Storm Front (The Charistown Series) (Volume 2) (34 page)

“Ashley,” Ryan’s gentle voice interrupted her internal
dialogue. “I understand why you feel the need to make that request. I can’t
tell you how it makes me feel, but you have every right to lay it out there.
But, Princess, I’ve been around a long time. I know how these storms affect
you. You may question the status of our relationship but there is one thing you
should never doubt, and that’s the fact that I will always be your very best
friend. Before anything else in this world, I am your friend. And, as your
friend, I would never let you down in a storm.” His voice became not much
louder than a whisper when he added, “Ever again.”

Relief warmed her body like the sun on an August afternoon.
He was still her friend. Yet, as soon as the warmth hit, a frost penetrated her
tender skin. Friend, he’d said.
I am your friend
. He’d finally moved on.
She finally managed to push him away. She was relieved but heartbroken. The
nausea that came with her back and forth thoughts was unsettling, so she
decided to table them until she got the shopping done and got home safely. The
last thing she wanted to do was be out driving once night fell.

“Okay” was the only word she could manage before
disconnecting the call.

“Fuck!” Ryan’s voice boomed in his empty car the minute
Ashley hung up. “Why wouldn’t she question whether or not you’re gonna bring
home a random chick, Baker?” He argued with himself as he pulled out of the
chocolate store’s parking lot and onto the main road. “She doesn’t know if
we’re even
friends
anymore? What the hell?” His clothes clung to him and
rain water saturated the driver’s seat. This did nothing to improve his rapidly
souring mood. The only thing that kept him from boiling over was that he
finally had some semblance of a plan. Now he just prayed it would help.

When he pulled into Lyla’s driveway he felt a vise grip his
gut. What if she didn’t want to help him? Christ, Max had thought he’d been
acting like a dick and he’d been the one to give him the advice in the first
place. What would she think?
Here goes nothing
, he thought.

Ryan unclicked his seat belt and once again stepped out into
the storm.
Be quick
, he told himself,
and get home to her.

When Lyla didn’t answer the doorbell the first time he rang
again, cursing a blue streak for not thinking to call ahead instead of turning
up unannounced. Just about ready to give up, he heard the clink of the deadbolt
being released and the jingle of the chain sliding off of the latch.

“Who the…? Oh, Ryan…” Confusion marred Lyla’s face for a
second before a slow closed lipped smile spread across her mouth. Awareness
flashed through her eyes when they lowered to see what he was holding in his
hands.

“Oh, Max, my wonderful protégé,” she muttered. Her small
smirk became a full grin as she opened her door widely, motioning Ryan in from
the rain. “Stay right there, I’ll run and get you a couple of towels. You’re
dripping like a wet dog.” Before turning away, she reached down and swiped the
golden box from Ryan’s drenched hand. “No reason to let a perfectly good bribe
get ruined.” Ryan didn’t bother to stifle his chuckle as he watched her move
quickly down the hall and out of sight.

A few moments later Lyla returned, arms full of fluffy
towels and a sweatshirt. “Why don’t you take off your jacket and shirt, Ry, and
I’ll throw them in the dryer for you?” She scoffed at his raised brow. “Get
real, Baker. You may be nice on the eyes but you’re not my type.”

“I’ve seen you with a lot of men, Lyla Dalton,” he inspected
the XXL sweatshirt he was about to slip over his head, “and this sweatshirt
isn’t even yours so my question is, what exactly
is
your type?”

Lyla wrapped his sodden clothing up in the equally wet
towels and looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before turning her back on
him and walking back down the hallway into what he guessed was the laundry
room. Just when he thought Lyla had avoided yet another question, she glided
back through the hall and threw something directly at his face.

“Think fast.”

Ryan’s hand shot out and caught the folded up ball of…socks
in his right hand. “Your feet are probably wet too. Put those on. As for my
kind of man, I’m not looking for the white horse or the right guy, I’m just
looking for the smooth moves and the right now. As long as he doesn’t belong to
someone else, that’s all that matters to me.” She sidled up close to Ryan and
he thought to himself that their height difference would have been laughable,
had the mood been different.

“You, my friend, have belonged to someone else for far
longer than I’ve known you. So, while I can appreciate the painting on the wall
I would never dare touch the artwork. Come on into my kitchen, I’ll make you
something warm to drink.”

“That sounds great, Lyla, thank you. But I can’t stay long.”
He swore he heard her smile even though she made no verbal response to his
statement. He followed her quietly to the kitchen.

“Ryan, I didn’t invite you and I’m not trapping you here.
You can leave whenever you want. Although, the fact that you turned up on my
door with raspberry truffles means you’ve been talking to Max and, knowing him,
that can only mean one thing. You need my help.” She shrugged, “So stay,
leave…whatever.” Her shrug of indifference was like the shiny, sharp curve at
the end of a fishing line. Hook, line, and sinker. There was no way he was
leaving without some advice from this sly vixen.

Ryan could understand why Ashley had grown to love this
woman as quickly as she had. They were very similar creatures—both smart, both
tough, and both hiding something painful on the inside. He knew Ashley’s
secrets but he wondered if anyone knew Lyla’s.

He watched as she moved fluidly around her kitchen. She
looked different today. Usually she was the image of perfection from her hair
to her toes—even when he saw her at the gym and she was sweaty from her workout
she seemed purposefully put together—but today he saw a different Lyla. It
could’ve been because she wasn’t expecting company, or maybe she wasn’t feeling
well, but her hair was piled on the top of her head, with a pair of
black-rimmed glasses perched at her crown. She wore a battered Batgirl t-shirt
that looked like it had been around since the first Gulf war and a pair of
tattered sweats. Without any make-up on her face, she looked much younger—more
innocent, more vulnerable.

“Ryan, what are you staring at?” She ran her hands over her
face and up her head. She quickly pulled off her glasses and placed them on the
counter behind her. He watched as her cheeks turned a pale shade of pink just
before she turned her back to him and poured their coffee.

Hmm, that was an interesting reaction from their tenacious
friend.

A loud whistle drew Ryan’s eyes to the picture window that
filled the kitchen wall. Large gusts of wind whipped through the trees, swiping
the remaining colorful leaves off the Oak that stood proudly in the yard that
faced the breakfast nook. The sound of Lyla clearing her throat reminded him
that he was here for one reason and one reason alone.

“I was told that you were the lady that knew how to fix
stuff,” he grinned just before he sipped his coffee.

“I may be,” she answered while opening the candy box and
removing one dark chocolate morsel from its sleeve. “Max is a smart man,
sending you here with my kryptonite. He knows I can’t say no to raspberries and
dark chocolate.”

Pure bliss overtook Lyla’s features as she bit into the
sweet confectionary. “This has been a long time coming, Ryan. But the weather
won’t hold out for long, and you and I both know Ash won’t wanna be left home
alone once this shit gets worse, so let’s make this quick, okay?” Surprise
rippled through Ryan. Had Ashley opened up to Lyla and Janie? How much did they
know? He absently squeezed his hands around the coffee mug, trying to find the
right place to start.

“Ryan,” Lyla called his name firmly but kindly. “I know your
history, okay,” she confirmed. “What I don’t know is why you’ve been acting
like a ride for the penetrated-impaired.” Her face stayed somber but her eyes
glimmered with humor.

How could he not laugh at that? The woman came up with the
best one-liners he’d ever heard. His whole body shook with the force of his
laughter until he felt stinging in his eyes. He was an emotional wreck. He felt
his amusement turn to despair as the past steamrolled through his mind.

“I had it all.” Ryan tried to rein in the overwhelming
sadness before it threatened to flatten him. He cast his eyes back down at his
mug as he admitted. “And I fucked it up. I lost her. No, that’s an
understatement. I lost
everything
…and cost her everything in the
process.”

He felt the familiar weight of his failures settling firmly
on his shoulders. “But here’s the thing, Lyla. I’ve spent years repenting for
my sins, years trying to earn her forgiveness—hell, trying to forgive myself.
But I can’t keep living in the past. Leo, would…”

Just saying Leo’s name to anyone but Ashley felt like
awkward and unjust. “Leo would be so pissed at what’s happened between Ashley
and me.” He looked blindly out the big picture window. “Stubborn, that’s what
she is. Her own brother said it time and time again. He said that she was
stubborn
both ways
. He said that when she got angry she stayed pissed,
but when she loved, she loved forever. I guess he got the first part right.”

He turned to leveling his gaze on Lyla. “She’s never
forgiven me, and loving me forever seemed to have had an expiration date. I
tried giving her time and space but it was never enough. So I finally realized
it was time to move on.

About six months ago, when I was out with Max and Kyle, I
told them how I was feeling. Max suggested I move on and Kyle said the best way
to do it was get with as many girls as possible. He reasoned that if Ashley saw
me moving on, she might change her mind about me.”

Even as the words left his mouth, he knew they sounded
childish and asinine, so Lyla looking at him as if he had sprouted a second
head didn’t come as a shock.

Her standing up, walking to her cabinet and grabbing a
bottle of vodka and a shot glass, sure as hell, did.

“Lyla, I don’t need a drink. I have to drive home and the
roads already suck.” If looks could kill, he would have been lying on the cold
hard floor.

Her eyes flashed with irritation as she twisted the cap off
the bottle. “Ryan, this drink isn’t for you—it’s for me. This drink is so I can
deal with the rest of this conversation in a clear and level headed way, so
give me a minute, would ya?”

Filling the small glass to the brim she lifted it to her
lips and emptied the clear liquid into her mouth. Ryan watched on silently as
she repeated the process. Seemingly content with the amount she consumed, Lyla
poured one more and then returned the bottle to the cabinet. She brought the
tiny glass back to the dining table and took her seat and stared at Ryan
wordlessly. After a few seconds, his eyes fell to his lap.

“Seriously, what in the hell would possess you to go to Kyle
for anything other than the latest information on cunnilingus?” He knew her
question wasn't sarcastic or disrespectful, and that’s what bothered him.

Frustration coursed through his already tense body. “Look,
Lyla, I was out of options and I was desperate, okay? That guy always has women
lining up to be with him—”

“Oh well, excuse me,” Lyla cut him off as she threw her
hands in the air, her irritation evident in the tone of her voice. “I thought
we were talking about Ashley here, not some brainless chick looking to ride the
log flume that is Kyle Marx. My God, Ryan, don’t you see? Yes, Kyle has his
line of girls looking for a spin, but have you noticed any of them buying a
second ticket? No, you do not! Because one ride is enough for any
self-respecting woman.” She curled her fingers around her glass and shot back
the second splash of vodka.

Ryan could tell that Lyla had more to say, but she kept her
mouth shut, as if waiting for Ryan to make the next move. So he did. “Then you
tell me, what do I do when the woman I love more than life is completely
finished with me? Tell me, Lyla, because I’d love to hear your sound advice on
this? I am so sick of playing games and waiting for the right time. When is the
right fucking time? I’m sick of hoping that she’ll wake up one morning and
decide I’m worthy of her again. I’ve been worthy for years! I love her, but I’m
dying inside. This has got to stop.” He scrubbed his hands over his
whisker-roughened face as he tried to hold back the tears that threatened to
fall.

“Ryan,” Lyla’s voice had taken on a tone so soft, Ryan found
himself quickly looking up to see if it was the same person still speaking. Her
gentle eyes captured his attention as Lyla spoke in the way that only
she
could. “Do you have any idea how smart you are when you aren’t acting stupid?”