash pulls her hand from beneath mine and takes the bottle from Ryker. After she’s had a couple of sips, she gives Tristan and Ryker a wavering smile. “You don’t have to hover around me. I’ll be okay. I’m just going to sleep.”
She sets the bottle down on the bedside table, then scoots back down under the covers.
Tristan stands up and takes a deep breath before he turns to leave.
When the door closes behind them, Dash turns onto her side, so she’s facing me. Seeing the tears making her green eyes sparkle like emeralds, I drop the ice pack on the floor so I can wrap my arms around her again.
Dash looks like a doll with her silky blonde hair, fair skin, and eyes the color of dark green leaves. Since I can remember, Dash has been at my side. Being two years older than her didn’t mean shit to me. I’m fiercely protective of her… and tonight, I failed her.
Never again.
What we have… it’s hard to put into words. She’s the other half of me. It’s like we share the same soul. When she hurts, I hurt, and right now, it feels as if my heart has been dug out of my chest.
So why aren’t we dating? The answer is simple. When I was fifteen and Dash thirteen, we made a stupid pact to never date each other. Our friendship is everything to us. It’s all that matters.
But I’m starting to regret the damn pact we made.
“Dating sucks,” Dash whispers, pulling me out of my thoughts. “What happened to all the good guys?”
I begin to brush my hand up and down the length of her back. “You have me.”
“I know.” She lifts her head, and a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “But it’s not the same thing. At the rate I’m going, I’ll either end up marrying a narcissist that tricked me into thinking he was a decent guy, or –”
“That will never happen,” I grumble, a frown forming on my brow. “I’ll kill him long before you say I do.”
She lets out a chuckle, but the sadness in her eyes kills me. “Orrrr, I’ll end up miserable and alone.”
I lift an eyebrow at her. “Again… you have me.”
Dash lets out a sigh as she rests her cheek on my chest again. “Yeah, but I want to get married one day. I want a happy marriage like my parents have. I want kids.”
When she’s had time to heal from this, I’ll talk to her about the stupid pact we made. There’s only one problem. If Dash can’t love me as more than a friend, I’m fucked.
“That doesn’t mean you have to settle for a piece of shit,” I say, my voice tight from the residual anger.
“When I started dating Josh, I didn’t know things would turn out this way. He was nice in the beginning,” Dash argues.
Too fucking nice.
“Look at Danny, she’s twenty-seven, and she still hasn’t met the right guy. What if they just don’t exist anymore?” she voices her worry.
Dash is a lot like my older sister when it comes to love. They were both raised as princesses, believing there’s a fairytale waiting for them.
“If you don’t meet a decent guy by the time you’re thirty, I’ll marry you,” I mutter, trying to be subtle about a relationship between us.
Dash’s head pops up, and then she glares at me. “Don’t even joke about that.”
Fuck. Not the reaction I was hoping for.
Steeling myself for the blow of rejection, I say, “I’m not joking. If we’re both single, why not? Honestly, I’d marry you in a fucking heartbeat if it saves me from wading through the gold diggers and drama queens out there.”